033

Yokohama’s summer sun bore down like it had a vendetta.

The asphalt shimmered, mirages dancing on the streets, and every breath felt like sipping steam.

The city was alive and bustling despite the heat, crowds moving sluggishly beneath parasols and convenience store fans.

Cicadas screamed in the trees. Somewhere, a car alarm wailed in solidarity.

And in the middle of it all, stood two very out of place people wearing fancy black suits as if challenging which one of the two will pass out from heat stroke faster.

“Ah!” you beamed, holding up a plush doll like it was a sacred relic. “This is a rare find. Lucky me.”

Chuuya, standing beside you in a dark dress shirt now damp with sweat, blinked at the stuffed toy in your hands.

His hat shaded him, but even gravity seemed irritated with the heat today.

He stared.

The doll was oddly familiar—blonde curly hair, big blue eyes, a red ribbon and matching dress.

“…Wait,” he muttered, squinting. “Isn’t that the girl who’s always with the Boss?”

You tilted your head innocently, cradling the plushie like it might break.

You walked to the counter, handing over crisp bills with a smile bright enough to match the July sun. The clerk looked vaguely terrified.

Chuuya followed, bewildered. “Hold on—are we buying gifts? For the Boss?”

“Yep,” you said, handing him the plastic bag like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m buying gifts for the elders in the Port Mafia. To appreciate their hard work.”

“…Elders?” Chuuya echoed, lips twitching. “The Boss can’t be that old. He’s—what, in his thirties?”

You glanced at him like he’d said something sacrilegious. “That’s old.”

Chuuya choked.

You turned, already skipping ahead with the Elise lookalike plush swinging in the bag. “Come on. There’s a famous tobacco shop nearby.”

Chuuya caught up with a reluctant sigh, hands shoved into his pockets. “Wait. Tobacco? Who’s that for?”

“Hirotsu-san,” you replied smoothly. “You’ve seen him around headquarters, haven’t you?”

Chuuya blinked. “…The old man with the ability?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed. “He looks like he’s been disappointed for 50 straight years. I figured expensive cigarettes would cheer him up.”

“…Or kill him faster,” Chuuya muttered, but he didn’t stop following.

The tobacco shop was an elegant little place with black marble counters and gold trim.

The air inside was cool and smelled like cedar and expensive sin.

The old clerk eyed you warily as you placed an entire pyramid of imported cigarette cartons onto the counter.

“...You planning to resell these or start a fire?” Chuuya muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

“Hirotsu-san deserves quality and quantity,” you said simply. “His standards are high.”

You paid in cash again. Crisp bills. Chuuya didn’t know where you got your money, and he didn’t want to ask.

Next stop?

A sweet shop. Pink walls. Heart shaped everything.

“…Who’s this one for?” Chuuya asked, already wincing at the shelves packed with aggressively sugary confections.

“Elise.”

He paused. “She's a kid.”

You looked at him over your shoulder, smile calm. “An ability and its user exist at the same time. Which means Elise is the same age as Mori-san.”

Chuuya froze.

“…You’re saying Elise is as old as the Boss?”

You nodded.

He stared at the pastel colored cookies in your hand with visible trauma.

“…I won’t look at that kid the same ever again.”

“Good,” you chirped. “She has a refined palate. That’s why I picked the rose macarons and sugar glazed fondants.”

“I don’t even know what fondant is.”

You didn’t answer. You were too busy debating whether Elise would prefer lavender or raspberry cream.

Chuuya sighed and leaned on the counter.

For someone so terrifyingly efficient in the field, you shopped with the unbothered grace of someone who had nowhere else to be.

And despite himself?

It was… peaceful.

No bodies. No explosions. No Boss asking him to "dispose" of something without asking questions.

Just you, the heat, and this weird errand that somehow meant a lot more than it seemed.

Back on the street, Chuuya glanced sideways at you. The plastic bags rustled faintly with every step.

“You always do stuff like this?” he asked.

You blinked at him.

“Buy things for people?” he clarified. “You know… like a thank you?”

You thought for a moment. “No,” you said honestly. “Just felt like it today.”

He frowned. “What made you wanna—?”

“Chuuya,” you interrupted, smiling without looking. “Has anyone ever bought you a gift just because you were alive?”

He blinked.

“…Huh?”

“Not because it was your birthday. Not because you succeeded at something. Just… because you existed.”

Chuuya didn’t respond.

The sun beat down. Cicadas screamed louder. A light breeze passed.

“…No,” he said finally.

You turned and offered him a lollipop—red and round, still in its wrapper. You’d grabbed it without him noticing.

“For you,” you said. “For existing.”

Chuuya stared at it like it might explode.

“I—uh…”

He took it, slowly. Held it in his palm like it was something sacred.

You were already walking ahead again, smiling like a child on holiday.

Chuuya stood there a moment longer, unsure what to do with the fluttering in his chest.

The plastic crinkled as he pocketed the candy.

And then he followed, a smile on his face.

The shopping bags rustled as you and Chuuya strolled through a shaded alley near the Port Mafia’s quiet shopping district.

It was peaceful.

Until—

“U-Um… Excuse me…!”

A soft voice pierced the summer air. You and Chuuya turned simultaneously.

There stood a girl, definitely not an adult yet, fidgeting in place with flushed cheeks and shy eyes.

