030

The silence in the cell was thick, almost physical.

Dust floated lazily through the still air, and the light above flickered faintly, as if even it was wary of overstaying its welcome.

Dazai stood by the door, one hand tucked in his coat pocket, the other resting loosely at his side, fingers curled just slightly under his chin as he stared at Akari.

She sat on the edge of the cot, chains clinking softly when she shifted. Her wrists were raw from the cuffs, but she held her posture with stubborn pride.

Still, her eyes darted toward Dazai now and then, weighing him.

She was the first to speak.

"...Who is he?" Her voice was soft, but barbed, like a blade hidden in velvet. Wary. Tense. But not weak.

Dazai didn’t respond right away. He tilted his head slightly, gaze lowering to meet hers in full. Cold, assessing.

She met it. Bold. Or maybe just stupid.

After a moment, he scoffed—quiet, disdainful.

"L/N-san isn’t someone you deserve to know about."

His voice carried the finality of a dropped guillotine blade. Flat. Icy.

Then he turned to leave, the soft rustle of his coat the only sound.

But her voice rose again, more urgent this time.

"L/N?" she repeated, confusion dawning into disbelief.

Then a laugh—dry, disbelieving. "No. No, that freak’s dead. There’s no way—"

Dazai’s steps stopped. He didn’t look back immediately. Just stood there, eyes narrowing, something dangerous flickering beneath that perfect calm.

She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did. But she kept going.

"He’s dead. Father said so. We had a body—there was a funeral. A closed casket, sure, but the corpse was—"

Her voice faltered.

Charred. Twisted. Almost unrecognizable.

But the eyes. Even then, even in that broken mess of a face, those eyes had been the worst part. Empty. Accusing. As if even in death, he knew what she’d done.

Akari looked at the floor, face pale, voice cracking. "It can’t be him..."

Behind her, Dazai finally turned his head slightly, just enough to glance back at her from over his shoulder.

"Do you have any idea why he kidnapped you? Why you’re still alive?"

She blinked. Her mouth opened, then shut. A beat of silence passed. Then—

She laughed.

Shrill. Unhinged. Just a little too loud.

"Of course I know," she snapped, and now her voice was trembling, hands clenched into fists.

"He wants revenge. For what I did when we were kids. That freak—he’s going to torture me, or kill me, or—or worse—"

Her voice wavered.

Dazai stared at her, expression unreadable. But the slight downturn of his mouth, the sigh that escaped him—it was the expression someone gave when a tool turned out to be more dull than useful.

"Useless," he muttered. "I’ll just ask myself."

He left without another word.

Meanwhile—

You were in the far underground hall, where the walls were lined with reinforced doors and the air was thick with antiseptic and something metallic.

Kyusaku’s cell was dimly lit, the child sitting in the corner with knees drawn to their chest, humming softly under their breath. The tune was off key. Unsettling.

The guards outside gave you a warning.

"Only Dazai-san is permitted entry without supervision. Orders from Boss."

You smiled. That placid, gentle smile that somehow made their fingers twitch toward their weapons.

"Oh? But I’m not just anyone, am I?"

Before they could respond, your figure shimmered and vanished—reappearing calmly inside the cell as if you’d always belonged there.

Kyusaku’s eyes lit up immediately.

"Mister!"

Their voice was bright, eager. The guards panicked outside.

You crouched before them like a puppeteer checking their favorite marionette.

"How are we today, Kyusaku? Did you eat well? Did anyone hurt you?"

Kyusaku grinned, rocking back and forth. "I've been waiting for you, mister! I drew something. Wanna see?"

You nodded, genuinely interested.

They handed over a crude, childlike drawing done in charcoal. You tilted your head. A house, a sun, some stick figures. One of them was on fire.

"Lovely," you murmured. "So expressive."

They beamed.

You spent a few minutes in silence, watching them. Occasionally nodding at their ramblings. Never interrupting.

You didn’t stay long. You never did. Just long enough to keep them curious. Just long enough for the guards to start sweating again.

As you rose to leave, Kyusaku tugged your sleeve.

"You’ll see me again, right?"

You smiled.

"Of course. I promise."

And with a shimmer, you vanished again. Gone before the guards could even open the door.

Humming a quiet, tuneless melody, you strolled down the sterile underground halls of the Port Mafia.

The overhead lights buzzed softly, flickering every few feet as though hesitating to reveal too much.

The air was thick with a mixture of antiseptic and something more metallic—faint, almost imperceptible, but it clung to your senses like a whisper of blood.

The visit with Kyusaku had been, as always, delightfully strange.

You found their madness endearing. That innocent mask, thinly veiled with chaos—just the kind of contradiction you adored.

