020

"Eh? Kyusaku’s locked up?" You blinked, tilting your head as though the information had simply failed to register.

You stood in the Boss’ office, the ever familiar scent of cologne and antiseptic hanging heavy in the air.

Dazai stood a little to your right, hands in his pockets, and Mori sat comfortably behind his desk, his expression the picture of calm professionalism... if one didn’t look too closely at the tightness around his smile.

“Yes,” Mori said smoothly, folding his hands over his crossed legs.

“For everyone's safety. Including theirs. But that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

He glanced between the two of you, and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s talk about the damage.”

You remained neutral, lips slightly parted in a pleasant, unbothered way. Dazai blinked.

“One fifth,” Mori said, voice now edged with steel.

“One fifth of our personnel are injured. Ranging from broken bones and ruptured organs to psychological trauma. Several key rooms are in disrepair. And all of this,” he gestured with a hand.

“Because of your recklessness, L/N-kun… and your negligence, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai looked away with an innocent hum. You simply kept watching Mori, your expression empty but serene. A blank page with a bloody pen hidden beneath.

"You’ll both receive punishment," Mori continued, still in that same gentle tone that carried the subtle, quiet chill of a scalpel against skin.

You blinked once. “Punishment?”

That was adorable.

Dazai tilted his head. “What kind of punishment?”

Mori leaned forward, reaching toward a photo frame lying on the desk.

He slid it toward himself with deliberate care, then plucked the picture from within.

His fingers gripped the edge and turned it around for both of you to see.

Your smile froze.

The photograph was simple. A cheerful woman with bright eyes and a warm grin, standing in a field of flowers.

You recognized her instantly.

Your newest toy. An unassuming, overly trusting woman you’d “befriended” two weeks ago.

She had no idea what kind of monster was peeling back the layers of her life for fun. She’d been delightful.

Dazai glanced at you, confused by your reaction.

Mori’s voice was still calm. “You’re both responsible for the damage. So, your punishment is to fix it. Every. Last. Bit. From broken walls to broken bones. Together.”

Your eye twitched, but your expression remained vaguely pleasant.

“I’ll just teleport away,” you said, tone sing song and falsely sweet.

Mori smiled wider. “And then she dies.”

Your eyes widened, ever so slightly. Your head jerked back to the photo. A beat passed. Then your brows furrowed.

“That’s not fair,” you muttered, lip twitching downward like a child told they couldn't have dessert.

Mori’s tone cooled, even as his smile stayed in place. “Is it? Well, you broke mine first.”

You stared at the photo for a few seconds longer, then finally exhaled.

“Fine. I won’t run.”

In truth, it wasn’t fear that rooted you. It was inconvenience.

You liked her. She was fun. If she died, you’d be… disappointed. But only for a moment. Then you’d find someone else.

Still, Mori had won this round. He knew exactly which strings to tug. Even when the leash on you was on the verge of snapping.

Then Dazai, ever the subtle rebel, lifted a hand and asked with a deadpan voice.

“And what if I run?”

Mori’s eyes snapped to him, still smiling. “Then you won’t be partnered with L/N-kun anymore.”

Dazai’s casual air evaporated. “What?”

“You’ll be assigned elsewhere. Far. Rarely even in the same building.”

A silence dropped like a guillotine blade.

Dazai stared, for a moment too long.

Then he spoke quickly, too brightly.

“Whaaat? I love cleaning up after others! Broken bones, bloodied walls, traumatized subordinates? That’s the dream. Truly, it’s my passion!”

You choked on a laugh, covering your mouth like a polite child in church. Dazai didn’t meet your eyes.

Mori sat back, clearly satisfied.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. You two are to start immediately. The infirmary’s overflowing and three training rooms are still unusable. And do try to avoid further ‘entertainment,’ L/N-kun.”

His gaze met yours directly then. Sharp. Watchful. Familiar.

Well, Mori has taken care of you for five years now. Out of everyone, he undoubtedly knows you best.

You gave a slow blink. “Of course, Mori-san. I would never.”

He chuckled softly. “L/N-kun, I’m your guardian, not your toy. And you, Dazai-kun…” he added, eyes flicking to the boy beside you.

“Keep him from starting another apocalypse, if you can.”

Dazai simply nodded, then turned toward the door.

You followed, pausing only once to glance at the picture Mori had placed face down on the desk again.

So the game had rules now. Fine.

That just made it more interesting.

The room was packed.

Groans, whimpers, and the stifled cries of injured subordinates filled the sterile air, blending with the sharp scent of antiseptic and blood.

You were seated at the edge of a bed, calmly stitching up a wounded arm.

Dazai stood nearby, holding a tray of disinfectants and tools like an obedient assistant, though his eyes were anything but docile.

“You’ve been very brave,” you said softly to the patient, an older mafioso with a fresh, ugly gash along his bicep.

Your fingers ghosted gently across his skin as you worked, voice a silk ribbon slipping into the ears.

