013

You never expected Dazai to take on a student.

It was a quiet realization.

One of those you don’t notice creeping up on you until it’s sitting in your thoughts like a stain.

You’d been going about your days without his constant presence, and for a while, it was peaceful.

Dazai had been glued to you before. Almost literally at times, clinging to your sleeves or shoulders like a sullen cat.

But lately, he had vanished from your side for weeks, appearing only occasionally with vague excuses about being busy.

You didn’t ask questions. It's none of your business, after all.

Today felt oddly bright.

The morning sun glinted off the concrete like shattered glass, and the Port Mafia’s headquarters buzzed with low, ominous energy as always.

You had wandered the halls like a ghost, nodding to subordinates and receiving stiff bows in return.

Then, somewhere along the west wing, you heard it.

A sound. Harsh. A body thudding against the floor.

You turned your head slightly.

Through the crack of a door, you caught a glimpse.

Dazai, sleeves rolled, hand raised. Before him, a boy, lean, younger, trembling, on his knees, face swollen with fresh bruises.

You stared for only a moment.

Then you kept walking.

It wasn’t curiosity that drove you. It wasn’t disinterest either. It was... detachment.

Like watching someone else's child cry in the rain.

You knew Dazai could be cruel. That was no secret. But it wasn't your business. Not anymore.

A week later, Dazai was back by your side.

He leaned against you lazily on a bench atop the Port Mafia’s rooftop garden, staring at the sky as if it offended him.

"You didn’t ask," he said out of nowhere.

You didn’t respond.

"About where I’ve been."

You tilted your head toward him slightly. "Didn’t see a reason to."

He grinned at that, half-smirk, half-shadow. "I took on a student."

You blinked.

A student.

Not a subordinate. Not a tool or a pawn. A student.

Dazai, the boy who once followed you like your shadow. Who mirrored your gait, your silences.

You were the one who taught Dazai to hold a gun. The one who covered him in the middle of missions. You remembered his first kill. The blood splattered on his face. The silence in his eyes.

Now he had his own.

You said nothing. Not because you were bothered. You weren’t. It was inevitable. Just... strange.

Like watching a child you raised stand at the altar.

He looked at you sideways. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

You gave him a blank look. “Should I be?”

Dazai laughed. A real one. Something darker underneath.

You met the boy not long after.

You had a meeting with Mori. Routine.

He called for you with that syrupy, affectionate voice you’d long grown used to, coated in something rotten beneath the sweetness.

You’d grown adept at ignoring it. Or just accepting it.

On your way there, you passed a hallway where the air felt heavy, like it remembered something violent.

The boy was standing outside a room, posture stiff as if standing to attention.

He was thin. Too thin. With a sharpness to his expression that didn’t belong to someone so young.

But the bruises were gone now. In their place was quiet fury. Or maybe purpose.

Maybe the same kind of obsession you once saw in Dazai’s eyes when he looked at you.

He looked at you.

You looked back.

He bowed stiffly. "Good day."

You regarded him. "Name."

"Akutagawa."

You nodded. Then walked past.

He didn’t stop you. But his gaze lingered. You could feel it pressing against your back like the barrel of a gun.

Dazai brought him up again later.

"He reminds me of you."

You were reloading your gun, slow and methodical.

"That's a terrible comparison," you replied.

"I didn’t mean it as a compliment."

You glanced at him.

He smirked. But it faded quickly, as if even he didn’t believe his own joke.

"He’s strong," he added after a pause. "But reckless. Emotional. It’s annoying."

You clicked the gun shut. "Then teach him better."

Dazai didn’t answer for a while. Then, "you were always calm. Even when Mori made you do awful things. You never hesitated."

You stared at him.

"That’s not something to admire."

He laughed bitterly. "Isn’t it? In this world, hesitation gets you killed."

You looked away. The silence settled again, familiar as blood.

Later that week, Akutagawa cornered you.

You were heading to the underground training chambers when you felt a presence behind you.

Not stealthy, but determined. Like someone who didn’t know how to mask their intentions yet.

You turned.

He stood a few paces back, fists clenched, breathing shallow.

"You’re Dazai-san’s mentor."

You nodded once. “Used to be.”

His jaw twitched. "He talks about you."

That stopped you.

You blinked. "Does he?"

Akutagawa's eyes flared with something.

Resentment? No. Desperation.

"I want to surpass you."

You looked at him, really looked. And you saw it.

