Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yokohama, Armed Detective Agency

Before everyone in the room lay a letter in a crimson red envelope. An uncomfortable silence filled the air; not even the buzz of a fly or the creak of a chair could be heard.

Only a deathly silence.

The letter seemed to be watching them all, especially a man with brown hair. They all looked at the letter with tension and unease until a cough broke the silence.

“I’ll read the letter if no one objects.”

No one refused or raised objections. Fukuzawa examined the letter in his hands. It was elegant, with an almost shining gold seal, and the handwriting was legible. As he opened it, he looked at the page, though the handwriting was entirely different from what he was used to seeing.

“The person who wrote this letter wasn’t Mori; of that, I’m certain.”

‘Armed Detective Agency.

Given the recent events, we would like to invite the President of the Agency along with two other guests to hold a peace meeting between both organizations for the sake of Yokohama.

This meeting will take place two hours after you have read this letter. I have eyes everywhere, Fukuzawa-sama; nothing escapes my watch.

I apologize for the urgency of this meeting, but due to recent events in the Port Mafia and in Yokohama…’

“We need peace between both leaders…”

Fukuzawa looked at the faces of each of his members, placed the letter back in the elegant envelope, and then set it on the table. Everyone followed the movement of his hands as if the letter had been a death sentence for the Agency.

Which, indeed, it felt like.

Yosano was the next to break the silence, picking up the letter and reading it over, as if, at any moment, the content of the letter would change to what the true head of the Port Mafia would say.

“This doesn’t make sense. Why would the Port Mafia seek a peace treaty between both organizations? And what does he mean by ‘the recent events in the Port Mafia’? It’s simply…”

“It wasn’t Mori.”

The woman with violet hair looked at the brunette; she already knew that, but if it wasn’t Mori, then who would write a letter under his name? A chill ran through her as she pieced things together, staring intently at Dazai.

“Don’t tell me…”

“There’s a new boss in the Port Mafia who wants to formally introduce himself to us.”

Fukuzawa rose from his seat, straightening his slightly wrinkled clothes. The other members stood up automatically, awaiting instructions.

“Kunikida, Dazai,” the two addressed lifted their heads and listened attentively. “Prepare yourselves. In two hours, we have a meeting. The rest of you, stay on guard in case this is an attempt to catch us off guard.”

“Yes, President.”

---

Port Mafia Building, Yokohama

Dazai didn’t know how to feel about the possibility that Mori Ougai might be dead. He was… surprisingly calm about the situation, deliberately ignoring the voice in his head screaming that something strange lay beyond those doors.

Despite his calm, something kept him from feeling at ease. That annoying little voice in his head was screaming at him to turn around and walk away from the large oak doors.

Today had been far too quiet for his liking; there were always some sounds—the cries of people walking down the street, the late students, or the car horns of drivers who didn’t know the meaning of patience.

He looked at the oak doors, vividly recalling the many times he had waited for permission to enter and receive his orders. But, surprisingly, there was no mocking “Come in.”

The door opened by itself, revealing the office with its large windows and the old desk of the former boss. There had been some renovations, a clear example being the large bookshelf filled with books of all kinds, along with a few plants scattered here and there.

He had expected to hear some idiot shouting orders, but he was genuinely surprised to find an eerie silence and a familiar head of orange hair.

What the hell…?

“Welcome, I wanted to formally introduce myself as the new boss of the Port Mafia.”

Chuuya??

---

The three guests looked at the new person occupying the desk chair. Fukuzawa gave a slight bow, while Kunikida and Dazai gave almost a full bow.

“Thank you very much for the invitation…”

“Nakahara.”

“Nakahara-san, though our organization has quite a few doubts about how this peace treaty between both organizations will proceed.”

Chuuya smiled, looking rather… relaxed for the situation. In fact, he looked different. The most noticeable change was the new scar crossing his face—thin but visible, like the cut of a scalpel.

Another thing recently noted was that the orange-haired man’s heterochromia had completely changed; it was now the most striking feature on his face (after the scars). His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Kunikida.

“We apologize that our colleague cannot keep his eyes to himself, Nakahara-san.”

Chuuya chuckled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Oh… don’t worry, Kunikida-san, I know Dazai well. I know how to put him in his place.”

Kunikida stared in shock, looking between Dazai, Chuuya, and his boss. The brunette could only shiver with fear; he could recognize that look anywhere.

The look of a madman.

“Now… why don’t you take a seat so we can discuss the new treaty? Does that sound good?”

Chuuya’s smile widened, revealing small fangs, a hint of madness gleaming in those mismatched eyes, as chairs floated in front of the desk, finally arranging themselves.

Dazai hadn’t even spoken yet, and he already wanted to leave.

---

Kunikida didn’t know how to feel about it, especially because Dazai seemed tense—a little, but enough to make Kunikida uneasy as well.

He looked at the new mafia boss. He seemed decent; his hair was the most noticeable feature. He was calm and spoke to the President with respect, without any mocking or dismissive tone.

Kunikida looked at his notebook, jotting down a few terms or deals Nakahara mentioned, ones he had a few questions about. He glanced at Dazai, who was watching the orange-haired man with suspicion, and gave him a slight nudge in the ribs.

“Stop looking at him like he killed someone you loved right in front of you.”

Dazai looked at him, annoyed. “Maybe he did.”

Kunikida was about to ask what he meant by that, but Nakahara’s voice cut in.

“You two seem quite entertained since you’re not paying attention or taking notes on what’s being discussed between both bosses.” His tone was harsh, leaving no room for a reply, though a certain brunette had something else to say.

“Why don’t you drop this act? Chuuya knows that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll always be a loser.” Dazai stared intently at Chuuya.

Both halves of Double Black stared at each other intensely, a murderous silence filling the room until Nakahara’s soft, charming laugh cut through the tension.

“Oh... Dazai, and what act am I putting on, according to you? Enlighten me, please.”

“What happened to Mori?”

The sweet smile faded from Nakahara’s face; he raised an eyebrow, and his eyes darkened. Dazai swallowed hard; he recognized that look—it was the same look he’d had at fifteen.

“Fukuzawa-san, I apologize for mentioning this rule so late, but in the Port Mafia, the name of... that man can no longer be spoken.”

“That’s understandable, Nakahara-san. We won’t make that mistak—”

“Why not? Are you hiding something, Nakahara?”

Chuuya stood up from his desk, though his arms remained on it, looking at Dazai with irritation, as if he were the annoying gum stuck to his leather boots.

“This meeting is over. The treaty will be respected, but I expect your employees to keep their noses out of matters that don’t concern them.”

Chuuya opened the door from where he stood, a clear invitation to leave his office. Fukuzawa stood, giving a slight bow of his head, and the blond followed, offering a quiet apology. The last guest, however, had no intention of leaving without answers, especially from his Chuuya.

When the doors closed, Dazai was about to speak when a knife, which he hadn’t anticipated, grazed his cheek.

“You’ve got some nerve coming to my office, into my organization, and demanding explanations from me as if I were just some dog.”

“All I know is that the Chuuya I know would never become a Boss.”

Chuuya laughed in his face, almost pleased to have an answer for that.

“Maybe that’s because I’m no longer the Chuuya that you know.”

Chapter Text

Dazai looked on incredulously at the audacity of his dog even thinking he didn’t know him.

“Did you really think I’d be the same after you left? That I’d wait for you?”

Chuuya raised his chin, irritated by the mere suggestion that he would be the same as four years ago—not since…

No.

That was in the past; he couldn’t keep killing himself by thinking about it every day. He’d moved on. He hadn’t forgotten or forgiven, but he had distanced himself from it.

He wasn’t the same fool he was four years ago, the one who thought with his heart. No, not now. He was someone else, a new person, a better version of the pathetic code from four years ago.

He laughed at Dazai’s silence.

“Really? Did you really think I’d wait for you like a loyal dog? Bah, Dazai, a lot has changed in the Port Mafia since you left.”

“Now, there’s nothing and no one stopping me from killing you—no Mori.” He spat out the name with disgust, while the darkness embraced him like a mother holding her child warmly.

“Chuuya—”

“No, Dazai, just leave once and for all, and don’t come back. Isn’t that what you wanted from the start? To never have to see the Mafia… or me again?”

Dazai looked at Chuuya, almost as if pleading for some answer. Chuuya observed him silently; he had his own demons to battle. He couldn’t ruin his three-year plan—his… his great plan.

“I killed him.”

“What?”

“I erased every trace of Mori Ougai from this filthy world—every signature, every cell, every movement. I evolved his vision of a powerful organization.”

“I killed him.”

_______________

Dazai looked at the orange-haired man; there was no way to express his anger—his anger towards Mori and even towards Chuuya.

“You really fucked up, Chuuya. You shouldn’t have done that, there’s no reason or excuse to—”

“I fucked up?!”

And... Dazai thinks he might have fucked up too.

“You have no idea what I had to go through after you left, or maybe it doesn’t take much imagination, does it?”

Dazai’s eyes widened, like a punch to the stomach, as realization hit him.

“Chuuya, I... I’m so sorry—”

“NO!” Chuuya raised his voice. “You left, you abandoned me, you left me! You don’t get to tell me if what I did was reasonable or not, you asshole.”

Chuuya pressed a button, and after a few moments, Akutagawa arrived. When he saw Dazai, he frowned even more.

“My boy, take Dazai out of here. His partner must be waiting.”

“Yes, Chuuya-san.”

Akutagawa took Dazai by the arm, dragging him out of Chuuya’s office, out of the Port Mafia Boss’s office. As they entered the elevator, Dazai took one last look at the office.

The last glimpse he had of his Chuuya was of him aggressively wiping away his tears before letting out a scream he couldn’t hear as the doors closed in front of him.

_____________

In the elevator, an uncomfortable silence lingered until Dazai decided to confront Akutagawa.

“What happened to Chuuya, Akutagawa?”

The mentioned one looked at him with irritation. Dazai could joke about how Chuuya ended up raising Akutagawa, but maybe now wasn’t the time.

“Many things happened in the Port Mafia after you left, Dazai-san, many things.”

“Akutagawa, I’m serious.”

“Mori-san turned Chuuya into a worsened version of you.”

__________________

“Please, no, NO!”

“Come on... it’s just basic training.”

“No, no, nononono—AGHK!”

Akutagawa hid against the wall, terrified by what his eyes were witnessing. He swallowed hard, listening closely to the words that followed.

“Come on, Chuuya-kun, after Dazai-kun’s defection, I need someone I can trust! Maybe the Prodigy Demon abandoned us, looked down on the hand that fed him, but you…”

Akutagawa peeked at the scene. Chuuya was handcuffed to a stretcher, blood pooling around him, pale, with various instruments beside him—from needles filled with different liquids to scalpels and knives.

“You’d never do something like that. You’re far too loyal, too naïve to even think of betraying us. What if we give people something new, something they’ll run for their lives from?”

“The Fallen Angel—that sounds so beautiful, don’t you think?”

“P-please... Mori-san, let me go, I don’t know anything about Dazai, I swear I—!!” A scream of anguish filled the room, making Akutagawa almost hiss at the ringing it left in his ears.

“Shut up, Chuuya-kun, don’t interrupt me and answer—don’t you think so?”

