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Mori had always found fighting beneath him to be tedious, yet when enemies threatened what was his, he could still appreciate the delicate art of battle.

He moved with precision, his eyes focused, his every action calculated as he sliced through the air with his surgical knives.

They were more than just weapons to him. They were an extension of himself, each one expertly wielded with practiced ease.

Elise, ever the dutiful companion, floated beside him, her ethereal form flickering in and out of visibility as she sliced through the enemies with minimal effort.

Though subtle, she was sharp, directing weapons in ways no one could predict, striking down anyone who dared come close.

Together, they were a force, but even they had limits.

The problem wasn’t their skill... it was the sheer number of opponents.

The enemies seemed endless. They were hardly impressive, mostly children, some barely old enough to walk, others far too eager to die, each carrying bombs and chaos in their wake.

It was their numbers that made the fight long and taxing, and Mori found his patience thinning with each wave.

By the time the last of the opposition fell, a strange fatigue weighed heavily on his shoulders, even as Elise’s delicate movements cut through the last few targets.

Once the immediate danger had passed, Mori wiped his hands, flicking the blood off his fingers before straightening up.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, though it was tempered by an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Something wasn’t right.

He turned quickly, moving toward the sound of approaching footsteps.

However, when he entered the room where he knew his underlings would be gathering, the sight before him froze him in place.

The usually pristine and orderly space was littered with bodies, the air thick with the smell of blood and tension.

His eyes scanned the room, but it only took a moment for them to land on something far more disturbing.

His gaze narrowed, his lips twisting into a frown as he saw you, motionless, being carried by several of his men.

“What happened here?” His voice was low, filled with an icy anger that made the room feel colder.

He didn’t need an answer.

He could see the blood staining your clothes, the pallor of your face, and the clear signs of a near-fatal injury.

The mafia members holding you stumbled backward, caught in the weight of his glare.

Elise hovered nearby, her form shimmering as she sensed the tension.

Mori’s expression remained deadly serious, his usual mask of amusement replaced with something far more dangerous.

His eyes are fixed on those who had dared to let you get into such a state.

Sure, the enemies' numbers were much bigger than the port mafia but with those sloppy skills, there should be minimal injuries even to inexperienced newbies, much less hurt an executive such as yourself.

"You’re all useless!" Elise butted in, hovering around you.

"There's no way L/N will end up like this if you people came earlier!" She huffed.

"Look at his face! It's pale and ruined because of you two!"

While she lectured them, Mori chuckled.

He certainly agree with his dear Elise. Both of them are useless.

"Bring him to the infirmary." Mori ordered as he headed there. He'll treat you for the first time since you joined the port mafia.

Meanwhile, deep within the quiet, sheltered confines of your mind,  you dreamt of a dream that's blurry to remember but knew of its existence.

In the dream, it was night time when the moon's so bright.

The villagers gathered around. You who stood at the back couldn't see what the commotion was.

Suddenly, everything's black.

Then, you can see again.

This time, you're lying on the ground with an unfamiliar man crouching down beside you.

His lips moved but you couldn't hear what he was saying until the very last words.

“...my dear.”

His voice was soothing, calling you in a way that can arouse suspicion on whether he's flirting with you or not.

With a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, darkness covers your vision once more.

In the dim-lit meeting room at the heart of the Port Mafia headquarters, the heavy silence was a testament to the weight of the situation.

Mori Ogai sat at the head of the long obsidian table, fingers laced, elbows propped on the armrests of his chair.

The shadows seemed to curl tighter around him, amplifying the sharp gleam of the surgical knife he idly twirled between his fingers.

Dazai Osamu stood silently at Mori's right, eyes half-lidded, hands tucked into his pockets.

He hadn’t spoken since entering, but the subtle tilt of his head and the sharp glint in his eyes betrayed a carefully veiled interest.

He knew why he was called to this meeting, and more importantly, what he might gain if he played his part well.

Around the table sat four of the most powerful and enigmatic individuals in the Port Mafia.

Ozaki Koyo, composed and regal, her parasol leaned against her chair. She sat upright, elegance in every line of her posture.

Taking note of the fact that one seat was empty, her eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a firm line.

She had no tolerance for the recent chaos.

Colonel, arms crossed and gaze fixed on Mori with quiet respect, said nothing.

His presence was always imposing, a disciplined soldier never far from the next battle.

He awaited orders with practiced calm.