“Most men cry, you know. But you… you’re stronger than most.”

The man's ears flushed red. “Ah— uh, thank you, sir…”

You smiled sweetly. “Such a compliment from you. I'll treasure it.”

CLANG.

A tray of instruments crashed against the nearby table.

Dazai gave a blank look. “Oops. My hand slipped.”

You didn’t look back at him. “Slippery fingers, Dazai?”

“Must be all the blood.” His tone was flat, but his hand lingered too long when passing you the next needle.

The patient stiffened. You kept your tone sugary.

“Please hold still. I wouldn’t want to stitch the wrong part. Though I wonder... if I sewed your mouth shut, would you still be able to scream?”

He paled.

Dazai snorted quietly behind you.

The next patient had a mild head injury. You sat beside them, brushing hair from their forehead with the gentleness of a lover.

“You must’ve hit your head really hard,” you murmured. “Poor thing. Do you feel dizzy? Or is it just me?”

The patient blinked rapidly. “Sir, I—”

THUNK.

“Whoops,” Dazai said innocently, having bumped the bed with his hip and caused a small instrument tray to slide onto the patient’s foot.

“Dazai,” you said, still smiling, “how clumsy.”

He tilted his head. “So sorry. I’ll be more careful. I’d hate to interfere with your... bedside manner.”

You hummed. “Hmm, I believe you already are.”

You turned back to the patient, whispering, “Ignore him. He gets fidgety when he’s jealous.”

Dazai’s hand twitched, but he said nothing.

Eventually, your amusement waned.

As you cleaned a wound on a younger subordinate’s ribs, your gaze slipped into something colder, absent. You watched the blood well up with idle interest.

'What if I slid the knife a little deeper? Just to see what the lungs look like fluttering like moth wings. Or if I pressed here… would his breath hitch or stop entirely?'

You tilted your head slightly, scalpel glinting in the light. Your fingers itched.

“L/N-san,” Dazai said, sharp.

You blinked once, coming back to yourself. “Hm?”

“You stopped cleaning,” he said, voice calm, but his eyes were glued to the blade in your hand.

“Oh. How silly of me.” You set the scalpel down and returned to your careful work.

And then—

SLAM.

The infirmary doors burst open.

“What the hell kinda punishment— Ha!”

Chuuya’s voice rang out as he stomped in, hands in his coat pockets, already grinning wide.

“I heard the Boss got sick of your bullshit, Dazai!”

He strode straight past the injured, ignoring the blood and bandages, eyes locked on his favorite punching bag.

“And now look at you. Boss' right hand man, stuck doing nurse work like a hospital intern. Guess even the Boss has a limit for how much of your crap he can take!”

Dazai didn’t even glance his way. “Chuuya, you really do talk a lot for someone who barely clears five feet.”

“Tch. What was that, you damn bandaged twig?! Say it again, I dare you!”

“I would, but I don’t speak Short.”

You muffled a small laugh into your glove.

Chuuya huffed and took a step forward like he was going to deck Dazai— then froze.

Because his gaze had landed on you.

The moment lasted a hair too long.

“L/N-san,” Chuuya said stiffly, catching himself. He bowed slightly, posture snapping into professional respect.

“Chuuya,” you greeted with a mild, pleasant smile. “Come to mock the wounded?”

His ears turned faintly red. “Just him.” He jabbed a thumb toward Dazai. “Not you, sir.”

Dazai finally turned toward him, expression unreadable.

“So you came all the way here just to laugh at me. How flattering.”

“You’re not worth that much effort.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

Chuuya sputtered. “I’m not—!”

You watched their bickering with vague amusement.

Two dogs, circling and snapping, both trying to out bark the other. But Dazai never turned his back to you, even as he sniped at Chuuya.

Careful, even now.

You stood, walking closer to Chuuya, who straightened almost instinctively.

“Did you need something, Chuuya?”

“Just stopping by,” he said carefully.

“Ane-san wanted an update on the state of the rooms. I thought I’d… check.”

You tilted your head, stepping a little closer, watching him squirm ever so slightly under your gaze.

“How dutiful,” you murmured. “If you’d like a tour, I could show you myself.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

You chuckled.

Behind you, Dazai had gone very still.

And though he smiled when you glanced back, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Y’know,” he said lazily, “it’s funny how many people suddenly want to help when you’re around, L/N-san.”

You only smiled wider.

“Isn’t it?”

“Anyway...” you tilted your head ever so slightly as your gaze turned to Chuuya.

“Would you like to learn a thing or two, Chuuya?”

Chuuya blinked. “...Learn? From you?”

“Medical techniques. Field triage, anatomical weak points… all sorts of fun things.” Your tone was light, teasing.

“It could be useful. Or entertaining.”

Chuuya hesitated. “I mean, I already know the basics. Bandaging, pressure points. But…”

His eyes slid over you, your steady hands, the clinical precision with which you treated wounds, the odd gleam in your eyes.

“…I guess I’m curious,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

“What kind of person mentored him,” he nodded at Dazai, “without going insane.”

Before you could respond—

“Haaa~?” Dazai’s voice whined out, petulant and sharp. “You’re offering him lessons?”

You turned your head slowly.

Dazai was pouting. Arms crossed. Brows furrowed. Tantrum mode activated.

“You can’t just poach Chuuya from under Ane-san! That’s cheating,” he said, tone exaggerated like a child caught mid sulk.

“You’re not allowed to take someone else’s dog!”

Chuuya bristled. “The hell did you just call me—?!”

“And besides,” Dazai added, ignoring him, “are you bored of me already? Is that it?” He sniffled.

“I knew it. First it was Kyusaku, now it’s Chuuya…”

You blinked. “Are you sulking?”

“I’m betrayed,” he declared.

“That’s dramatic.”

“I learned from you,” he insisted, stepping closer.

“Doesn’t that mean I’m supposed to be your only student?”

“Possessive,” you sang softly, amused.

Chuuya, watching the ridiculous exchange, scowled. “Y’know what? I am going to take you up on your offer.”

Dazai’s head whipped around. “What?!”

“Yeah.” Chuuya grinned, sharp. “If it pisses you off, then it’s already worth it.”

You laughed, low and delighted. “Perfect.”

A few minutes later…

The three of you stood around a bruised and lightly concussed mafioso, who had been too slow to escape the Kyusaku incident.

He blinked up at the ceiling, dazed. Chuuya stood at your side, arms crossed but watching intently.

“This one has mild cranial trauma,” you said, inspecting the bump on the man’s head.

“Now, Chuuya. If you were to check for signs of internal bleeding, where would you begin?”

Chuuya furrowed his brow. “Pupils. Check if they’re even and reactive.”

You nodded. “Good. What else?”

As you guided him, Dazai hovered nearby with a tray of medical tools, scowling like a petulant nurse.

He handed you each item reluctantly, fingers brushing yours with too much pressure.

Chuuya leaned forward to get a closer look, and that’s when—

STEP.

“Ow—!”

Chuuya shot back, whipping around. “Did you just step on my foot, you bastard?!”

Dazai blinked innocently. “Oops. Must’ve slipped again.”

You didn’t even flinch, calmly swabbing the patient’s temple. “Slippery floor, Dazai?”

“The blood,” he said, deadpan. “So much blood.”

Chuuya grumbled but turned back to the patient, muttering curses.

Then, when Chuuya leaned a little too close again, reaching past you for a roll of bandages—

FWIP— CLINK.

A surgical knife flew just past Chuuya’s cheek, grazing the air, and landed neatly in your open palm.

You didn’t even glance away from the patient.

Chuuya froze. “Oi.”

Dazai smiled sweetly. “Ah, sorry. I meant to hand it to L/N-san. Guess my aim was a little off.”

“That was my face, you damn twig!”

“Then move it next time.”

“Wanna say that again?!”

You hummed under your breath, amused. “Careful, boys. You're scaring the patient.”

“He started it!” Chuuya snapped.

“I only wanted to help,” Dazai said, saccharine.

“You threw a knife!”

You adjusted the gauze calmly, tuning out the bickering behind you.

Then you chuckled.

“This reminds me,” you said, not looking up, “of when I was the one learning instead of teaching.”

Chuuya paused mid snap. “Huh? When was that?”

“Hmm. When I was twelve.”

Dazai quieted. Chuuya blinked.

“Twelve?” Chuuya repeated. “You learned all this at twelve? From who?”

You smiled faintly. “Mori-san.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened. “The boss? Seriously?”

You laughed, soft and musical. “Mm. He taught me everything he knew. Said I’d be useful if trained early.”

There was a silence.

Chuuya stared at you like you were a particularly interesting puzzle piece that suddenly made part of the picture clearer.

Dazai broke it by muttering, “You’re making that look again.”

“What look?” you asked.

“The one that makes people fall in love with you.”

You blinked at him slowly.

“…Is it working?”

He frowned. “No.”

“Then why are you scowling?”

“Because he’s still here,” Dazai snapped, gesturing at Chuuya.

“Taking up space. My space.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve—” Chuuya growled, cracking his knuckles.

“I have two hands,” you mused aloud. “One for each of you.”

Both paused.

Dazai stared. Chuuya flushed.

Then—

“I’m gonna punch you,” Chuuya growled.

“Try it, Shortstack.”

“Oh, you’re dead—!”

The scuffle erupted into a full brawl, punches and kicks flying. The tray of instruments crashed again.

You continued to dress the wound, calmly humming to yourself as the chaos raged behind you.

“Boys,” you said sweetly, “if you’re going to kill each other, do it after we finish stitching up the lung trauma patient.”

Neither listened.

But you didn’t mind.

After all, it was entertaining.