038

The room smelled faintly of blood and orchids. A strange combination, like rot wrapped in lace.

Mori's office was immaculate as always—everything in its proper place, everything sharpened just enough to remind you it could kill.

Elise sat on the armrest of the leather couch near the window, humming some fractured nursery rhyme, head tilted like a doll whose strings had been cut and tied anew.

She didn’t acknowledge you, but her gaze followed your movement.

You didn’t look at her.

Instead, your eyes found Mori.

He was seated, back straight, fingers steepled against his lips, that perpetual smile curving just shy of sincerity.

You stood across from him, posture slouched, arms limp at your sides like something in a display case rather than a living being.

“Why did you call me here?” you asked, tone flat, the syllables smoothed by apathy.

“If it’s about the new shipment from Vladivostok, I already rerouted it. And the bodies are—”

“No, no,” Mori interrupted softly, lifting one hand.

His smile widened a fraction.

You liked it when he smiled like that. Not now, in the past.

He slid a piece of paper across the desk with deliberate care, but didn’t release it—holding it by the corner, fingers white gloved and immaculate.

Like a magician mid performance, waiting to see if you'd reach for the trick.

You did.

The smooth drag of your footsteps over the marble floors filled the silence briefly.

When you reached the desk, you took the paper with a flick of your fingers and unfolded it.

Ah.

The first line read:

"To the Port Mafia, from the House of Suzuki: You have committed a grievous offense..."

The clan crest was there, marked in red wax and stamped over with the family head’s seal.

Your eyes skimmed the contents leisurely. You didn’t really need to read it. You already knew the gist.

After all, you kidnapped their precious little flower.

Two— no, three months ago now.

Time was difficult to track when you weren't really watching for it.

You let the paper lower, pinched between your thumb and forefinger like something sticky and faintly amusing.

"That long, huh? I thought they'd move quicker," you murmured.

Mori didn’t laugh, but the smile on his lips sharpened.

"I believe they were… careful about avoiding open disgrace. But you made it a little hard for them to keep things quiet, didn’t you?"

“I didn’t write them a postcard,” you shrugged. “Honestly, I think it’s rude they didn’t check on their daughter earlier. My dear sister must be so heartbroken.”

"Ah," Mori said, folding his hands neatly beneath his chin. "So you do admit it?"

You leaned forward, both palms resting lightly on the edge of his desk. Your face hovered over the paper.

“I’ve never denied it.”

"No, you haven’t," he agreed, tone pleasant. “Though I do wonder…”

He rose from his chair—not fully, just slightly forward, like a hawk shifting its weight before the dive.

“…What exactly did you plan to achieve, L/N-kun?”

Your smile widened just a little.

“I wanted to see what she'd do.”

It's a lie.

Mori’s expression didn’t change, but something under the surface did.

You could tell he saw through you. The temperature dropped a fraction.

“And what has she done so far?”

“She tried to stab me,” you said casually, as if discussing weather.

“Didn’t succeed, of course. Dazai interfered. He’s growing terribly nosy.”

Mori said nothing. His eyes traced you— like he was charting pressure points, weak spots.

After a pause, you added— “I’ll get rid of them.”

“The Suzukis?”

You gave a single, casual nod.

“It was my mess. Not the Port Mafia’s. I’ll clean it.”

Mori tilted his head.

"Very noble of you."

You met his gaze, unwavering. “That word isn't fitted for me, Mori-san. You know that.”

A silence settled between you like fresh snow. Heavy. Clean.

Then Mori sat back, fingers steepling. “Their attack squad is known for their precision. Strategists, rather than brutes. Are you certain you want to handle it alone?”

You arched a brow. “Are you worried for me, Mori-san?”

“Of course! You're one of port mafia's most precious asset. Oh, what should I do if I lose you...” Mori sighed dramatically.

You gave him a foxlike grin. “If I do somehow die, kill yourself for me.”

His shoulders slumped, expression turning gloomy at your words. “That's a bit too much, don't you think...?”

You chuckled in amusement. “Don't send backups for me, Mori-san. I'm afraid your kindness will lead to your men killed accidentally by me.”

Immediately, he sat up straight again, looking at you like he's trying to see what's going on inside your head.

“Very well. I’ll consider this your personal mission. Erase the problem. Send a message.”

You turned to leave.

As the door clicked shut behind you, your footsteps echoed down the hallway like a countdown to something inevitable.

The infiltration wasn’t difficult.

The Suzuki estate was old money—fortified, yes, but more for show than substance.

Security relied on reputation, and reputation had long since begun to rot.

You moved through the shadows of the estate grounds like fog—quiet, formless, seen only when you chose to be.

Yūgen no Tobari warped your body through hallways, across gardens, in and out of vision like a ghost who didn’t know it was dead.

The guards were alert, sure.

But fear makes for slow minds. And slow minds make beautiful noise when they break.

You didn’t waste time. You didn't need to.

In the corridor near the main hall, you tilted your head at a middle aged man clumsily drawing a blade, hand trembling so violently you almost felt bad.

Almost.

"Could you hold this for me?" you asked sweetly, handing him a scalpel hilt first.

He blinked.

You didn't wait for an answer before slitting his throat with a second blade, his own fingers tightening uselessly around the first. Blood bubbled up like a secret he'd meant to keep.

Later, in the servant wing, you gently guided a maid forward by the small of her back, her steps shaking.

"Go on," you whispered, soft as spring wind. "Be brave for me. Shield me from the ones ahead, and I promise your death will mean something."

She did it.

She screamed as you told her to, ran where you told her to, and took three bullets meant for you in the back.

You kissed her hand before her body hit the ground.

"Thank you for your service," you said with a warm smile, even as her glazed over eyes stared past you.

Unnecessary, but entertaining.

And so it went.

Men reduced to gurgles, women to keening gasps, walls painted in arterial red.

You did not rush. You hummed something Elise once sang. A lullaby twisted on itself.

Until…

You stepped into the pale garden near the rear of the estate, petals drifting like bits of shredded lace.

Sakura trees lined the path, dense enough to hide sound. The massacre was behind you now, nothing but a painted memory on your sleeves and shoes.

And still— you paused.

Your eyes swept the trimmed hedges.

A rustle.

Too faint for an animal.

Too frantic for the wind.

You turned your head slowly, your bloody fingers threading behind your back around the familiar grip of the knife.

Ah.

There it was.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t be here.

I crouched lower behind the bush, breathing as quietly as I could manage, watching through the small gap in the hedge as the last body fell like a puppet with cut strings.

He was beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful.

Like a painting done in blood and grace.

They’d really sent me as bait.

“Go on,” they said. “Bring back our sweet Akari-sama. This is a diplomatic mission.”

Diplomatic, my ass. I was meat. A placeholder in human form.

I clutched the scroll to my chest—the letter bearing the clan’s final message.

It was still crisp and unsullied in its lacquered tube. I hadn’t even broken the seal.

How was I supposed to give it to him?

Then—

A voice.

“Are you okay?”

Gentle. Curious. Like a child waking you from a nightmare, unaware they were the nightmare.

I blinked.

“…No,” I muttered back, shoulders slumping. “God, no. What even is this job? Why did I get stuck with this? I’m a messenger, not a damn sacrifice.”

I sighed. My voice grew lower, more bitter.

“All this for a girl who probably doesn’t even remember my name. I mean, sure, she’s pretty, and maybe I had a thing for her once, but I’m not dying for that. Hell no. I don’t even get paid enough to look at the guy who just turned this place into a blood canvas.”

Silence.

Then it hit me.

Wait.

Wait—

No inner voice has breath.

And definitely not warm breath brushing across your cheek.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned my head.

He was inches away.

Inches.

His face calm, curious, tilted just enough to make it wrong.

Those eyes—dark and starless, glittering with mirth that didn’t touch the edges.

I blinked. He blinked back.

And then—

“Hi,” he said.

I screamed internally and stumbled back like he’d just whispered the time and date of my death into my ear.

My legs caught the edge of a rock. I tumbled, scrambled back upright like a startled cat, heartbeat screaming in my ears.

He stood there, hands behind his back, like a polite schoolboy waiting his turn to speak.

“Y-You’re… you’re…”

“…Are you an informant?” he asked, voice still carrying that odd, childlike tone.

Like someone playing house with corpses.

I froze again. My mouth opened. Then closed.

Oh god.

There was no way I could repeat the lines the higher ups gave me. They were practically begging the mafia to kill me. Stuff like:

“The noble house of Suzuki, in its unparalleled generosity, chooses to forgive the offense caused by the criminal Port Mafia.”

“Those criminals should be grateful enough to bow their heads as this is a one time chance to avoid full blown war.”

“However, we expect the safe return of our cherished Akari-sama, lest this grace be withdrawn…”

Yeah. No.

He’d kill me.

He’d cut me open for fun and pull my vocal cords out to play jump rope before I got past “noble house.”

So I bowed instead. Deeply. My forehead touched the bloodstained earth.

“I-I'm here on behalf of the House of Suzuki to deliver a most humble and respectful request: they wish for the safe return of Akari-sama, and express their deepest regret at any misunderstanding that may have occurred between our organizations.”

My voice cracked. But I kept my bow.

Slowly, slowly, I peeked up.

He smiled.

Warm. Grateful, almost.

“Thank you,” he said.

I blinked.

He… thanked me?

Maybe—maybe he wasn’t what they said he was. Maybe he was just doing what he had to. Maybe the Mafia twisted him into this. He was young. Handsome. Not at all like—

Shhhlick.

I didn’t feel the blade at first.

I just noticed that my chin was wet. Red dripped onto the scroll case still clutched in my hand.

Oh.

Oh—

Then came the pain. White hot. My vision blurred and ears rang.

He stepped past me as my knees gave out.

Blood gushed in a hot spray from my throat, painting the pale garden red.

“Such polite delivery,” I heard him murmur from somewhere far away. “You’ll make a lovely message.”

The last thing I saw before everything went black was the glint of his knife behind his back and the lingering smile on his lips as he vanished into thin air, leaving petals and silence in his wake.