Paul Verlaine, withdrawn and unreadable, stared blankly at the center of the table.

He said nothing unless prompted, but the subtle twitch of his fingers suggested his nerves were finely tuned to the tension in the room.

Arthur Rimbaud, cool and reserved, rested his chin on one gloved hand, eyes sharp behind his curls of pale hair.

His breath came out in soft clouds of frost, his body temperature low as always.

He was patient, but impatient with fools.

Mori’s voice broke the silence. "As of two days ago, the Port Mafia’s hideout was infiltrated by an enemy faction operating"

He dropped the spoke like a scalpel onto flesh, watching their reactions carefully.

Koyo’s brow furrowed. "They’re new."

"Not entirely." Mori replied, placing the knife down with a soft clink.

"They’ve been operating in the shadows for years." He paused before continuing.

“The attack earlier was not meant to destroy us. If they wanted chaos, they would’ve targeted our operations directly. No. This was a test. A message.”

He turned his gaze briefly toward Verlaine.

“You’ve encountered these people before, haven’t you, Paul?”

Verlaine’s eyes flicked upward. “Rasha. A splinter group from the former European underground. Obsessed with abilities. They believe there’s a hierarchy of gifted, those meant to lead and those meant to serve.”

Arthur’s voice, cold and clipped, added. “They were exterminated. Years ago.”

“They rebranded,” Verlaine said simply, crossing one leg over the other.

“And they seem to have found new zealots. Children, mostly. Disposable bodies.”

“Like a cult.” Kouyou murmured. “How crude.”

Colonel exhaled smoke, shrugging. “Whatever name they go by, they overplayed their hand. Our response should be swift.”

Mori’s fingers traced the edge of a scalpel resting on the table.

Elise sat on the arm rest of Mori's chair, arms crossed, clearly displeased.

“They call themselves Shin'en no Za.” Mori said at last, eyes narrowing.

“The Seat of Abyss. They believe in purification through ability. Sacrificing the weak to evolve the strong. All very poetic.”

Mori smiled faintly, unbothered. "Though their skill is lacking, they made up for it in sheer numbers and unpredictability. What’s more concerning is that they managed to infiltrate one of our most secure locations. That suggests an insider or a mole."

Paul glanced up briefly, finally speaking. "You suspect someone within."

"Of course I do." Mori replied lightly. "It would be stupid not to."

Dazai tilted his head slightly. "Then it’s a test. You want us to flush them out."

"Partly," Mori nodded. "But first, we’ll retaliate. We’ve already confirmed the location of one of their forward camps in the outskirts of Yokohama."

He flicked his fingers, and a file slid across the table toward Koyo, who caught it without blinking.

Colonel finally spoke, voice gruff. "You want us to destroy it."

"Not just destroy it." Mori said, leaning back.

"I want you to send a message. Leave no survivors. I want fear to be the first word that comes to mind when they speak the name Port Mafia."

"Efficient." Rimbaud murmured. "But what of the wounded? I heard L/N was among them."

Mori’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "He will survive."

No one dared question further. It was an order. You must survive.

The silence that followed was tense.

Only Dazai seemed unaffected, though he knew far more than he let on.

He had watched as your bloodied form was carried down the hall, Q trailing behind with wide, tear streaked eyes and trembling lips.

It disgusted him.

"You caused this." He’d told Q coldly.

"I don't have the authority to do anything as of now, but the moment I do..." With a chilling smile, he continued.

"I'll lock you up until L/N-san wakes up. If he doesn’t, I’ll make sure your last moments are painful."

Now, in the meeting, he shifted slightly. “Jeez, how stupid. Cultists always think they’re enlightened. Until you gut their prophet."

Mori chuckled, pleased.

“Which is why you’ll be joining the mission, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai blinked. “Ah. I thought I was just the cute decoration tonight.”

Mori’s eyes glinted. “You’ll be going with them. Consider it your first assignment as an unofficial executive. If this goes well…”

There was a beat of silence.

Kouyou’s eyes flickered to Dazai with a ghost of emotion. Worry, perhaps. Colonel raised an eyebrow. Even Verlaine seemed to pause.

He's still too young. Capable, sure. But too young nonetheless. If he succeeds...

No one in the history of Port Mafia will ever be able to break his record.

As the boss, Mori's decision was way too reckless.

Dazai’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Understood."

Outside the room, rain began to fall. 

The next storm was already brewing.

The one after this...will certainly be a storm of blood.