She was practically trembling, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

Chuuya blinked.

She stepped right in front of him, peering up shyly through her lashes.

“You’re really handsome… I was wondering if you could—”

Wait, wait— Pause.

Did she just…?

His cheeks burned. His brain short circuited.

Was this what people called a confession?! In broad daylight? With bystanders around?!

How was he supposed to handle this kind of ambush?!

“Hey, wait…” he managed to mutter, clearly caught off guard, a faint blush blooming under the brim of his hat.

“…Give me your number?”

And that was when the bomb dropped.

Because that phone?

It was pointed not at him—

“…Ah, me?” You blinked innocently, pointing at yourself with the expression of someone who had just woken from a pleasant nap.

Chuuya’s entire mental system rebooted on the spot.

She had stood in front of him, faced him, and talked to him— but wanted you?!

Chuuya’s pride suffered a mortal wound.

“…Sorry, miss.” Your hand gently landed on his shoulder as you stepped forward. Your voice was soft, kind.

“I’m not interested in dating anyone at the moment,” you said, gaze gentle but firm.

The girl looked crestfallen, until—

“Maybe in the future, if fate allows us to be together,” you added with a melancholic smile, the type that poets write about.

The girl flushed violently and nodded so fast she might’ve dislocated something before scurrying off like a startled deer.

You dusted your sleeves and walked forward like nothing happened.

Chuuya, meanwhile, grumbled darkly beside you.

“…You seem used to this.”

“Hm?” you hummed, adjusting the plastic bags in your hands.

Chuuya shoved his hands in his pockets, still pink around the ears.

“Does it make you feel better if I say that I’d date you?”

Your voice was so casual it nearly made him trip.

Chuuya almost tripped. “What—wait—hold on—what does that mean—?!”

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “I find you rather charming, Chuuya.”

His jaw clenched, and he pointed an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t tease me, L/N-san.”

You chuckled lowly. Not denying nor admitting.

The world smelled like fresh blossoms.

Pink sakura petals twirled lazily in the breeze, drifting like slow confetti. Birds chirped somewhere nearby.

Beneath the shade of towering cherry trees, a traditional wooden table stood in peaceful retirement, as though forgotten by time.

Kouyou sat there, legs crossed, a porcelain cup of tea in hand, grace etched into every movement.

Chuuya approached and bowed his head slightly.

“I’m late. Sorry, Ane-san.”

“You’re not,” she replied, sipping her tea. “I simply arrived early.”

He sat down across from her, sighing lightly.

The scenery was almost surreal, too gentle for Port Mafia business.

“Where have you gone to, lad? I haven’t seen you for hours.”

“Ah,” Chuuya scratched his cheek, suddenly aware of how sore his feet were. “I was accompanying L/N-san on a shopping trip.”

Kouyou lowered her teacup, her brows arching ever so slightly. “…A shopping trip?”

“Mhm. We went around buying gifts for the...'elders' of the mafia.” Chuuya said casually.

“…That took hours?”

Chuuya paused. “…Well, yeah.”

“You do remember he can teleport, don’t you?”

Silence.

A sakura petal landed in Chuuya’s hair.

“…Ah.”

Kouyou sipped her tea again, unimpressed. “And pray tell, why did he ask you to come along?”

Chuuya flinched. “I didn’t think about it at the time.”

Kouyou clicked her tongue softly and shook her head.

“…Is L/N-san popular with women?” Chuuya asked suddenly, eyes on his own tea. “…He just got asked out just now and it's like another day for him.”

She scoffed. “That boy is utter trash when it comes to romance.”

Chuuya blinked. “Huh?”

That was...harsh, considering how you and Kouyou weren't on hostile terms the last time he'd seen.

“Not only women, men too. He toys with affection like it’s a hobby. Makes you feel like the only star in his sky… before replacing you with the moon.” She glanced at her reflection in the tea surface.

“Disgraceful.”

Chuuya blinked, lips parted. “But—he politely turned the girl down just now. Didn’t seem like someone who’d play around.”

Kouyou’s eyes narrowed.

“…He’s just keeping appearances,” she said lowly. “It’s part of the illusion.”

Her voice cooled. Chuuya noticed the shift immediately.

“…Ane-san?”

She stood slowly, graceful like wind lifting silk. Her cup was empty.

The sakura petals danced around her feet as she turned her back to him.

“Lad,” she said, her voice calm and distant. “If you value your sanity, don’t hang around L/N unless necessary.”

Chuuya blinked, taken aback. “Huh?”

“If you don’t want to end up like his protege.”

The words chilled him.

Kouyou walked away, not looking back.

Chuuya watched her go, confused and unsettled. He glanced at his tea.

Your protege… Dazai?

What in the world did you do to that bastard that would make someone like Kouyou warn him so coldly?

Back at the Port Mafia Headquarters…

You paused in the hallway, a stack of files under your arm.

Suddenly, you sneezed.

“…Did I catch a cold?” you muttered, rubbing your nose with a slight frown.

Somewhere else in the building, Dazai paused mid step with a twitch.

Somewhere further, Kouyou sighed.

And somewhere else entirely, Chuuya was still trying to figure out what “protege” even meant when it came to you.

The mafia was many things.

Predictable was never one of them.