“Y-Yes, Mori-san.”

“Excellent.”

__________________________________

“Much has changed since you left, Dazai-san, and I think it’s better to leave it that way.”

The sound of the elevator opening interrupted Dazai's thoughts. He looked at Kunikida and the President; the former was on the verge of a nervous breakdown while Fukuzawa looked at him as if he had discovered everything, just like him.

“We appreciate your prompt appearance at this last-minute meeting. Have a good afternoon.” Akutagawa left Dazai with Kunikida, bowed to Fukuzawa, and withdrew.

Kunikida grabbed Dazai by the shirt. “What the hell did you do?!”

“Kunikida.”

The blonde looked at Dazai, who was staring at him with vacant eyes, as if he were planning something.

“I need to find out what happened to Chuuya.”

“And I will authorize that, Dazai.”

Both employees looked at their boss—one with gratitude and the other with confusion.

“Thank you, Fukuzawa-san...”

“Can someone explain this to me?!”

Chapter Text

Ranpo was having a good day, but there was something that had been bothering him for weeks, something in his instincts telling him that something big was about to come to light.

And he didn’t know if it was about Dazai’s past or that Yosano had worked for Mori, the mafia boss, but something also told him it was neither of those things. He understood it when he saw Fukuzawa, Kunikida, and Dazai enter, each with different expressions, but they all had one thing in common.

Fear and concern.

Alarms went off in his head as he saw Dazai open his mouth, though nothing came out immediately. 'Damn, this must be big if even Dazai doesn’t know how to start.'

“Just spit it out, Dazai.”

Dazai flinched at Ranpo’s serious tone and nodded. “The Port Mafia…” He paused for a second. “Has a new boss.”

The best detective took off his hat, almost throwing it onto his desk. This was what his instincts had been screaming at him—a new leader had arrived in the organization that works in the depths of Yokohama, cleaning up the city's trash.

“And I suppose from your face, it’s someone you know, right?”

Dazai nodded. “Unfortunately, Ranpo-san…”

“Listen up, Armed Detective Agency,” Fukuzawa interrupted the conversation between the two detectives. “I’ve authorized Dazai to investigate what happened to the Mafia’s former boss, as well as to find out what plans the new leader has for the organization.”

“Yes, President!”

Fukuzawa gave a slight nod and turned to Dazai. “You can use the meeting room to brief everyone on this case.”

“Thank you, President.” Dazai looked at everyone else with a serious expression. “Let’s go.”

________________________________________________

“Chuuya—”

“NO!”

A table went flying, crashing into the wall and shattering from the force of the impact. A whimper echoed along with a heavy, ragged breath filling the room.

“Chuuya, you need to breathe. He can’t hurt you anymore. Dazai was only trying to help—”

“Help?! He said I fucked up, that I shouldn’t have killed him! That idiot had the audacity to come into my office, into my organization, and tell me what I can and can’t do?!”

“Chuuya…”

A growl was his only response. Verlaine looked over at Kouyou, who shot him a glare. The blond sighed.

“Listen, I know I’m the least qualified to say this, but… Dazai really seemed to be looking out for you with his questions, not for him. The moment he understood what happened to you, he apologized right away.”

“No, he never…! NO, you don’t know him!”

“But I do, Chuuya. And you know him, too. I know, deep down, part of you still hopes he’ll save you, that he—”

“NO, NO, NO!” A knife brushed past Kouyou, narrowly missing her eye thanks to Verlaine moving her out of the way just in time.

“He’d never care for me like that, especially not for me! M-Maybe for Atsushi or that stupid new partner of his—the one he left me for! He—” His breath caught as he clutched his throat, desperately trying to grasp for air.

He started trembling violently, reaching for his hair, only to be stopped by Verlaine, who took his hands and intertwined their fingers, finally nodding to Kouyou, who immediately stepped behind Chuuya, embracing him, pressing her chest against his back.

“Chuuya, try to match my breathing. I know you can do it.”

Chuuya sobbed, hiccupping as he struggled to get air into his lungs. He trembled and gave a faint nod.

The redhead began breathing slowly and deeply, placing her hands on Chuuya’s stomach, trying to calm his heavy sobs, easing the muscle pain the younger might suffer.

Verlaine gently released Chuuya’s hands, beginning to stroke his wrists and forearms, looking with hidden rage at the scars etched onto them. ‘If that disgusting animal were still alive, I would’ve killed him myself.’

After a few minutes, Chuuya managed to calm his erratic breathing, softly sobbing as he felt the caresses on his wrists and head. He sighed as he sniffled. This wasn’t him.

How did he end up like this?

Was he that pathetic?

Maybe Mori was right.

Maybe no one would come to save him; someone had tried, Murase-san, but he ended up dead, like everyone else who had tried to save him from the darkness of abilities and illegal organizations.

Until Dazai came along. Maybe he wouldn’t call him his savior, but he helped him understand that he was human, that he wasn’t just a line of code stitched together, that he had the right to live this life with human feelings and a beating heart that finally felt like it was his.

Until Mori brought him back to reality.

He couldn’t be human. He’d never be able to call himself "human." His heart belonged to someone else; it could never truly be his in any way. Something as sophisticated as that could never be his.

“I want to sleep… forever, and never wake up…” Chuuya’s murmur interrupted the quiet conversation between the two older ones.

Kouyou bit her lower lip, holding back her own pain at seeing the person she’d practically raised wishing for imminent death as a way out.

“You can take a nap, Chuuya…”

“Y-yeah… I wann' sleep,” he said softly as his eyes slowly closed.

Meanwhile, the two self-proclaimed older siblings held back their own thoughts and pains, watching their little brother in this state.

“Rest well, Chuuya.”

________________________________________________

"Things can't go on like this, Kouyou-san."

The redhead inhaled sharply, turning to look at the blond man holding Chuuya in his arms. She sighed and rubbed her temple.

"I know that very well, Verlaine-san, but Chuuya here doesn’t want to ask for help, and we can’t force him."

"Do you expect me to just sit here watching my younger brother die from both physical and mental pain? He already has enough with Arahabaki." Verlaine spat angrily, tightening his hold on the sleeping redhead.

Kouyou glared at him. "I'm not telling you to do that; we can help him."

"How? He won’t even let himself be hugged, nothing. Tell me, Kouyou, how are we supposed to help Chuuya with his deteriorating mental state?"

"We can help with information."

Verlaine frowned, clicking his tongue in protest. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." Kouyou looked at him darkly, then softened her gaze as she looked at her little brother. "We can’t help him physically; he’s only left with scars, but… Dazai will help our little one."

"So be it."

Chapter Text

“Oh… come on, Chuuya! It’ll be fun. Just a little prick, and it’ll all be over.”

“But… Mori-san, with all due respect…” Chuuya eyed the needles with suspicion. The liquid inside made him completely distrust his boss.

“No buts. You’re my executive. This liquid is one of my new creations! It can rewrite the human genome from scratch, but I haven’t found a volunteer yet.”

Mori stared directly at the redhead before grinning grotesquely. He snapped his fingers, and several men appeared behind Chuuya. “Strap him to the table,” he ordered.

The younger man tried to raise his fist to punch one of Mori’s men, growling as they shocked him. Activating his ability, he threw one of the men against the wall.

He fought back, giving it everything he had despite his weakened state from an earlier injection. He screamed as they grabbed his limbs tightly. 'Damn, that’s going to leave a bruise.'

They forced him onto the table, strapping down his limbs and body. He tried to lift his head to escape, thrashing violently. One of the men noticed and grabbed his hair, yanking his head down.

He cried out in pain as they tied down his neck and head. “Mori-san! Fine, I’ll do it, just don’t tie me down!” He looked at his boss, who was calmly arranging the tools he would use that evening.

Chuuya writhed, trying to break free, growling when one of the mysterious men shocked him again to subdue him. Another held his head in place. He screamed, begging, as Mori approached with a needle in hand.

“No, no, no! Please, Mori-san!”

Mori chuckled softly, setting the needle down on a table near the operating bed. He picked up an IV line and inserted it into Chuuya’s forearm veins, ignoring the younger man’s pleas and futile struggles to escape.

The dark-haired man laughed as he injected the liquid through the IV. It coursed through Chuuya’s veins, staining them a bright, vivid red. Chuuya screamed in pain, jerking his head against the strap holding him down.

“No, no, no, no, no!” he growled in agony, instinctively yanking his arms. The liquid spread up his arms, reaching his neck. His veins glowed with a bright crimson hue as he coughed and spat some of the substance out.

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the room as the liquid reached his brain. His eyes flickered between brown, blue, and a vivid red. He coughed up more of the glowing liquid.

“No, NO! M-MORI!”

“Aww, Chuuya, can’t handle it?”

His eyes widened further at the sight before him—Dazai. He was here.

But...

Why wasn’t he helping?

“Come on, pet. You’ve endured worse than this. Or have you gone soft?” The familiar mocking laughter of Dazai echoed in his mind. Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the heart-wrenching truth.

He sobbed in pain as Mori pinned him to the table, forcing his head to remain still. He whimpered, pleading for mercy.

“I understand this may hurt, Chuuya-kun, but it’s all for a better tomorrow.”

The last needle approached his neck. He begged and pleaded, shaking his head and trying to move away from the hand nearing him. “No, no, no! Please, Mori, morimorimori—”

His frantic babbling was cut short by a scream of pain.

_________________________________________________

Kunikida sighed for the tenth time in twenty minutes. He cleaned his glasses before placing them back on and stared intently at the board filled with countless pinned and taped papers, all connected by red string leading to two central images.

Chuuya Nakahara, Former Executive of the Mafia.

The first photo showed the redhead smiling openly, his eyes sparkling with a charming light that spoke of a soul brimming with life. A cute dimple graced his right cheek, and he cradled a bouquet of flowers in his arms.

Now… the second image made you wonder, What happened?

The once-lively eyes were now hollow, devoid of life. A scar marked his cheek, his complexion had turned pale, and the veins beneath his eyes glowed with an almost fluorescent red hue.

This case had the Agency on edge. No one would have ever thought they’d be investigating what had happened to the former Mafia Executive—or trying to figure out the plans of the organization’s new leader.

Kunikida glanced at Dazai, who was on his fifth cup of coffee for the day. Nearly a month had passed since the meeting between the President and the Mafia’s new boss, and they still had no leads to follow.

“This crap is useless,” Dazai growled, crumpling a paper in frustration. He grabbed another file from his desk, flipping through its contents at lightning speed, marking certain essential details while crossing out the rest.

Kunikida’s eyes shifted to the other Agency members, who were visibly uncomfortable with Dazai’s behavior over the past month. He had been irritable, bossy, and almost cold toward everyone.

The only one who seemed to understand this behavior, surprisingly, was Ranpo.

Ranpo never complained when Dazai snapped at him or gave curt responses. Nor did he return any cold glares. No, never. Instead, Ranpo reassured everyone that Dazai would calm down once they had at least four solid leads—of which they currently had none.

Kunikida’s gaze returned to the images. He still remembered what Chuuya was like before becoming… this. He had been confident, a bit aggressive when speaking or being honest, but undeniably the best at his job.

He could only hope that some clue—any clue—would fall into their laps soon.

_______________________________________________

It only took a week for them to find the first lead—and ironically, it “fell from the sky.”

