051

A/N: I'm going through a writer's block. And when I get a writer's block, I may disappear from the face of this earth for a short while. 😃

But I'm determined to finish this thing. I already have an ending in mind.

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The infirmary was quiet when you stirred.

The sterile air still clung to your lungs. Dim lights filtered through the slats of the blinds. The ceiling tiles hadn’t changed—same cracks like pale veins across old bones.

You blinked once.

Then twice.

Voices.

Muted, but close.

You turned your head slowly toward the sound.

Just outside the glass walls of the infirmary room, framed by the doorway like an unfinished painting, stood Dazai. Tall, dark coat hanging off his shoulders like always, arms crossed.

He was speaking to someone shorter, slimmer—rigid posture, black hair with white tips, sharp jaw.

The boy’s head was dipped slightly, as if awaiting judgement.

Ah.

You almost smiled.

So this was the infamous student.

Dazai's student.

You remembered the file Ango had slipped to you with that exasperated sigh he always gave when your name came up, like he was bracing himself for another headache. You had smiled then, too.

"Wait, wait, wait,” you’d said, utterly scandalized. “Dazai took in a student? My sweet mass murdering pupil found a protege? I’m wounded.”

Ango didn’t respond. Just poured himself a third cup of coffee and told you, deadpan, “You act as if you didn't expect this to happen.”

His statement is true. You had predicted everything from Dazai becoming an executive to him finally having a student.

It isn't shocking since it's Dazai.

You stood lazily from the cot, stretching as your spine popped faintly.

The blanket you’d been under fell in a soft crumple behind you.

Dazai’s voice—calm, quiet—drifted faintly through the glass.

The boy—Akutagawa, if memory served—stood stiff, hands clenched at his sides.

His expression was blank, but there was something almost pitiful about it.

Like a child waiting for punishment without knowing why.

Dazai’s face, in contrast, was colder than ice on bone.

You’d seen him wear many expressions before—boredom, amusement, calculated carelessness—but never this brand of indifference. Not even when bodies bled out at his feet.

This wasn’t indifference.

This was cruelty, folded neatly into silence.

You slid open the glass door without a sound.

Dazai didn’t turn, but his voice reached you immediately.

“L/N-san,” he said, like he’d been waiting. “About time. I almost thought you had died in your sleep without inviting me.”

You blinked slowly.

Then smiled.

“Would’ve invited you if I wanted a tragic ending,” you murmured, voice coated in lazy venom.

“But you’re right—it would’ve been poetic. Dying in a place like this. Among disinfectants and ghosts.”

Akutagawa turned his head toward you, eyes narrowing slightly.

Recognition.

Oh?

You stepped forward, hands in your pockets. Your dress shirt still hung open at the collar from last night. Dazai’s grip hadn’t done the buttons any favors.

“Don’t look so surprised,” you said to the boy, voice lilting. “You’ve heard of me, haven’t you?”

Akutagawa didn’t speak at first.

Then, firmly: “You were Dazai-san’s mentor.”

You grinned, teeth sharp. “Was I? How nostalgic.”

Dazai glanced at you now, finally, his eyes unreadable. “He asked me once who taught me how to manipulate people. I told him your name.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” you crooned. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

“I’m not,” he replied dryly. “It was more of a warning.”

You chuckled.

Akutagawa’s eyes remained fixed on you.

Cold, but not without fire.

Curious. Sharp.

You stepped closer, boots tapping softly against the polished floor.

“I read your file,” you said to him. “Rashoumon. Terminal lung disease. Abandoned, desperate for strength, taken in to the port mafia.”

You looked at Dazai and tilted your head. “You really do choose the most interesting ones.”

Akutagawa’s eyes flicked with offense, but he didn’t speak.

You leaned down.

Lower.

Until your face hovered just inches from his.

Akutagawa didn’t flinch.

Not an inch.

Even as your gaze swept over his features like a scalpel—cutting, calculating, intrigued—he held your stare. Unwavering.

There was even… a glare in those eyes.

Faint. But proud.

Defiant.

You grinned.

A slow, curved thing. Promising nothing good.

“Oh,” you murmured. “I like you.”

Dazai moved.

His hand shot out and yanked you back by the collar of your coat, hard enough to choke the tail end of your sentence.

You let yourself be pulled, still grinning, eyes never leaving Akutagawa’s face.

Dazai’s expression was… unreadable.

Too quiet.

Too controlled.

But his grip on your coat said enough.

You didn’t acknowledge him.

Didn’t need to.

You just let your gaze linger on the boy in front of you.

Specimen, you thought.

But not a broken one.

How unusual.

“How cruel of you, Dazai,” you said, voice soft. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“He’s not yours,” Dazai said, eyes narrow.

“No,” you agreed. “But I’m curious what he’d become in different hands.”

Dazai’s hand twitched.

Ah.

Jealousy?

Delightful.

Akutagawa’s eyes darted between the two of you now, unsure, tension coiling in his frame like a snake ready to strike.

“I’ve heard… rumors about you,” he said finally.

“Oh?” you drawled. “Do share.”

“You were dangerous. Unpredictable. Cruel.”

“Mm. Accurate so far.”

“You taught Dazai-san how to be worse.”

You tilted your head. “Ah. I see now. You’re afraid.”

Akutagawa straightened. “I’m not.”

You stepped forward.

And this time, your fingers brushed the edge of his sleeve.

Just enough.

Just enough to make it work.

Dazai reached out instinctively, but you were faster.

Your hand touched Akutagawa’s shoulder.

And with a shimmer—

The hallway was empty.

Except for the soft rustle of your coat.

Still in Dazai’s grip.

The air changed instantly.

You reappeared in the quiet edge of a rooftop, high above the city.

The wind was sharp and biting, the skyline a jagged stretch of gray and gold.

Akutagawa staggered, coughing into his sleeve.

He wheezed faintly, but straightened almost immediately, eyes wide and sharp.

“What the hell—”

“Language,” you chided. “You’re a guest.”

He stared at you.

You leaned back against the railing, casual. “Relax. I just wanted a closer look.”

“I didn’t give you permission.”

“Neither did Dazai when he was first dragged to a mission with Chuuya,” you said.

Akutagawa’s fists clenched.

You just watched him.

And smiled.

Bingo.

“You’re not broken enough,” you said softly. “Not like Dazai was.”

He flinched.

You tilted your head, voice low and silky. “But that’s not a bad thing.”

His eyes narrowed, fingers twitching as if he's about to start something.

You held up a hand lazily. “Try anything, and we both go swimming off this roof. I don’t think your coat floats.”

He paused.

Then, reluctantly, stepped back.

You chuckled. “Smart boy.”

Back in the infirmary hallway—

Dazai stared at the empty space you’d left.

Your coat, which had been tugged off in the scuffle, was now in his hands.

He sighed, scratching his head.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “Still does whatever he wants.”

He stared at the coat for a long moment.

Then lifted it to his nose.

Sniffed.

“...Haaah.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Dazai froze.

Slowly, he lowered the coat.

Chuuya stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed.

"......" Dazai blinked.

"......" Chuuya raised his brow.

“Ah, Chuuya!” Dazai said, voice bright. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“At least act embarrassed, bastard—!”

Dazai looked at the coat in his hand. Looked at Chuuya.

Then shrugged. “I’m just checking it for toxins. Very professionally.”

Chuuya stormed down the hall. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You wound me.”

“Where’s L/N-san?”

“Gone. With Akutagawa.”

Chuuya stopped.

“…He what?”

Dazai sighed, tossing your coat over his shoulder.

“Yep. Teleported off with my student. No warning. Just vibes.”

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re the most irresponsible executive I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, here I am. Still alive. Still beautiful.”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out of this window.”

“Oh please. As if I'd let you land a hand on me.”

Chuuya stared at him.

Dazai smirked.

Somewhere, the city sighed with wind. The game had begun again.

And Dazai knew—

You were back.

And nothing would be the same.

Back on the rooftop.

You let the silence settle as Akutagawa glared at you.

Then, casually—

“Tell me, Akutagawa. Do you want to surpass him?”

Akutagawa’s breath caught, eyes widening.

Is this heading towards where he thinks it's heading? The idea made him both baffled and extremely intrigued.

Then, quietly:

“Yes.”

You smiled.

Wider. Worse.

“…Good answer.”