And yet, as you walked, something else tugged at the edges of your mind. A presence.

Then, you saw him.

Leaning against the far wall, arms loosely crossed, Dazai Osamu stood waiting, the faintest upward curve to his lips, though the expression in his eyes remained unreadable.

He looked like he had been there for a while, posture relaxed but not idle.

He was waiting for you.

You halted for a heartbeat, then resumed your pace with a lazy smile.

"My, my," you said, voice laced with amusement. "How long have you been standing there, Dazai?"

Dazai pushed off the wall, hands slipping into his coat pockets.

"Long enough to know you're ignoring orders again," he replied. His tone was light, airy, but there was something buried beneath—something sharp.

"But I'm not here to scold."

You tilted your head. "Oh? You waited here just to see me? How sweet."

He ignored the bait. "Why her?"

You blinked slowly, expression innocent. "Her?"

"That girl. Your prisoner." His gaze sharpened, even if his voice didn't. "You usually don’t leave survivors, L/N-san."

A slow smile curled across your lips, something languid and dangerous. "Ah," you breathed. "You mean my dear sister."

Dazai’s brows twitched, almost imperceptibly. He remained still, his silence demanding more.

"Literally or figuratively?" he asked finally. "The Suzuki clan file doesn’t include your name."

You chuckled, eyes slipping closed in an expression of pure amusement. "My, did you go through her entire information file before seeing her? Makes me wonder what you would've done if I weren’t present."

"Get rid of her, of course," he said without missing a beat. "Attachment isn’t like you, L/N-san."

"True." You hummed. "Attachment isn’t like me."

There was a moment of silence before you continued, voice lighter than it should’ve been.

"She’s my blood half-sister. I’m a bastard child everyone in that family despises. I’m not surprised you didn’t find anything. They scrubbed me out of existence."

Dazai's gaze flickered. He didn’t speak, just watched you.

"Whose last name did you take?" he asked, almost idly.

"My mother’s," you answered. "A prostitute, or so they say. She seduced my father."

Then, with mock thoughtfulness, you added, "Actually, should I change my last name to Mo—"

"Please don’t." Dazai cut you off immediately, his voice unusually sharp.

"No one begged you to do that, L/N-san. For the sake of everyone’s sanity, please do not entertain such a revolting idea."

His face twisted in exaggerated horror, and you couldn’t help but laugh, soft and lilting.

“Mori-san would’ve been devastated to hear that,” you teased.

“I’m devastated just hearing you suggest it,” Dazai replied, face contorting in overdramatic horror.

“Your last name is charming. Keep it that way. No need to drag it through mud.”

“But still,” you mused aloud, stretching your arms behind your head. “He is my first and only father figure. Shouldn’t I be grateful?”

Dazai looked as though he were going to be physically ill. “You’re joking. You have to be joking.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” you said, amused.

"Anyway." He looked ahead, tone shifting slightly. "I guess I still have a lot more I need to know about my mysterious mentor."

You raised a brow. "Mysterious? How flattering. But in my eyes, my dear mentee is rather enigmatic too."

He didn’t answer. Silence stretched. Then—

"Why keep her alive?" he asked, quieter now. "You’re not being sentimental, are you?"

You met his eyes, half-lidded. Your smile was still soft, but something in it had changed. A faint crack in the mask.

"...Curiosity," you said simply.

And for just a heartbeat, something flickered in your gaze. Not anger. Not sorrow. Something darker. Colder.

Emptier.

Dazai watched you, reading every shift in expression like a map. Your past wasn’t hard to guess.

A bastard child hated by their family. A cliche trope that even the simplest mind can guess its end.

He said nothing.

But you could tell. He understood.

He always did.

Finally, he spoke again.

"Tell me—" he said, voice softer now. "What’ll you do if she apologizes? Cries for you? Starts to care?"

You looked ahead, not at him. The smile returned, faint.

"...What do you think, Dazai?" you murmured.

"Do you think I’ll feel anything at all?"

"No," he replied flatly.

And you laughed.

Soft. Distant. Like a lullaby echoing in a crypt.

He was right. And he knew it. Just as you knew he was the same.

Two voids circling each other. Reflecting each other. Devouring everything else around them.

He walked beside you, step for step.

"You know," he said eventually, "I’m starting to think I want you too much."

You tilted your head. "Only starting?"

"It’s unlike me."

"I don't think so."

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. Then, a bright smile that doesn't reach his eyes adorned his face.

"I should take care of you soon, L/N-san. Before things goes out of my control." He said sweetly.

The words "take care" don't mean anything pleasant when spoken in the Port Mafia.

"What a delightful idea. Do indulge me, Dazai." You hummed, pleased as the two of you continue stroding down the halls.

What a wonderful day it is...