Someone had left a letter at the Agency’s office. At first, they assumed it was just correspondence for another case, but when Yosano read the letter to herself, her eyes widened more and more as she went through it.

“A lead! This letter is a lead!” she exclaimed, holding it up before sprinting toward Ranpo and Dazai. The latter jolted awake from his brief ten-minute nap as she handed them the letter. “To sum it up, it’s from a member of the Port Mafia. They’re saying they have information to help us and are asking to meet tomorrow at 9 p.m. at the address written here.”

Dazai read the address, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recognized who had written the letter. Though the handwriting alone had already given him a pretty good idea.

He might not get along with his older sibling, but if it meant gaining information that could help Chuuya, he was willing to accept even the smallest scraps.

“I know who it is. Yosano and Atsushi will come with me tomorrow. She’s not hostile, just here to give us almost everything we need.”

Yosano raised an eyebrow. “She?”

Dazai chuckled. “Yes, she. I also suspect her older brother will be there, which might be even more helpful.”

Atsushi sighed in relief, silently thanking the heavens that his mentor was gradually returning to his old self. Many called Dazai dramatic and lazy, but seeing him work day and night was something out of a horror movie.

Still… Atsushi couldn’t help but feel concerned for Chuuya-san. Even though he’d hardly spoken with him, he understood why people respected him. The way Chuuya carried himself, the way he explained things, and the way he treated everyone equally—whether they were of the “Light” or the “Darkness.”

Atsushi could only hope his abilities would be useful for this case. It was clear how important Chuuya-san was to Dazai, and if helping Chuuya would help his mentor, Atsushi was prepared to give it his all.

No matter the cost.

________________________________________________

[9:00 PM, 22×× ××××]

The three detectives from the Agency waited at the designated meeting spot. Atsushi scanned the surroundings, listening carefully for even the faintest sound of a droplet or shifting object. Yosano sat on a crate, smoking in boredom, tired of waiting for this so-called “lead” to show up—though, as it turned out, the lead was human.

“My deepest apologies for the delay, Dazai-san…”

Yosano and Atsushi both looked up, curious about the young woman approaching them.

Her long hair swayed gracefully in the soft breeze as she clasped her hands together, apologizing again for her supposed tardiness (she had arrived exactly on time).

“It’s good to see you, Gin-chan.”

Chapter Text

The room was silent, but in Chuuya's mind, Mori's words echoed like an endless echo. 'All for a better tomorrow, Chuuya-kun.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could erase the image of the needles, the laughter, and that burning sensation that still seemed to pulse in his veins. But the heat remained, just like the scars.

"You look tired, boss," Verlaine said from across the office. His voice was neutral, but there was a tension he couldn't hide.

"It's none of your business," Chuuya replied, his sharp tone barely masking the tremble in his hands.

Verlaine watched him closely, his eyes briefly focusing on the way Chuuya clutched his left arm, as if trying to contain an invisible pain.

"If you keep ignoring what's happening to you, you're going to destroy yourself," Verlaine said, crossing his arms.

Chuuya slowly turned his head, his eyes filled with a mix of fury and desperation, his body language showing how indignant and annoyed he was at those words. "So what? Do you care?"

The blonde sighed but didn't answer. He had learned that it was useless to argue with Chuuya in this state. Instead, his thoughts went to the meeting with Gin and what it meant for the balance of the Mafia. There were too many variables, and Chuuya was on the verge of breaking himself, like a vicious cycle.

He watched Chuuya's movements carefully, his gaze not missing the slight tremors in the Boss's hands, how he avoided brushing his sleeves on his forearms, and how pale he was compared to when he first saw him.

A bead of sweat fell from his forehead to his jaw. He was worried, maybe he didn’t fully understand human emotions, but he understood what was happening. His little brother was killing himself just for doing something so simple for humans, something that comes from the very genes of a baby’s creation.

The instinct to survive.

Chuuya did the unthinkable just to escape and survive Mori’s grasp.

Maybe... maybe Gin had achieved something, Chuuya was on the verge of breaking, and the Mafia wouldn’t survive that.

_______________________________________________

Meanwhile, at the Armed Detective Agency

Dazai stood in front of the board in the meeting room, his eyes scanning the connections Kunikida and Ranpo had mapped out. Gin had provided valuable information, but not enough to see the whole picture.

"The substance Mori used on Chuuya," Dazai began, his voice deeper than usual, with a hint of desperation and concern. "Seems to be part of a larger series of experiments. This wasn't something improvised, this goes... years back."

Ranpo, sitting next to him, absentmindedly chewed on a candy. "And, as always, someone is hiding something. Gin gave you enough to keep you interested, but not enough to solve anything. What do you think he wants to protect?"

Dazai leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the photo of Chuuya on the board. The image kept tormenting him. He remembered their time together, the arguments, the fights, the little moments where they could rely on each other in the face of a problem... But also the moments when Chuuya showed a human side few knew.

"He’s not protecting something," he finally answered. "He’s protecting someone."

Kunikida frowned. "Chuuya?"

"Of course," said Ranpo, pointing at the photo of Mori with his finger. "But she’s also protecting herself. If they reveal too much about what happened, the consequences won’t just be for Chuuya."

"We need to get more information," Dazai said, standing up. His usual energy seemed replaced with unsettling determination, the emptiness in his eyes had slightly disappeared, with a small gleam in them. "If we keep waiting, we’ll lose him."

_______________________________________________

Kouyou entered without permission, as she usually did. Her presence filled the room with a calmness that Chuuya almost felt physically. But the calm didn’t last long, the good things always end quickly.

"How long are you going to pretend everything is fine?" she asked, her tone stern, her brows furrowed as she looked intently at the appearance of her former charge, almost as pale as a sheet of paper, the veins under his eyes visible from where she stood.

"I’m doing what I can," Chuuya replied, gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into fists, so tightly that internally, the orange-haired man was thankful for wearing his leather gloves.

"No, you're letting everything fall apart. Verlaine knows. I know. Even the idiots who follow you know."

Chuuya slammed his fist on the table, standing up in fury. "If you have something to say, say it already!"

Kouyou slowly approached, standing in front of him, circling the desk. "You’re on the edge, Chuuya! Mori left something in you that won’t disappear just because you deny it. If you don’t face what’s happening to you, you’re not just going to destroy yourself. You’re going to take us all down with you."

The words hit him like a slap. He shut his eyes, trying to maintain control, but the images came back: Mori, the needle, his voice, that disgusting smile of his, which he kept until the end. He swayed slightly, and Kouyou was able to reach him just in time, holding him before he could fall.

"You don’t have to do it alone," she whispered, slowly taking Chuuya’s hands, noticing how the younger man looked at their joined hands cautiously. Kouyou would lie if she said that didn’t affect her.

All that shining confidence, that stubbornness, the loyalty, his fierceness in giving orders and how he took care of everyone under his command. It had been reduced… to this, a cold, distrustful body, barely speaking, cautious of even giving orders, a body without a soul to protect, a person on the verge of breaking to even care about anyone else.

She lifted her hand to place it on Chuuya's cheek, holding back her own tears as she watched her charge shrink away, squeezing his eyes shut and trembling. She gently placed her hand on his cheek to stroke it slowly.

"I..."

Chuuya’s soft voice interrupted Kouyou’s sea of thoughts, she was startled to see tears, with a faint red shimmer, running down his cheeks.

Chuuya’s eyes showed panic, fear, and horror, which scared the older woman even more, but her heart shattered at the words of her little brother.

"I... I don’t look like him, right, Ane-san?"

Kouyou couldn’t hold back her tears any longer, hugging Chuuya tightly, sobbing into his hair.

"No, my boy, in this or any universe, you will never look like him. Never."

Chuuya could only clutch at his older sister’s kimono, sobbing hard as he trembled.

________________________________________________

Back at the Agency, a new envelope was left in the mail, which was immediately seized by Ranpo, who opened and read its contents. He had been doing this with all the letters that arrived.

Ranpo analyzed the contents of an envelope someone had left at the entrance that morning. Inside was a single sheet with information about Mori's experiments and a warning:

"The truth is not in the files. It’s in his blood."

Dazai took the note and stared at it, reading the sheet with a sarcastic smile. "This isn’t just a warning. It’s an invitation."

"Invitation to what?" Atsushi asked.

Dazai turned toward the board, his eyes gleaming with cold intensity, placing the sheet next to other attached papers on the board. "To understand what Mori really did to Chuuya."

Chapter Text

The air in the Agency's meeting room was tense. The detectives gathered around the table as Dazai unfolded the notes and the envelope he had received. Ranpo, sitting on the edge of the table, held a candy between his fingers, his expression distant yet analytical. Kunikida adjusted his glasses, while Atsushi looked at the photographs of Chuuya pinned to the board.

"The truth is in his blood," Yosano read aloud, her eyes analyzing each word of the anonymous message. "If this is what I think it is, Mori didn’t just experiment on Chuuya; he turned him into a living weapon."

Dazai nodded, crossing his arms. "The substance Mori developed wasn’t just a simple poison or drug. It's something more. A biological experiment designed to alter the very essence of whoever receives it."

"And what’s the purpose?" Atsushi asked.

"Control," Dazai said without hesitation. "Mori always wanted the perfect pawn, someone who could wield powers beyond imagination and remain under his absolute command."

Kunikida frowned, pointing to a recent photo of Chuuya on the board. "But Mori is dead. If Chuuya is no longer under his control, what keeps him in that state?"

"Residual effects," Yosano replied, studying the note and photos. "If the substance alters the body on a genetic level, it doesn’t matter if Mori is alive or not. Chuuya could be fighting against something that’s destroying him from the inside."

Ranpo let out a sigh, dropping the candy into his mouth. "We should find the original formula for that liquid. Or someone who knows more about those experiments."

Dazai looked at the envelope in his hands. "And I think I know exactly who to ask."

Chuuya was in his office, staring at a half-empty glass of whiskey. The dim lights barely illuminated the scars on his face, the glowing marks that ran across his skin as though they were alive. The glass trembled slightly in his hand, reflecting his irregular breathing.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" he murmured, as if speaking to Mori’s ghost. "Turn me into the monster you always said I was."

Kouyou entered silently, her calm expression belying the concern in her eyes. "Chuuya, you need to rest. You’re pushing yourself to the limit."

"I work because if I stop, I’ll burn out," he replied without looking up.

"You’re burning out anyway," Kouyou said, approaching him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, but Chuuya jerked away sharply.

"I don’t need you to tell me what I already know," he growled, standing up. His voice trembled, not from anger, but from something deeper, something Kouyou couldn’t reach.

Before she could respond, Verlaine entered the office with a serious expression. "We have a problem," he announced.

Chuuya turned to him, his face turning into a mask of contained fury. "What now?"

"One of Mori’s labs has been compromised," Verlaine said. "It looks like someone’s using it to track the experiments he did on you."

A chill ran down Chuuya’s spine. "Who?"

"If I had to guess..." Verlaine looked him in the eye. "Dazai."

The abandoned laboratory was on the outskirts of Yokohama, hidden behind the façade of an empty warehouse. Dazai, Yosano, and Atsushi arrived cautiously, their footsteps echoing on the metallic floor.

"This is bigger than I thought," Yosano murmured as she surveyed the remnants of medical equipment and empty capsules lined up against the walls. Scattered documents covered the tables, many stained with dark, dried liquid.

Dazai picked up one of the papers, studying the handwritten notes. "Mori documented every phase of the experiments. This liquid doesn’t just alter a user’s abilities; it amplifies them to the point of making them unstable."

Atsushi looked around nervously. "Does that mean Chuuya-san could...?"

"Lose control," Dazai finished, tucking the notes into his coat. "If Mori pushed him to the limit, this could kill him. Or worse."

Before they could move, a loud noise made them turn. The back door of the laboratory swung open suddenly, and Chuuya's figure appeared in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by the lights from outside.

"Dazai," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Atsushi stepped forward, but Dazai raised a hand to stop him. "We’re looking for answers, Chuuya. About what Mori did to you."

"That's none of your business," Chuuya growled, stepping into the laboratory. His presence filled the space like an imminent storm, and Atsushi felt the tension in the air.

"It is my business because this isn’t going to stop you," Dazai said, facing him. "What Mori injected into you isn’t something you can ignore. It’s changing you. I know. I can see it. We all can, except for you."

"And what if it is?" Chuuya took another step closer, his eyes burning with a mix of fury and pain. "What are you going to do about it? Save me? We both know how the last time you tried that ended."

The room fell silent. Yosano and Atsushi exchanged tense glances, while Dazai held Chuuya’s gaze.

"I didn’t come to save you," Dazai said finally, his voice soft but firm. "I came to make sure you don’t end up destroying yourself."

Chuuya clenched his fists, but something in his posture relaxed slightly. However, before he could respond, the laboratory shook with a nearby explosion. The four of them turned toward the sound, their combat instincts kicking in immediately.

"What was that?" Atsushi asked, running toward the door.

Dazai stopped him, looking at Chuuya. "Looks like we’re not the only ones interested in this place."

Chuuya sighed, activating his ability as he walked toward the exit. "Perfect. Let’s see who’s eager to die today."

Dazai smiled slightly, following him. "That sounds like the Chuuya I know." Chuuya just rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Dazai Osamu," said the leader, his deep voice resonating in the room, sending a slight chill through Atsushi. "We finally found you."

Dazai looked at the man with a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Ah, looks like Mori still has secrets even from the grave. Who are you?"

"The one who will complete his work," the man replied. "I am Kazuma, and I came for what’s left of the experiment."

Dazai let out an exasperated sigh. "There’s always some lunatic obsessed with Mori’s legacy. Atsushi, get ready to fight."

Before Dazai could respond, Kazuma sneered, noticing Chuuya’s presence. "How convenient. The key to everything is right here."

"What the hell does that mean?" Chuuya frowned, but the red glow in his veins seemed to intensify as he sensed the threat.

Kazuma pointed at Chuuya, his men surrounding him. "You are the perfect experiment, Nakahara. And I’ll do what Mori couldn’t: unleash the true potential of Arahabaki."

Chuuya gritted his teeth, his ability flaring with a bright scarlet flash. "The only thing you’re going to unleash is your death."

As the fight raged outside, Yosano stayed behind, sifting through more documents in the laboratory. Among the papers, she found something that made her stop.

Yosano picked up the file in her hands, trembling, startled by a loud noise. She sighed and then looked at the file with determination before opening it.

Outside, the screams and explosions continued as Dazai and Chuuya fought side by side, though the shadows of their past threatened to destroy any chance of reconciliation.

"Chuuya, you're losing control!" Dazai shouted as an uncontrollable gravity wave shattered the ground around them.

"Shut up!" Chuuya roared, landing a devastating blow against Kazuma, who easily dodged it. "I don't need you telling me how to fight!"

But Dazai didn’t listen. Instead, he used the chaos to move closer to Kazuma, quickly touching his arm. Kazuma’s ability deactivated immediately, and the man staggered back, a look of surprise crossing his face.

"Thanks to me, you can rest for a moment," Dazai said with a mocking tone as he shoved Kazuma toward Atsushi, who immediately knocked him unconscious.

Back with the Agency’s doctor, Yosano was frantically flipping through the file scattered across a rusted table. Amid incomplete charts and half-written notes, a thick part of the file labeled “Arahabaki: Version 3.1” caught her attention. She opened it, her heart sinking.

The first pages described the substance as a biological experiment aimed at "maximizing the efficiency" of the bond between the host and Arahabaki. Its purpose: to create a soldier with uncontrollable powers and absolute obedience. But as she read on, her hands began to tremble.

"The compound causes irreversible genetic alterations, including: visible manifestations on the skin and veins, extreme emotional fluctuations, and a theoretical condition called 'progressive fusion'... The user's consciousness will begin to merge with that of Arahabaki, leading to a state of total subordination."

Yosano gritted her teeth, moving to the next page. Handwritten notes from Mori adorned the margins with phrases like "perfect, but unstable" and "Nakahara is the key." She felt a surge of fury as she read how Mori described Chuuya as an "ideal weapon" instead of a human being.

Then, she found a paragraph that made her stop.

"The stabilization process is incomplete. An additional catalyst is required: direct access to the core of Arahabaki, housed within the user. Alternatively, a suppressing neutralizer could sever the bond entirely. This method carries high risks."

The page was partially burned, and the rest of the information was illegible. But the meaning was clear: Mori had never had complete control over what he had done to Chuuya. He had toyed with his body and mind without fully understanding the consequences.

"Goddamn monster," she murmured, a pang of guilt and rage welling up inside her. Mori had destroyed Chuuya, just as he had with others, just as he had tried to do with her.

With her hands still trembling, but now from anger, Yosano tucked the file into her bag. Her mind was torn between the duty to help Chuuya and the growing concern that his condition might be irreversible. What she had read explained so much: the outbursts of anger, the marks on his skin, even his physical collapse.

She closed her eyes for a moment to steady herself. No matter what has happened, if there’s a way to save him, she would find it. But she knew she couldn’t do it alone. They needed more information. They needed someone who could get closer to Chuuya and get answers.

From outside, the explosions and screams shattered the silence, pulling her out of her thoughts. Dazai and Chuuya were fighting, as expected. But this time, Yosano knew it wasn’t just a battle against enemies. It was a race against time and the monsters Mori had left behind.

The air in the laboratory vibrated with tension. Chuuya staggered slightly as he approached Dazai, his red marks glowing with a threatening light. Each of his steps seemed to charge the room with a gravity that wasn’t just physical.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here, Dazai?" Chuuya growled, his voice cracking between fury and something deeper. "This doesn’t concern you."

Dazai, with his usual calm, tilted his head slightly. "I'm trying to help you."

"Help me?" Chuuya laughed, a bitter, dry laugh that never reached his eyes. "Help me? You have no idea what this is! You have no idea what it did to me. What it turned me into!"

Dazai didn’t move. He knew that any wrong gesture could ignite Chuuya's fury even more. "Then tell me, Chuuya. Tell me everything. I’m listening."

The redhead stopped, his shoulders tense, and a shadow seemed to fall over his face. "You want to know? You want to know what it did?"

"Tell me."

“It bound me to Arahabaki. It injected me with that damn poison over and over until it stopped hurting... at least physically. ‘It’s for a better tomorrow, Chuuya-kun,’ it said, as if that justified everything. As if I was nothing more than its war toy.”

His eyes filled with tears that didn’t dare fall. His dignity was nearly extinct, he couldn't let it end by showing weakness. "Mori didn’t just destroy me physically. It took everything I thought made me human. And you..." His voice broke. "You left me. You left me with him."

“Chuuya—”

“Shut up!” he shouted, striking the air with his ability, sending a shockwave that shattered the tables around him. To Dazai's surprise, it wasn’t directed at him but at an empty space in the lab. "We're talking!" he growled to whoever he was seeing in his mind.

He turned back to Dazai, even angrier now. “Do you know how many times I thought you would show up? How many times I waited for someone to pull me out of that damn darkness? But you never did!”

Dazai bit his lower lip, for the first time at a loss for words or actions. These were some of the many reasons Chuuya was the most fascinating person he had ever met in the world—he always managed to leave him speechless or without action, making Dazai's heart race with his words or simple actions, like asking if he'd eaten anything that day.

But in these moments, staying silent wasn’t the best choice.

“Just… just don’t get involved, Dazai! Let me rot with whatever the hell Mori put in my blood! Look at me!” Chuuya moved closer to the brown-haired man, finally sobbing, no longer able to hold it in. "Im not the Chuuya you knew, Now.. Now im this."

“C-Can you still even look at me or love me like before?

Dazai stared at Chuuya’s face, studying the different constellations of scars and freckles on his orange-haired face, waiting for Chuuya’s next words. He took a deep breath as he waited.

“Even if I’m...” Chuuya looked with a faint glimmer of hope, “different?”

Dazai let out a soft laugh, a warm and gentle laugh only directed at Chuuya. "Oh, Chuuya, it doesn’t matter how much you've changed or what you think you are now. I've always seen you for who you really are: You. And if I ever loved you... I never stopped. It’s not about who you were before, it’s about who you are now."

He spoke softly, then placed his hands on Chuuya’s face. Slowly, Chuuya’s tension began to melt, and he closed his eyes, collapsing into Dazai’s arms. Dazai embraced him by the waist.

“Rest well... Chuuya.”

Chapter Text

Weeks had passed since Chuuya had transformed before their eyes. The red marks covering his skin, his erratic behavior, and his sudden withdrawal from everyone had left an indelible impression on Yosano.

Sitting in her infirmary, she reviewed papers with a glass of cold tea within reach. But her gaze wasn’t focused on the reports. She was lost in thought.

Chuuya.

It was impossible not to draw parallels between him and her own experiences under Mori. Although she had survived the hell of being used and abused, she had the support to rebuild herself. Chuuya, on the other hand, seemed to drown more and more every day in the shadows Mori had left behind in him.

She felt powerless. The doctor who could heal almost any physical wound couldn’t find a way to heal Chuuya’s shattered soul.

“Maybe I never truly wanted to help,” she murmured to herself, her tone tinged with self-criticism. “Maybe I’m just trying to make up for what I couldn’t save in myself.”

Guilt weighed heavily on her. She had done what she could: analyses, recommendations, even trying to talk to him through intermediaries like Akutagawa or Kouyou. But Chuuya kept pulling away, sinking into a pit no one else seemed able to reach.

Sighing, she set the papers on the table and stood. She had tried to forget her worries with long hours in the infirmary, but tonight she felt the need to escape. Without thinking too much, she grabbed her coat and headed to the bar where she often sought solace on nights like this.

________________________________________________

Chuuya had lost track of time since that transformation. He didn’t remember the days of the week, nor did he care. All he knew was that the red marks kept glowing, a constant reminder of what he had done and what Mori had left inside him.

But what kept him awake wasn’t the physical pain. Since that night, his powers had started to fail constantly, as if he were an immature child with his abilities. He could barely use his ability for more than five minutes, rendering him completely useless.

He was somewhat grateful that during his time on the streets, he had learned to build small smoke bombs or ones with dynamite. Yet, he missed creating his own weapons. But being labeled as "completely useless" wasn’t his only burden. His shoulders ached under the weight of his arguments with those he once considered family.

First, it had been Kouyou. She had tried to talk to him about his absences and his state, but her words had irritated him. “I don’t need you to save me, Ane-san,” he had shouted before storming off from the conversation.

Then, it had been Akutagawa, who, with his usual seriousness, had asked him to stop acting like everything depended solely on him. That conversation had ended with Chuuya slamming the table and Akutagawa leaving in silence.

Even Verlaine, his biological brother, had tried to reason with him. “What’s the point of being the boss if you destroy yourself in the process?” he had said, but before he could add anything else, a knife grazed the loose strands of his blond hair, silencing him immediately.

They had all looked at him with concern, but he only saw their words as attempts to control him. Didn’t they understand he was doing this for them?

“Idiots,” he muttered as he walked toward the nearest bar.

________________________________________________

The bar was almost empty, lit only by the faint glow of red and blue neon lights that flickered to the rhythm of the soft background music. Yosano was sitting in a corner, idly playing with the edge of her glass while her thoughts wandered. She had come seeking some calm, but the last thing she expected was to see Chuuya enter, his jacket disheveled, his hair messy, and an aura that screamed "contained chaos."

“Well, what a surprise to see you here,” murmured Yosano as he sat across from her.

Chuuya didn’t respond immediately. He simply gestured to the bartender and ordered a double whiskey before looking at Yosano.

“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked, his tone teetering on sarcasm but tinged with exhaustion.

Yosano, without pretense, went straight to the point. “What are you doing here, Chuuya? You don’t seem like someone who’s looking for distractions in a bar.”

Chuuya let out a bitter laugh, bringing the glass to his lips. “Distractions? Do you think I have time for that?”

She observed him, seeing beyond the façade. “No. But you look like someone who has too much bottled up in that stubborn head of yours.”

There was a moment of silence. Chuuya spun the glass in his hands, watching how the golden liquid reflected the light. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, almost inaudible.

“I killed him.”

Time seemed to freeze. Yosano frowned, leaning slightly toward him. “Who?”

“Mori,” Chuuya said, with a twisted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I was the one who killed him.”

As Chuuya spoke, memories invaded him. He described how he had endured months of physical and psychological torture at Mori’s hands, how his hatred had grown with each injection, each manipulative word.

“It wasn’t quick,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I wanted him to feel what I felt. So I watched him writhe… and I didn’t stop until he stopped breathing.”

Yosano listened in silence, letting the words flow. She knew Chuuya wasn’t seeking absolution.

When he finished, Chuuya let out an empty laugh. “You know what’s worse? I thought I’d feel.. Free. That killing him would be the end of it all… but it wasn’t. Now he’s still here.” He pointed to his head. “He doesn’t torture me physically, but every night and day, he’s there laughing, mocking me for the pathetic state I’m in.”

“I haven’t... been able to eat properly, although Ane-san, or as you know her, Kouyou, helps me with that. Mori… he somehow made me believe food was a reward. Before, I already ate little since I was a brat, but after that, it got worse.”

Yosano took a sip of her drink, choosing her words carefully. “Death doesn’t always close wounds, Chuuya. But what you did… was survive. And that has such a big meaning, even if not many people think that. Let me tell you… I’m very proud to know you came out of that situation alive. Even with the scars, you’re here, with us.”

He didn’t respond immediately, surprised by the word “proud” coming from Yosano’s mouth. His hands stopped trembling slightly, holding back tears, and he tried to smile, though it came out as more of a grimace. “Surviving, huh. I guess that’s something.”

Yosano smiled a little, not knowing what else to say, though she doubted Chuuya wanted to talk more.

The bar’s music continued as the two sat in silence. Yosano didn’t push further; she knew she had said enough. Chuuya finished his drink, stood up, and before leaving, murmured something she barely managed to hear.

“Thanks for listening.”

Yosano watched him leave, his thoughts as heavy as the air in the bar. Because he knew that for someone like Chuuya, the real showdown was yet to come.

Maybe all Chuuya wanted was to be heard.

________________________________________________

Kunikida closed his notebook with a sharp snap. Weeks had passed, and he had watched how the Agency seemed to fracture under the growing tension surrounding Chuuya’s situation. Dazai, usually sharp-witted and carefree, had become distant. Yosano was quieter, as if carrying an invisible weight. Even Atsushi, usually brimming with optimism, was beginning to show signs of strain.

This couldn’t go on. As a responsible member of the Agency, it was his duty to find solutions, not sink into uncertainty.

He gathered the reports they had so far: Gin’s cryptic note, the data from the laboratory, and Dazai’s observations about Chuuya’s glowing marks. Everything pointed to one place: the Nest.

As he reviewed the documents, an uncomfortable thought surfaced in his mind. ‘How much of this is our fault?’ Thinking of Chuuya as an ally, and not just an enemy, had forced him to reevaluate the Agency’s actions in their struggle against the Mafia. Had they ignored the signs of what Mori was doing? Had they, by inaction, allowed Chuuya to fall into this state?

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. There was no time for blame now. If the Nest held answers, it was their responsibility to find them.

“Kunikida-san.”

Atsushi’s voice broke through his thoughts. The younger detective stood at the door, worry etched on his face.

“What is it, Atsushi?”

“It’s about Chuuya-san. I think… we need to do something. We can’t just keep letting this consume him.” He spoke quietly, glancing toward Dazai.

Kunikida followed his gaze. Dazai sat eerily still, his eyes fixed on a dead point in the room. His nails were pressed into his palms, drawing tiny drops of blood, his furrowed brow deepening. Kunikida frowned and looked back at Atsushi.

“I agree,” Kunikida said slowly. “But before confronting him directly, we need more information. And that means focusing on the Nest.”

Atsushi hesitated before asking, “Do you think we’ll find something there that can help him? We don’t know much about the place… almost nothing, really.”

“If we don’t try, we’ll never know,” Kunikida replied, his determination as steadfast as the words he wrote in his notebook. “Gather Dazai and the others. Let’s draft a plan to locate it.”

[.....]

The Agency gathered in the conference room, with Kunikida standing at the head of the table. He explained the clues they had so far, pointing to partial coordinates and the list of coded names from Gin’s letter.

“This is what we know,” he began, adjusting his glasses. “The Nest isn’t just a laboratory. It’s a hidden facility Mori used for his darkest experiments. If we can find it, not only can we help Chuuya-san, but we can dismantle what remains of Mori’s legacy. Perhaps we can even save others who’ve suffered the same fate.”

Dazai, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “It’s a solid plan, Kunikida. But don’t forget, this… ‘Nest’ won’t be easy to find. Mori wasn’t careless. This might all be part of his plan, and—”

“Let’s not be so negative,” Tanizaki interrupted. “Even small steps will help us in the long run.”

Ranpo gave Tanizaki a proud look, who smiled a little as Kunikida nodded.

“Exactly,” Kunikida said. “That’s why we must be methodical—and quick.”

The team exchanged glances. There was a silent consensus: this was something they had to do, not just for Chuuya, but for everyone who had suffered under Mori’s shadow.

________________________________________________

Chuuya stuck out his tongue slightly as he connected some wires, focused and peering intently through a large magnifying glass aimed at the small object before him. He glanced at his computer, watching the encoded lines flash across the screen. Pressing Enter, he observed the wires glow.

A dangerous smile spread across his face. He let out a soft chuckle, setting aside his creation and grabbing his notebook to jot down notes. Music blared loudly in the room as he moved his head and tapped his feet to the rhythm, ignoring the faint calls of his name in the distance.

Adjusting the magnifying glass, he inspected a pistol he was assembling. Carefully, he poured the same liquid Mori had injected into him into the weapon’s chamber. Closing the lid, he laughed at the way the weapon gleamed.

‘So, it doesn’t just work on me—it enhances weapons too…’

“Chuuya!”

He ignored the shout, closing his notebook and picking up a half-assembled bomb. Twisting it in his hands, he watched the powder inside shift. He looked forward to testing it soon.

“CHUUYA!”

The thunderous slam on his desk caused his record player to stop abruptly. Laughing, he turned to face Verlaine.

“Yes~?”

Verlaine glared at him, anger blazing in his eyes. In his left hand, he held a portfolio filled with various documents, which he slammed onto Chuuya’s cluttered desk.

“Thousands of men, dead!”

“Oh, yes,” Chuuya replied nonchalantly.

“Don’t you have anything else to say!?” Verlaine demanded, pointing at a specific document. “This one talks about the sudden change of leadership in the Port Mafia. It mentions Mori—and you.”

Chuuya took the document with curiosity, finding the falsehoods it described amusing. The most entertaining part was being labeled “Mori’s prostitute.” He’d always expected such a title, but more like Dazai's than from Mori's.

“This is hilarious.”

“Do you think those thousands of deaths were worth it?” Verlaine growled.

“Actually, yes, they were.” From a drawer in his desk, Chuuya pulled out a crumpled paper, its creases revealing past moments of anger. He handed it to Verlaine, grinning as his older brother’s annoyance shifted to surprise.

“This is…”

“It turns out Mori-san conveniently forgot to tell me one small detail. So, I decided to investigate it myself. Apparently, this liquid doesn’t just alter someone’s DNA. It can be used like fuel to enhance weapons, evolving them into something even deadlier.”

He picked up the weapon he had infused with the liquid and aimed it at a mannequin adorned with Mori’s photograph. He pulled the trigger.

The gun released red smoke to finally fire the bullet, which when inserted into the mannequin's head, threads like thorns of a rose were embedded from the inside out, destroying almost the entire shape, while where the bullet entered, red smoke came out and glowed.

Verlaine was left breathless, she imagined all the possibilities of using this liquid, it could increase the Mafia's economy, have more alliances with other organizations and they could be recognized as the most powerful Empire, but then she looked at Chuuya, who was talking to a stuffed animal that He looked a lot like an orange-haired guy he recognized.

Albatross.

“Did you see that, Tross, with this I will make all my enemies tremble like ladybugs before me!” He laughed, hugging the rabbit stuffed animal tightly, which was sewn all over, the eyes were buttons, and her clothes were hand-sewn. “We just have to manage to create it again, it could continue to use my blood as a sample and—”

“Your blood?” Chuuya looked at Verlaine, and smiled.

“Well, obviously, this liquid has unfortunately mixed with my blood making it impossible for me to decipher the original chemicals, so I extract a little of my blood and, Bam! Magic"

Verlaine’s eyes fell on Chuuya’s wrists, covered in bruises and puncture marks from poorly placed needles, not to mention the scars from Corruption—and others.

“No. We’re not using this. We’ll find another way to expand the Mafia’s legacy.”

“But, Verlaine—”

“I said no. I won’t let you keep treating yourself like an experiment when you’re human.”

“Oh, isn’t that hypocritical coming from you?” Chuuya spat. “I remember being sixteen, hearing you declare I was nothing but a string of code. You killed Tross and many of my friends. I only treat you like an older brother because deep down, I know you didn’t know any better, since, that's what you were created for, right? To just kill—”

The slap echoed through the room.

A tense silence was created, Verlaine looked at him hurt and annoyed, Chuuya just let his face look to the right, in silence.

“Go to hell, Chuuya,” Verlaine hissedhis voice trembling with anger and hurt. “We’ve all tried to help you. Keep hurting yourself if that’s what you want. But don’t come to me when you’re drowning in that pit of misery you find so comfortable.”

Chuuya watched angrily as Verlaine left his room and slammed the door, certain people really didn't know something called "Manners."

He grunted, turning to continue working on his future projects, no one could tell him what to do or not do with his body, but something stopped him, a strong tremor made it impossible for him to screw and he dropped the tool, he looked at his trembling hand and closed it. in a fist.

Was it a side effect of the liquid? or something else, of which he had no idea, a long time ago his body had stopped feeling like his own, as if he could control it, his powers no longer work the way he wants, his veins and scars take on different shapes. which I had no idea if it was something from the liquid or not.

For a moment, the silence in the room was deafening. Chuuya looked at the stuffed animal in his hands, his fingers trembling. ‘Am I really alone?’ The question had no answer.

But his chest felt heavy, like something was breaking a little deeper inside him.

Chapter Text

The rain fell in a cold blanket over Yokohama, soaking the streets and dimming the neon lights that flickered as if on the brink of collapse. At the Detective Agency's headquarters, the atmosphere was thick with tension, amplified by the constant tapping of raindrops against the windows. Kunikida was reviewing the final coordinates they had gathered, his steady hands holding the map as his eyes traced each line.

"The Nest is in this area," he finally said, pointing to an industrial zone north of the port. "Mori hid it well, but there are traces. The coordinates align with old underground tunnels that have been out of service for decades."

"How do you plan to get in?" Ranpo asked, his tone more curious than worried. "It's not like Mori left a key under the doormat."

"We'll leave that to you, Ranpo," Kunikida replied, dropping a report on the table. "What concerns us now is what we'll find in there. The place is filled with traps, as we know from the records Gin handed over. It's likely not all of us will make it out unscathed."

Dazai, sitting cross-legged in a corner, smiled faintly, but the darkness in his eyes contradicted his expression. "That sounds optimistic, Kunikida. Usually, when you say something like that, it means no one’s leaving unscathed."

"That attitude doesn’t help," Kunikida retorted, adjusting his glasses. "This mission is too important for us to have doubts."

Atsushi timidly raised his hand. "What if we find something about Chuuya-san in there? What do we do if... he’s involved?"

The room fell silent for a moment. Everyone knew the Nest was more than just a lab. It was a place where the horrors of the past and Mori’s darkest secrets were kept. And there was a very real possibility that Chuuya, with his marks and recent changes, was deeply connected to that place.

"If he’s there," Dazai said finally, his voice quieter than usual, "I'll handle it."

The words were direct, but offered no comfort. It was hard to tell if Dazai was speaking as a friend, a strategist, or something darker.

________________________________________________

The team arrived at the entrance of the tunnels shortly after midnight. The rain had not ceased, and the air felt thick and oppressive. Ranpo led the way, his cane tapping rhythmically on the ground while Atsushi and Kunikida carried the necessary equipment for the mission. Dazai walked at the back of the group, his eyes distant, as if searching for something only he could see.

"The entrance should be here," Ranpo said, pointing to a rusted grate covered in weeds. With some effort, Atsushi pulled it away, revealing a tunnel that descended into the darkness.

The group moved forward in silence, their steps echoing in the narrow space. The walls were covered with moss and old cables, some still sparking with residual energy. The coordinates led them deeper until they reached a metal door with a damaged access panel.

"Let me handle this," Ranpo said, examining the panel. "It’s not as complicated as it looks."

As Ranpo worked, Atsushi couldn’t help but glance at Dazai. The man had always been the most relaxed in any situation, but now he seemed like a shadow of himself. His gaze was fixed on the door, but his mind seemed far away.

Finally, the panel blinked with a green light, and the door creaked open. A heavy, damp air greeted them, along with a faint red glow emanating from within. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees, as if they had entered a place where life itself was absent.

The tunnels branched off in multiple directions, each lit intermittently by flickering lights. The group advanced cautiously, their steps resonating in the emptiness. The walls were marked with strange scratches, deep gouges that gave the impression of a desperate struggle.

"These marks..." Atsushi murmured, stopping to examine one. "They’re recent."

"That means we’re not alone," Kunikida said, adjusting his glasses and looking at Dazai. "How likely is it that this is a trap?"

Dazai smiled, but not with humor. "How likely? It’s Mori. This whole thing is a trap."

They moved forward in silence until they reached a larger chamber, where the floor was covered in debris and broken cables. In the center, a metal table rested under a dim light. On it were rusty surgical instruments, crumpled documents, and a vial containing a bright red liquid.

Ranpo took one of the documents and quickly scanned it. "This confirms our suspicions. Mori was using this place to experiment with abilities and... modify people. It looks like Chuuya was one of his most important subjects."

"Modifications?" Atsushi frowned, eyeing the vial. "Does that mean... what they did to him can't be undone?"

Dazai stepped forward, taking the vial in his hands. His expression was unreadable, but the way he gripped the vial revealed his tension. "It doesn’t matter if it can be undone or not. We’re getting him out of here. There’s no other option."

Before anyone could respond, an echo rang through the tunnel. A soft, almost childlike laugh that quickly turned into a maniacal cackle.

The laughter grew louder, bouncing off the walls and echoing in every direction. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged. Chuuya.

But this was not the Chuuya they knew. The red marks on his skin glowed brightly, like veins filled with lava. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were a reflection of pure chaos. In one hand, he held an improvised weapon, a mix of a hammer and a detonator, while in the other, he carried a homemade grenade.

"What are you doing here, Osa—Asshole?"

Chuuya moved into a nearby chamber, making sure his footsteps were firm and loud, to alert the group to his presence. 

"Welcome to the Nest," he said with a twisted smile. "I hope you brought your best game, because I’m not going with you."

"Chuuya," Dazai began, stepping forward. "Stop this, please. This isn’t you, you’re not acting on your own."

"Not?" Chuuya laughed, though his laughter was devoid of humor. "Tell me, Dazai, who am I then? Just an experiment Mori tried to 'perfect'? A weapon created by the government? Or just another ghost of someone you once cared about, haunting you?"

Dazai felt a tick in his eye at Chuuya's last words, but he took a deep breath and sighed. "Let us help you, Chuuya," Dazai tried, keeping his voice calm. "You don’t have to keep doing this, not alone."

"Help me?" Chuuya's expression changed, darkening. "You always say that! But it’s never true. It’s always what you think is best for me! Have you ever thought that maybe I’ll stay like this forever!? Can’t you figure me out, Mr. Genius?"

"Hey! I’m the only genius here!" Ranpo interrupted.

Before Dazai could respond or make a sarcastic remark, Chuuya threw the grenade at them. Atsushi reacted instinctively, pushing Kunikida out of the way as the explosion shook the chamber. The smoke filled the space, and when it cleared, Chuuya was gone.

"We have to follow him!" Atsushi shouted, but Dazai stopped him.

"No. He’s guiding us. This is a game for him now. We have to be smarter."

Dazai fell into thought, though one question lingered in his mind: How did Chuuya get here?

________________________________________________

Days had passed since Chuuya began to hear it. A distant voice, like an echo in a cave, that resonated in his mind when everything else was silent. At first, he thought it was his imagination, just another symptom of his mental breakdown. But the voice didn't fade; if anything, it grew stronger.

One night, while reviewing one of his projects, the voice spoke with a clarity he hadn't expected. At first, he planned to ignore it like the others, but something made him drop the tool in his hand. This voice was different.

"Chuuya... there are answers you're looking for. Answers you need."

"Who are you?" he growled, spinning around, only to find nothing.

"It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is what I know. Mori didn't tell you everything. But you already suspect, don't you? You know that the liquid in your veins isn't all he left inside you."

Chuuya clenched his teeth, his body trembling. He knew something was wrong with him, something beyond the red marks and the instability of his abilities. But the voice seemed to know everything.

"What do you want from me? Haven't you bothered me enough?"

"I want to show you the truth. Come to the place where it all started. Come to the Nest."

The voice faded, but the words lingered in his mind. The Nest. He'd heard that name before, a whisper between the documents Mori had left behind. A forgotten facility, hidden beneath the port of Yokohama.

That same night, he took what he needed: weapons, tools, and a resolve born of exhaustion and rage. If there was more that Mori had done to him, if there were more secrets buried in his blood, he would uncover them.

At any cost.

________________________________________________

The journey to the Nest was as grim as its purpose. The coordinates he found in the documents led him to an abandoned industrial area, where the shadows of ruined buildings stretched like claws across the damp ground.

Chuuya descended through a moss-covered tunnel, the air thick with a metallic smell that clung to his throat. Each step echoed endlessly, and the lantern he carried barely illuminated a few meters ahead of him.

At the end of the tunnel, he found a metal door that seemed to have been sealed for years. But there were recent footprints in the dust, and marks on the lock indicated that someone had been there before him.

Using one of the tools he had with him, he forced the lock. The door creaked open, revealing a vast and dark space. The Nest wasn't just a laboratory; it was a labyrinthine facility built to hide secrets that should never see the light of day.

The interior was cold and oppressive. The walls were covered with cables and broken screens, and the floor was littered with debris. Chuuya lit a more powerful lamp and advanced, instinctively following the hallways.

In one of the larger chambers, he found what appeared to be an operating room. In the center was an oxidized examination table, surrounded by surgical instruments that glowed ominously under the light of his lamp. On one of the tables, he found a jar filled with the red liquid he knew all too well.

As he stared at it, a memory hit him like a punch.

_________

The table, the lights, the smell of disinfectant mixed with blood.

Mori was there, watching him with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're special, Chuuya-kun. With this liquid, you'll become more than human. You'll be invincible."

Chuuya had tried to move, but the straps holding him were too tight. Mori leaned over him, injecting the substance into his arm as he spoke softly.

"It's an honor, you know? To be part of something so great. But don't worry. If something goes wrong, we can always... adjust the variables."

The pain had been unbearable, as if his blood were set on fire within his veins. His vision turned red, and all he could hear was Mori's laughter mixed with his own scream.

________________________________________________

Back in the present, Chuuya gritted his teeth and threw the jar against the wall, watching as the glass shattered and the red liquid spilled onto the floor.

"Damn you, Mori," he muttered, his voice shaking. "Damn you for everything you did to me."

He shook his head, trying to push the nightmares that followed him every day, like some karmic retribution from another life.

He took a deep breath and sighed, deciding to leave the room despite the slight headache that was beginning to form.

As he explored deeper into the Nest, the tension inside Chuuya grew. He had found more jars, more documents, but no concrete answers. Only more questions, more evidence that he was little more than an experiment in Mori's eyes.

It was then that he heard footsteps. Quick, cautious, but unmistakable—he recognized the voices.

The Detective Agency had found the place, he chuckled quietly.

"How fun," he murmured to himself, a twisted smile crossing his face. "Just when things were getting boring around here."

Hiding in the shadows, he watched as the group advanced, studying their movements, moving stealthily. His red eyes missed no movement of the detectives. It didn't take long before his eyes locked onto Dazai. The mixture of familiarity and bitterness he felt upon seeing him left him frozen for a moment.

"What are you doing here, Osa—Asshole?" he whispered to himself. But the answer was obvious. It was always the same. Always trying to control him, to save him.

Chuuya moved into a nearby chamber, making sure his footsteps were firm and loud, to alert the group to his presence. When they finally found him, he made sure it would be on his terms.

"Welcome to the Nest," he said from the shadows, his voice resonating in the empty space. "I hope you've brought your best game, because I'm not leaving with you."

________________________________________________

As they continued, the group split up, forced to take different paths due to the collapses caused by the traps.

Each found new clues, new papers or documents revealing the harsh and cruel reality.

After much searching, Dazai finally found Chuuya in a smaller room, where the lights flickered and the shadows danced unsettlingly.

"Chuuya," Dazai said, his voice low but full of emotion. "You don't have to do this. You can come back with us."

"Come back?" Chuuya took a step forward, holding his weapon. "Come back to what, Dazai? To a world that sees me as a monster? To the people who fear me?"

"They don't fear you," Dazai replied. "They care about you. I care about you."

For a moment, it seemed like Dazai's words reached him. Chuuya's expression faltered, and his weapon lowered slightly. But he tightly shut his eyes as the weapon struck his head repeatedly, creating a wound, his marks glowing more intensely, and something dark took control again, giving him a sarcastic smile.

"That won't be enough, Osamu," Chuuya murmured, raising his weapon again and aiming at Dazai.

________________________________________________

The first bullet grazed Dazai’s cheek, leaving a line of blood. There was no time to think, only to move. Chuuya attacked with lethal precision, each shot designed to corner him, each movement a blend of military skill and primal rage.

“Why aren’t you fighting?” Chuuya shouted, charging at him with a speed that made him a red and black blur. “Do something, damn it!”

Dazai dodged the first shot, which crashed into the wall behind him, sparking. But Chuuya didn’t give him time to catch his breath. With lethal accuracy, he threw a small bomb that exploded into a cloud of black smoke.

Dazai coughed, covering his mouth and eyes, while Chuuya moved like a shadow in the fog. A second later, he heard the click of a weapon behind him.

“How do you feel, Dazai?” Chuuya whispered, his voice dripping with irony. “Ready to dance?”

Dazai turned just in time to deflect Chuuya’s gun with a quick movement, but the redhead reacted, pulling a small grenade from his belt and throwing it to the ground between them. The explosion separated them, and Dazai found himself stumbling backward.

“This isn’t you,” Dazai said, his eyes searching his partner’s. “You’re more than these marks, more than what they did to you.”

“What am I then?” Chuuya roared, breaking free and throwing a punch with all his strength. “Tell me, because I don’t know anymore!”

Dazai dodged, his mind calculating every one of Chuuya’s moves. It was clear that he had been working on these weapons for weeks, even months. Each bomb, each bullet, each spark was an extension of his desperation, a way to fill the void left by his failing ability.

Dazai narrowly avoided a blow, though the bombs left small burns on his side. “You’re the man who always fights to protect others, even when it means destroying yourself,” he said urgently. “You’re the one who’s always been there when everything else fell apart.”

Chuuya hesitated, his hands trembling as he grasped a smoke grenade, unsure whether to pull the pin or not. But the voices in his mind pulled him back.

Lie.

He’ll abandon you.

He always does.

“Shut up!” Chuuya screamed, bringing both hands to his head. His movements became erratic, as if he were fighting not just Dazai, but the shadows consuming him. His marks glowed so intensely that the room turned red.

Dazai seized the moment to close the distance, wrapping his arms around Chuuya in a desperate embrace. “Enough, Chuuya. I’m here. You don’t have to fight alone.”

At first, Chuuya struggled, hitting his chest with a force that made Dazai gasp in pain. But gradually, his movements weakened, and his breathing became shallow.

The only thing disturbing the silence were the labored gasps, both physical and mental, when Chuuya finally stopped fighting and lifted his gaze. His eyes were filled with tears, and his face reflected a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. “Why are you still here? After everything I’ve done... after everything I am...”

Dazai took his face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears falling from Chuuya’s cheeks. “Want to know why I’m still here?” His voice was low, almost broken, but his words carried the weight of years of unspoken feelings.

“Because there’s never been anyone like you, Chuuya. Because every time you push me, every time you challenge me, you remind me what it means to be alive. Because even when you hurt me, when you yell at me, when you try to push me away… I always come back. Not because I have to, but because I can’t imagine a world without you in it.”

Chuuya opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his lips when Dazai closed the distance between them. The kiss was slow, deep, and filled with raw emotion that they had both suppressed for too long. Chuuya pulled back slightly to gasp for air, and Dazai took that moment to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue inside, causing a low sound of a whimper from the redhead. It wasn’t desperate or rushed, but filled with mixed emotions that spoke of silent promises and a love that had survived everything.

Chuuya closed his eyes, letting Dazai’s warmth envelop him. For a moment, the voices were silenced, and all he felt was the weight of Dazai’s arms, the gentle brush of his lips, and the certainty that, even if the world crumbled, someone saw him as more than a monster.

When they parted, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. Dazai spoke first, his voice barely a whisper. “I love you, Chuuya. Not for what you were or for what you could be, but for who you are. For every broken part, for every scar. And no matter how much you try to push me away, I’m not going to leave you.”

An explosion echoed in the distance, bringing them back to reality. Dazai took Chuuya’s hand for a brief moment. “This isn’t over,” he said.

Chuuya nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “Then, let’s go together.”

Together, they moved toward the unknown, their footsteps echoing through the ruins of the Nest. For the first time, Chuuya was not alone. And Dazai would not let him go.

________________________________________________

The explosion resonated in the distance, shaking the ground and sending vibrations through the walls of the Nest. Debris fell around them, mixing dust and darkness. Chuuya barely noticed the roar; his mind was focused on the next step. Dazai, beside him, briefly took his hand, a gesture as fleeting as it was revealing.

They moved toward the unknown, their steps echoing through the metallic corridor. The flickering lights cast unsettling shadows on the walls, as if the Nest itself were alive, watching them. Chuuya's backpack clinked with the sound of metal and glass, each homemade bomb and round of ammunition a reminder that his gravity ability was no longer reliable. He depended on those creations, and while he hated them, he knew he had no other choice.

The corridor opened into a large room filled with abandoned machinery and glass tubes containing a bubbling, sickly green liquid. Chuuya frowned; even before anything happened, he could sense they weren't alone.

"Having fun?" he asked, his tone dry as he checked his gun's ammo. It was a casual question, but his voice betrayed his tension.

Dazai smiled with a touch of irony. "I always have fun when you're around."

Chuuya snorted, but before he could retort, a shot pierced the air, followed by a burst of bullets. They threw themselves to the ground, rolling to opposite sides as the shots ricocheted off the metal walls.

Chuuya was the first to react. He pulled a smoke grenade from his backpack and threw it toward the group of attackers approaching from the shadows. The room filled with a thick gray cloud, confusing the enemies and giving him the advantage he needed.

Dazai, hidden behind a destroyed console, watched Chuuya with a mix of fascination and admiration. There was something almost hypnotic in the way he moved. Chuuya was not just brute force; he was precise, calculated. He shot with lethal accuracy, and when his pistol ran dry, he quickly switched to a light machine gun. The sound of the rapid fire filled the room, each bullet cutting the air with surgical precision.

"You're beautiful when you're in youre like this, So.. Pretty." Dazai murmured to himself, a faint smile on his lips. Of course, he didn't say it out loud; he knew Chuuya would kill him if he heard.

Amid the smoke, Chuuya moved with the grace of a dancer, throwing a second bomb, this time a homemade explosive that detonated with a deafening crash. The enemies recoiled, disoriented. But it wasn't enough. More figures emerged, and Chuuya growled, irritated. His gravity ability was still failing, leaving him frustrated. Still, he didn't stop. He pulled another grenade from his backpack, this time a flashbang, and threw it with precision toward the closest group.

The explosion lit up the room, and the attackers screamed as the flash robbed them of their sight. Dazai, who had been waiting for his moment, used the chaos to move quickly, disarming one of the attackers with a fluid motion and using him as a human shield as he advanced.

"How about a break, Chuuya?" Dazai said in a carefree tone as he threw the unconscious attacker to the floor. "We don't want you to burn out before the grand finale."

Chuuya shot him a sharp look as he reloaded his pistol. "Shut the hell up, Dazai, or you'll be my next target."

The fight escalated, with Chuuya and Dazai working in near-perfect sync, as if every move had been choreographed. However, the situation changed when a familiar voice echoed from the other side of the room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Kunikida appeared, followed by Ranpo, both covered in dust and armed. The confusion on their faces turned to alarm as they saw Chuuya. His red hair was tangled, his body covered in cuts and bruises, and his eyes burned with a mixture of rage and exhaustion. The marks on his skin faintly glowed, a reminder of the horrors he had endured.

"Is... is he crazy?" Kunikida muttered as he watched Chuuya shoot with terrifying precision, his face marked by an almost feverish expression.

Ranpo, on the other hand, looked at Dazai, who was leaning against a wall, watching Chuuya with an intensity that didn't go unnoticed. "Dazai," Ranpo said, his tone mixing reproach and curiosity. "You should be helping him, not admiring him."

Dazai didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained fixed on Chuuya, following every movement. There was something hypnotic about the way Chuuya defended himself, even in his weakened state. It was like watching a work of art in motion, a combination of brutality and grace that only Chuuya could achieve.

"He doesn't need my help," Dazai finally said, his voice soft but carrying a sentiment no one could quite identify. "He's... perfect, and pretty and beautiful and–"

Kunikida blinked, surprised. "Perfect? Dazai, he's on the verge of collapse. You can't just let him destroy himself!"

But before Dazai could respond, one last enemy appeared behind Chuuya, aiming a gun at him. Dazai reacted before anyone could move, throwing himself at Chuuya and knocking him to the ground just as the shot rang out. The bullet grazed them, hitting a pipe behind them. They both fell, Dazai landing on top of Chuuya, their bodies tangled for a moment.

Chuuya looked at him, his breath ragged. "What the hell are you doing, Dazai?"

"Same thing you always do to me, but now its my turn to do so." Dazai replied, smiling slightly. "Saving your ass."

Chuuya grunted, but before he could respond, Kunikida and Ranpo finished off the last enemy. The room fell into an unsettling silence, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.

As the dust began to settle, Kunikida looked at Chuuya, his expression filled with concern. "He's exhausted," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

"Let him be," Dazai replied, standing up and helping Chuuya to his feet. His gaze never left the redhead. "He can handle it."

Ranpo watched the scene with a sly smile, as if he understood something the others didn't. "Of course he can," he murmured, before turning to Kunikida. "Come on, we need to secure the entrance."

When they were alone, Chuuya leaned against a wall, his breathing still uneven. "This isn't over," he said, looking at Dazai with a mix of defiance and exhaustion.

Dazai leaned toward him, his expression soft but intense. "No, it's not over. But as long as you're with me, you'll never be alone."

The redhead closed his eyes for a moment, letting those words sink in. Because, for the first time, he believed every word Dazai meant.

Chapter Text

The darkness of the Nest seemed alive, as if it were breathing with every step they took. The narrow corridors and distorted echoes amplified the feeling of being trapped in a labyrinth designed to break the mind.

Ranpo had suggested splitting up to find an exit faster, and Kunikida, with his ability, created radios for communication. The brown-haired one had disagreed at first, but soon he agreed.

Chuuya moved alone, his breathing heavy and his mind divided between the present and the fragments of the past that the Nest seemed to expose deliberately. The walls, covered in images and documents, seemed to mock him. Photos from his childhood, the experiments, his time under Mori's control. Every word written in the reports was a reminder of his loss, of what had been stolen from him.

"You’re a weapon, Chuuya-kun. My masterpiece," a voice whispered in his head, Mori’s, mixed with others darker.

He stopped in front of a broken mirror in the hallway. His reflection was distorted, but he could see the red marks glowing faintly on his skin. They seemed to pulse in rhythm with his anger, as if they were alive. He looked at his hands, specifically his wrists, where his veins were a bright red, along with some other self-inflicted scars, freckles, and moles.

His eyes were different now. He remembered the mixed color of both, brown and blue, like the sea and the earth. His eyes trembled, the red and black tint, a remnant of the former color of his eyes. He used to hate the difference in his eyes so much, until someone mentioned how unique they were and how they could stare at them for hours, days, and months.

He growled at the bitter memory and looked at his hands once more.

"What am I now?" he murmured, his voice trembling.

The answer came in the form of a creak behind him. He spun around quickly, his gun in hand, aiming at the figure emerging from the shadows.

"Nakahara-san," said Kunikida, his tone firm but cautious. "I'm not here to fight you."

Chuuya narrowed his eyes, his finger trembling on the trigger. "Then what are you doing here? Are you going to lecture me about what’s right and wrong? Are you going to tell me to 'reform' myself?"

Kunikida slowly raised his hands, trying to show that he wasn’t a threat. "I’m here because Dazai believes there’s still something worth saving in you. Because I want to believe it too."

For a moment, Chuuya seemed to consider his words. But the voices in his head grew louder, mocking him, laughing.

"They're lying to you. They're afraid of you. They've always been afraid of you."

Chuuya let out a bitter laugh, his gaze drifting somewhere behind Kunikida. "Do you... hear it, Kunikida-san?" he murmured, tilting his head.

Kunikida frowned. "Hear what?"

"They," Chuuya answered, his voice almost a whisper. "They're always there. Mocking me. Telling me not to trust anyone. Not to trust you."

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps and weapons being loaded broke the moment. Chuuya turned toward the hallway behind Kunikida, where a group of enemies was quickly approaching.

"Damn!" Kunikida exclaimed, pulling out his notebook to prepare.

But before he could act, Chuuya threw a smoke bomb that covered the area in seconds. Chaos erupted.

Elsewhere in the Nest, Ranpo and Dazai were surrounded by documents scattered across an improvised table. The reports they had found were fragmented, but enough to reveal a terrifying picture: Mori had been in contact with European organizations before his death. These groups were interested in the experiments conducted in the Nest, particularly those related to Arahabaki.

Ranpo adjusted his glasses, his eyes shining with an unusual intensity. "This isn’t just an attack. They’re here to recover what they consider theirs. And that includes Chuuya."

Dazai, normally relaxed, had an expression bordering on panic. "Do you know what this means, Ranpo? If they take him..."

"I know," Ranpo interrupted, raising a finger to silence him. "But we’re not going to let that happen."

Before they could continue, Atsushi burst into the room, his breath ragged and battered, with some open wounds and bleeding in certain parts of his body, but he looked nervous.

"Dazai-san! Ranpo-san! More enemies are coming, and they don’t speak Japanese. They’re armed and—" He took a deep breath, gathering himself. "They’re looking for Nakahara-san."

Ranpo immediately stood up, his expression serious, unconsciously grabbing a knife he carried for situations like these. "This confirms it. We need to find Chuuya before they do."

Dazai nodded, his mind already working at full speed. "Kunikida is with him. Let’s go."

Chuuya moved like a demon through the smoke, his movements fast and precise. The bombs he had created exploded with an intense red glow, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. His gun, modified to fire bullets loaded with the liquid running through his veins, pierced the enemies with devastating force.

Kunikida, from the periphery, watched with a mix of awe and horror. This wasn’t the Chuuya he knew. His attacks were brutal, almost deranged, and the dangerous smile on his face made him seem more like a force of destruction than a person.

"Nakahara-san, watch out!" Kunikida shouted, blocking a shot with a small barrier created by his ability.

Chuuya didn’t even look at him. He was completely immersed in the battle, his eyes glowing with an almost inhuman intensity.

When the last enemy fell, silence returned to the hallway. Chuuya stood among the bodies, his breath heavy, and his weapon still aimed forward.

"Is this what you wanted to see, Kunikida?" he said, slowly turning toward him. His voice was a whisper laced with venom. "Did you want to see what I’m capable of?"

Before Kunikida could respond, a crackle in his radio broke the moment. Ranpo’s voice came through with an urgency rarely seen.

"Kunikida, Dazai and I found something. You need to bring Chuuya here, fast."

"What’s happening?" Kunikida asked, glancing at Chuuya, who was now inspecting his gun with trembling hands.

"There are more people coming into the Nest. They don’t speak Japanese. They seem European, and they’re not here to negotiate."

Kunikida cursed under his breath. "Understood. We’re heading your way."

Chuuya, upon hearing this, let out a bitter laugh. "Europeans, huh? I guess everyone wants a piece of the perfect weapon."

Kunikida ignored the comment and moved toward him. "We’re not letting them take you, Nakahara-san. But we need to move."

Chuuya looked at him for a moment, his eyes shifting between distrust and exhaustion, before nodding briefly.

As they both moved toward the meeting point, the hurried steps of the Europeans echoed behind them. Chuuya, though tired, reacted instinctively, throwing a smoke bomb to cover their retreat.

"Kunikida, go ahead," he said, his voice tense. "I’ll hold them off."

"I’m not leaving you behind," Kunikida replied, pulling out his notebook to create an improvised barrier.

Chuuya looked at him with a mix of irritation and something like respect. "You don’t need to save me. I’m not the one who needs help here."

Before Kunikida could respond, a shot pierced the barrier, forcing them to retreat. The Europeans had arrived, and their weapons gleamed with technology that didn’t belong in Yokohama.

The leader of the group spoke with a cold, authoritative tone: "Chuuya Nakahara, you are under international custody. This doesn’t have to be harder than it already is."

Kunikida tried to intervene. "You can’t take him! This is Japanese territory. You have no jurisdiction here."

The leader didn’t even look at him. "The European government has a priority interest in this man. The experiments conducted by Mori contain secrets we cannot allow to fall into the wrong hands."

"Interest? Ha! Don’t make me laugh, you disgusting idiots. You’re lucky if you leave here alive."

The European leader, a tall man with a scar crossing his face, stepped forward. His voice resonated with cold authority.

"Chuuya Nakahara, I repeat one last time, this doesn’t have to end like this. Surrender now, and we won’t harm you."

Chuuya turned to him, his eyes glowing with an intense red that seemed to pulse with his anger. "Surrender? To you? I’d rather die."

The leader didn’t respond. He gestured with his hand, and the soldiers moved forward again.

Chuuya threw another bomb, this time an explosive one that shook the hallway. The shrapnel flew in all directions, but the Europeans were prepared. One of them used a technological shield to absorb the impact, while another shot a dart that embedded itself in Chuuya’s arm.

"Nakahara-san!" Kunikida shouted, but it was too late.

The dart contained a sedative that began to take effect almost immediately. Chuuya staggered, growling and shaking his head to stay awake, his movements losing precision. Still, he kept fighting, shooting and throwing bombs with a determination that bordered on suicidal.

"Don’t stop!" he shouted to himself, as if the simple act of speaking could keep him conscious.

Kunikida, seeing the situation, tried to cover him, moving quickly to interpose himself between the soldiers and Chuuya, creating new weapons with more power, but he was quickly immobilized, thrown to the ground by soldiers holding him down. "Leave him alone!" he roared, struggling to break free, biting when a soldier tried to cover his mouth.

He watched intently as the European leader approached Chuuya, who was on his knees, gasping for breath and struggling to hold himself up. The European smiled mockingly. "You’re more resistant than we thought," he said, before striking Chuuya hard, leaving him almost unconscious on the floor. He spat in the orange-haired man's face, then pulled out a pair of reinforced handcuffs.

"Rot in hell, you fucker." Chuuya spat, trying to get up and grab his gun, but his hands were too shaky to hold himself up.

The soldiers immobilized him against the ground again, holding him tightly while the leader tried to put on the cuffs. They gleamed with technology that suppressed any special abilities, leaving Chuuya completely defenseless, still struggling to break free, trembling and biting his lower lip.

His eyes were tearful, like a child holding back tears, sniffling before screaming in pain as a soldier broke his wrist to put on the cuffs, wincing as they closed around his injured wrists.

"Kunikida!" Chuuya screamed, his voice laced with a hint of fear and great desperation, the same tone he used when begging Mori to let him go, the same level of voice when he sobbed between screams, calling for someone or for Dazai.

"Nakahara!" Kunikida kept struggling against the soldiers holding him down, but he couldn’t break free.

The sound of a helicopter filled the air, and the European leader gave the order. "Take him to the extraction point. We’re leaving."

Chuuya was dragged toward the exit, his legs barely holding him up as the soldiers pushed him mercilessly. His gaze met Kunikida’s for a brief moment, and something in his eyes seemed to say.

"Hey, Four Eyes!" he yelled, sounding like a drunk but still with strength, giving him a sarcastic smile. "Listen well, don’t ever give up, got it!? They may take me now, but I know you’ll figure this shit out, and tell that damn horse to take care of himself! I’ll be fine!"

"Chuuya-san!" was the last thing heard in that place before Kunikida’s vision turned black.

The cold night air cut through the skin like blades as the European soldiers dragged Chuuya toward the helicopter. The sedative they had injected him with hadn’t left him completely unconscious, but his body was too weak to resist. His steps were unsteady, and every movement made him feel as though his head were submerged in water.

“Careful, we don’t want our ‘asset’ to be damaged before we get there,” one of the soldiers commented sarcastically as he adjusted his grip on Chuuya’s arm.

Chuuya tried to speak, but the words came out as a murmur. His tongue felt heavy, and his thoughts were a mess. Finally, he managed to murmur, “What... what do you want from me...?”

One of the soldiers leaned in slightly, as if enjoying the moment. “What we want, Nakahara, is simple: answers. Your blood, your abilities… everything Mori did to you. We’re going to unravel every secret you’re hiding.”

“And if I don’t want to cooperate?” Chuuya growled, though his voice sounded weaker than he intended.

The soldier chuckled darkly. “You don’t have to want to. You don’t need to want it. We’ll do whatever it takes to get what we need. And trust me, we have methods to break someone like you.”

The words pierced his mind like needles. Chuuya felt panic begin to seize him. His breath quickened, and his hands trembled, though they were bound by shackles. His body, though exhausted, tried to resist, but the soldiers held him tighter.

“Calm down, it’s pointless to fight,” another soldier said, his tone more impersonal, almost clinical. “The sedative is designed to keep you conscious, but without enough strength to resist. We want you to remember everything. We want you to feel what’s coming.”

The words hit him like a slap. