049

A/N: Ain't no way I got gacha addiction from Bungo Tales. Ain't no way a gacha system made me devastated at the sight of an ssr Dazai when I wanted an ssr Mori/Tachihara.

When the hell am I going to finish writing this arc?😭😭 I'm already at chapter 57 or something and I don't think I'm close to writing the present timeline. Ironic how the first book was too short and now this book is too long.

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Yokohama gleamed under the soft veil of late afternoon light, the skyline a jagged silhouette against the amber drenched sky.

Sunlight reflected off the harbor waters like scattered gold coins, and the tang of salt hung gently in the air, carried in from the docks by a lazy breeze.

The city moved with its usual rhythm—cars weaving through the avenues, people bustling along sidewalks, neon signs beginning to flicker to life in anticipation of nightfall.

The distant sound of waves lapping at the port mixed with the low hum of urban life.

It was a peaceful day.

For now.

Deep beneath the city’s ordinary bustle, through secretive doors and concealed elevators, lay the port mafia headquarters—gloomy and grand, carved in quiet menace.

The air down here was cooler, sharp with iron and age, and the sound of footsteps echoed with weighted purpose.

In one of the marble lined corridors, humming could be heard.

It was soft. Pleasant, even. A random tune, almost whimsical—until you listened closely.

There was something off about it. Something too precise. Like it had been practiced to imperfection.

Chuuya Nakahara turned the corner, a bounce in his step and—uncharacteristically—a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

He was in a good mood.

A rare occurrence.

And the reason was simple.

For once—finally, mercifully—he had been handed a mission that didn’t require him to babysit that smug, suicidal bastard he’d been shackled to for years.

He practically bounced down the hallway, red coat swishing behind him. His hat sat perfectly atop his head.

Life was good.

The birds were singing. Dazai wasn’t.

What more could he want?

He could already imagine it.

A clean job, no sarcasm, no philosophical monologues, no ridiculous plans that involved faking deaths or hiding in coffins.

He could breathe. He could drink after. He could pass out and have the best sleep of his life.

He strutted confidently through the hallway, ginger hair catching the light in flaming waves, hat tilted at a jaunty angle.

Then—

"Chuuya!"

He stopped dead.

The voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be.

It rang with amused authority, laced with that unmistakable mix of lazy mischief and calculated intent.

He turned, stiffening as the figure emerged from around the corner, hands tucked behind their back, humming continuing faintly as if it belonged to the walls themselves.

You.

Port Mafia executive. Thought to be overseas on a long term mission. Presumed, for the sanity of several members, to be gone.

But here you were—calm, poised, very much present.

Chuuya blinked.

“…You’re back?”

You smiled, and Chuuya couldn’t quite decide if it was pleasant or terrifying.

“Mm. Missed me?”

He crossed his arms. “No offense, but you disappearing for three years and showing up right before my first Dazai free mission in ages feels like the universe hates me.”

You chuckled, eyes flicking over him. "My, you've grown so—"

A pause, "—actually, not much."

There was a moment of silence.

Then— "What the hell did you just—"

"—But I like it," you interrupted smoothly, hands lifting in mock innocence. "You're adorable at this height."

Chuuya’s left eye twitched.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, visibly holding back an insult.

“You’re still my superior,” he said flatly, “so I won’t say what I want to say.”

“That's no fun.”

“I hate this already.”

You strolled past him casually, giving a small, almost fond pat to his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to tease you. Not too much. I came to talk.”

“About what?”

You turned slightly, walking backward now, expression bright with amusement. “I’m tagging along on your mission.”

“…What.”

“It was Mori’s decision,” you added, as though reading his mind. "Something about 'easing back into domestic affairs.' I told him I didn’t need easing. He said something about supervision."

“You don’t need supervising. You need containment.”

You gave a lazy shrug. “I’m hurt, Chuuya. I thought we got along.”

Chuuya sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “We do. Mostly. As long as you’re not pulling Dazai level nonsense.”

“I could never replace Dazai.” You paused. “Though I do wonder what would happen if I dropped you both in a locked room for six hours.”

Chuuya’s glare could have melted concrete.

You grinned. “I’m joking.”

“…If you try anything like that bastard, I swear—”

“I won’t,” you said genuinely. “I missed Yokohama. And, to be fair, I missed you.”

“…You did?”

“Of course. You’re one of the few people I can talk to who doesn’t immediately fall for me, start running, or praying.”

Chuuya gave you a long look. “You’re… weirdly sincere right now.”

“I’ve matured.”

“You called me short thirty seconds ago.”

“Affectionately.”

Chuuya huffed but didn’t argue further.

You reached the mission briefing room, where a stack of dossiers awaited.

Chuuya picked one up, flipping through.

“Smuggling ring in the harbor. Minor ability users. Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Nothing you can’t handle,” you corrected. “I’m just here to watch.”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “You better not be treating this as a vacation.”

“Would you prefer I get bored and start experimenting?”

“…Stay right behind me and don't do anything.”

The mission commenced by nightfall.

The air near the harbor reeked of sea salt, rust, and cheap cigarettes.

Moonlight shimmered across oil slicked water as shipping containers loomed like silent sentinels in the dark.

The mission was simple on paper—neutralize a minor smuggling ring dealing in black market ability enhancers—but, of course, simplicity never applied when you were involved.

With a soft hum and a faint shimmer in the air, reality bent.

You and Chuuya materialized behind a stack of containers, the soft pop of your ability fading into the night.

"Careful," you warned casually. "Wouldn't want to land on anything unstable."

Chuuya’s boot hit metal—followed by a hollow crack.

His balance tilted. He stumbled forward, the sudden movement catching him completely off guard.

"The hell—?!"

Before he could faceplant onto steel, your hand shot out. You grabbed him firmly by the waist, pulling him upright in one smooth motion.

There was a pause. Your hand lingered. Just long enough to be noticed.

"You alright, darling?" you asked, voice lazy and amused.

Chuuya glared, cheeks tinged with a faint flush. “You— let go. And don’t call me that.”

You released him with a smirk. "Of course, of course. Though, you have to admit, that was awfully clumsy."

He narrowed his eyes. “It was a damn soda can. Who the hell drinks soda in a shipping yard?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Maybe someone knew you’d show up. A fan, perhaps?”

“...Are you suggesting I fell on purpose?”

You shrugged. "I’m merely pointing out the facts. You ended up in my arms. Draw your own conclusions."

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just—don’t start. I have one mission where Dazai’s not breathing down my neck. Please let me have this.”

You grinned. “No promises.”

The two of you moved through the outskirts of the container stacks, blending into the shadows with practiced ease.

You watched as Chuuya scouted the perimeter, his eyes sharp under the dim light, every movement measured.

You had to admire his focus. Predictable, perhaps, but efficient. Unbothered by moral weight or hesitation.

Still the same Chuuya.

You broke the silence after a few minutes. “I’m going to get us some intel. Be right back.”

Chuuya raised a brow. “Can't we just barged in and fight everyone inside?”

“That's a classic for you, but not me. Besides, I like talking to people.”

You disappeared into the alley with a shimmer, reappearing near the dockside market still open late into the night.

The place bustled with tired vendors, shady dealers, and tired eyed dock workers sipping from thermoses and beer cans.

You sauntered up to a lone woman leaning against the wall of a food restaurant, idly smoking.

Moments later, Chuuya, hidden behind a stack of crates, watched you laugh softly and tuck a strand of the woman’s hair behind her ear.

He sighed, arms crossed.

“…Are you getting information or just flirting?”

He didn’t interrupt, though.

He waited, eye twitching slightly as you leaned in just a little too close, murmuring something that made the woman giggle.

Eventually, you returned, hands in your coat pockets.

“She says the guards at the back warehouse take a smoke break every 30 minutes. That’ll give us a four minute window to slip in unnoticed. The south entrance has fewer eyes on it. We go in quiet, find their ledger, then let you do your thing if needed.”

Chuuya stared at you flatly. “At least you do something useful when you’re seducing.”

Your eyes glinted. “Ah? That sounds like a comparison.”

He snorted. “You’re not the only flirt in the mafia. Unfortunately.”

Your grin widened. “Do tell. Who else is charming enough to flirt but dumb enough to forget the actual objective?”

Chuuya gave you a side eye. “Who’s your student again?”

You blinked.

“…Dazai?”

“Exactly.”

You laughed. “You’re telling me he tries to flirt now?”

“He doesn’t try. He succeeds. And he never shuts up about it either. It’s like watching a cursed mirror version of you, but without your creepy calm voice.”

You chuckled, then fell into thought.

You always knew Dazai mimicked behaviors. He was observant and liked wearing masks that suited the moment.

But seduction? That was a touch unexpected.

“…I guess he really was paying attention,” you mused. “Though I doubt he’s as graceful.”

“He tried to charm a hostage once. Gone too well. The woman became obsessed with him.”

You whistled. “Character growth.”

Chuuya shook his head, biting down a grin. “He’s gotten worse since you left.”

You tilted your head. “Really? How so?”

Chuuya scoffed, adjusting his gloves. “How so? Tch. He probably found a way to stalk you even overseas. Wouldn't put it past him to bribe pigeons or some shit.”

You laughed under your breath, amused. “Ah, so he did miss me.”

Chuuya smirked. “He won’t say it, but Ane-san said the guy paced like a damn widower every time a letter from overseas showed up.”

You tilted your head, mock pouting. “Romantic. Shame I didn’t write him a single one.”

Chuuya raised a brow. “You’re lucky he hasn’t strangled you yet.”

You grinned. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Later, under the cover of darkness, you and Chuuya slipped past the distracted guards and into the warehouse.

It smelled of tarps, gasoline, and dust.

Wooden crates lined the interior, stacked haphazardly. Some were marked in Cyrillic, others with coded symbols that only a few in the underworld could decipher.

You crouched beside a pile of shipping manifests, flipping through until you found the ledger.

Chuuya kept watch, boots soundless as he paced the floor. “How’s it look?”

“Sloppy operation,” you muttered. “The smugglers are amateurs, but some of these crates are going to government officials. The buyers are professional.”

“So the ones we’re supposed to take care of are the puppets.”

“Exactly.”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened. “Then we find the strings.”

You nodded. “Leave the paper trail to me. You handle the cleaning.”

The raid was swift. Chuuya’s gravity warped strikes crushed the guards in seconds—nonlethal, but devastating.

You manipulated the environment with quick teleports, snatching weapons from hands, trapping enemies in corners, vanishing and reappearing with surgical precision.

One guard, attempting to flee, ran straight into you—more precisely, you teleported in front of him.

You tilted your head. “Wrong direction.”

Then you slammed him into a crate with just enough force to knock him out cold.

When it was over, Chuuya cracked his neck. “That’s all of them.”

“Nice work. Efficient.”

“Still think brute force is inelegant?”

You smirked. “Never said that. Just said there were more... artful options.”

“Like flirting with dockworkers?”

“It’s an art form.”

Chuuya snorted, kicking a stray can aside. “I’ll never understand you.”

You gave him a curious glance. “Would you want to?”

He paused. Looked at you. Then shrugged. “Maybe. Depends how much I have to drink.”

You laughed.

The warehouse was quiet now.

Only the low hum of distant generators and the occasional metallic creak echoed through the emptied space.

The smuggling ring had been dismantled in under an hour—efficiently, quietly, and with a flair only you and Chuuya could execute together.

You leaned against a crate, arms folded, watching Chuuya do a last sweep of the floor with the practiced eye of someone too used to being double crossed.

He was dusted with ash and splinters, his coat slightly scuffed, but he moved with his usual precision.

"No one's hiding under the boxes, Chuuya," you said lightly.

He gave you a dry look. "After what happened last time, I’m checking. I’m not getting sucker punched by a half dead rookie again."

You raised a brow, amused. "Didn’t know that happened. I would've paid to see it."

"I’m sure you would," he muttered. "You’re all about the drama."

You tilted your head. "I prefer the word 'flair.'"

He sighed and leaned against the opposite wall, glancing at the piles of unconscious guards. "Job’s done. You still good with filing the report?"

"You doubt me?"

"I doubt your desire to do paperwork without drawing hearts in the margins."

You gave him a faux wounded look. "I only do that for the really boring ones. This one’s got explosions and government corruption. It deserves effort."

Chuuya rolled his eyes but said nothing.

For a moment, the silence settled between you like comfortable dust—until his expression darkened slightly.

"Hey," he said, voice lower. "You seen Dazai yet?"

You blinked at the sudden mention of the name. "No. Why?"

He groaned softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Shit. I knew it. That idiot’s gonna do something. I can feel it."

You tilted your head. "You sound like you’re being hunted."

Chuuya jabbed a finger at you. "Because I am. Not by him, but by whatever prank, trap, or psychological hell he’s cooking up the moment he knows you talked to me first."

You blinked innocently. "So he’s the jealous ex, and you’re the innocent rebound?"

"Don't say it like that!" Chuuya barked, a bit red in the face.

You grinned. "It’s not entirely untrue, though."

"You're gonna get me killed, L/N-san. I’m gonna have to sleep with one eye open tonight."

You looked mock thoughtful. "Maybe I’ll sleep over. Help guard you."

He gave you a flat look. "Yeah, no offense, but your presence is the opposite of calming."

You clutched your chest. "How cruel. And after I saved you from that soda can ambush."

"That doesn’t count. You were enjoying it."

"True," you admitted, smile softening. "But I did catch you."

He glanced away, muttering, "Yeah, well... thanks."

You didn't comment on it, letting the moment settle again before breaking it gently. "You know, I'm not avoiding Dazai. Not really."

Chuuya looked back at you, wary. "So it was on purpose."

"It was strategic."

"Uh huh. Sure. And what exactly is the strategy? Making him go clinically insane?"

You smirked. "Well, if it worked, I expect a parade."

Chuuya rubbed his face. "He’s gonna come for me, you know. Not you. He’ll wait to make some weird grand statement about betrayal or whatever. But I’m the one who’s gonna get poisoned tea or exploding roses."

You considered that. "Exploding roses... cute."

"You are not helping."

"Sorry, sorry." You held up a hand in surrender. "I’ll talk to him soon. Promise."

Chuuya narrowed his eyes. "Define 'soon.'"

"Before he burns your apartment down."

"Not comforting."

You walked to him, clapping a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Don’t worry. If he tries anything, I’ll teleport your wine to safety."

He looked like he was about to say something, then paused. "...Alright, that actually is comforting."

Good thing he didn't ask how you knew of his wine stash's existence.

"See? I can be useful."

"In very specific alcohol related emergencies."

You chuckled. "Come on. Let’s grab dinner. My treat. We can toast to a successful mission and your impending psychological torture."

He gave you a look. "You're paying? What’s the catch?"

You looked mock affronted. "I’m hurt. Can’t a man take his comrade out without sinister motives?"

"Not when that man is you."

You laughed and started walking, and after a brief moment of internal debate, Chuuya followed, muttering under his breath about cursed apprentices, bandaged bastard, and the unfairness of life.

Somewhere far away, probably in a dark room filled with cigarette smoke and files, Dazai sneezed.

Chuuya visibly tensed.

"...He's already planning something, I can feel it."

You just smiled. The night air was cold, the mission done, and your return had just begun to ripple through the city.

Let the chaos begin.