Something raw and unrefined, burning under his skin. Like a blade not yet forged.

"Why?"

"Because..." He hesitated. “Because Dazai-san respects you. More than anyone. More than—than he’ll ever respect me. If I beat you, then—then maybe—!”

You interrupted. "You're misunderstanding something."

He stared.

"Dazai never respected me."

The words hung in the air.

Then you turned and left, leaving him alone with that revelation.

The next time you saw him, he was bleeding.

Another mission. A botched ambush. You arrived late. Your assignment was elsewhere, but the aftermath was unmistakable. Corpses, fire, the metallic tang of smoke.

Akutagawa was on the ground, coughing blood, his coat in tatters, cloth attached to his clothes twitching weakly like a wounded animal.

You had heard about his ability from Dazai.

His ability transforms his clothing into a powerful, versatile weapon capable of slicing through anything.

You crouched beside him, your presence startling him awake.

He stared. "You—"

You summoned a bubble with one hand, sealing his wounds temporarily in a shell of kinetic stasis.

"You’re going to die if you keep rushing in without strategy," you said evenly.

He gritted his teeth. “I was doing what Dazai-san would want."

"Dazai wants results," you said flatly. "Not corpses."

You stood.

He looked up at you. "Then what would you want?"

You paused. The question was unexpected.

"I don’t want anything," you said finally. "I just follow orders."

That, more than anything, seemed to shake him.

As you walked away, you wondered, just faintly, if that had once been true. Or if it was something you told yourself to sleep at night.

Back at headquarters, Dazai was waiting.

He looked at you, then at the blood on your coat.

"Akutagawa?"

"Alive."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That idiot."

You didn’t reply.

Dazai looked at you again. This time, longer. “I wasn’t lying when I said he reminded me of you.”

You narrowed your eyes.

"You’re both so desperate to be useful. So eager to be needed by someone who doesn’t deserve it."

You stiffened.

Dazai smirked, but there was no joy in it.

"Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true."

You turned away.

But even as you walked down the hall, away from him, away from the memory of blood and bruises and bubbling silence...

...you couldn’t help but wonder if Dazai’s words were meant for Akutagawa.

Or for you.

Today...a half trained pup came to pick a fight with you.

The rooftop was quiet. The Port Mafia compound always seemed to hush itself in the presence of intent, and Akutagawa’s glare was sharp with it.

You stood across from him, hands still in your coat pockets, breath steady in the faint chill. His coat whipped behind him like a storm waiting to break.

“You’re not using your ability?” Akutagawa asked, suspicious, almost offended.

“No,” you replied, tone even. “This is to show you skill. Not power.”

Akutagawa clicked his tongue, baring teeth like a feral dog. “You think I need a lesson in skill? I’ll make you use that ability of yours. I’ll force it.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You can try.”

He lunged.

Rashoumon snapped to life with the speed of desperation, a jagged blur of black cutting through the air.

You slipped past the first strike, barely shifting your feet.

The second, you deflected with your forearm, redirecting it wide. His frustration grew louder than his steps.

Your silence infuriated him.

“Fight back!” He shouted.

You did. Barely. A block here, a sweep there. Never enough to injure, always enough to overwhelm.

Your movements were fluid, deliberate, ingrained through years of obedience and necessity.

Akutagawa, for all his power, was still ruled by emotion.

You caught his wrist mid-strike and twisted.

He hit the ground with a thud, cough rattling in his chest.

“Why… won’t you fight seriously?” he spat, glaring up at you.

“Because you don’t need to beat me,” you said quietly.

“You need to understand yourself.”

Akutagawa struggled to rise, but you stepped back, offering no help. “You think Dazai will acknowledge you if you surpass me?”

He froze.

Your eyes were cold, held no emotions underneath them, just like... him.

You stared down at him, eyes unreadable. “He won't. Not for that. Dazai doesn’t want someone stronger than me. He wants someone who survives like I didn’t.”

Akutagawa’s mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to deny it, but couldn’t.

“You fight to be seen...” You suddenly paused.

"...I suppose that's the purpose to your life, huh?" You muttered to yourself.

His eyes widened at those words. His purpose to being alive...his reason to live...

He had once asked for Dazai just that.

And he granted it. A reason to live.

That reason, is Dazai's acknowledgement.

You turned and walked away, leaving Akutagawa kneeling under the weight of a truth he hadn’t considered.

Somewhere behind you, you knew he was watching. Quiet for once. And maybe. Just maybe, beginning to understand.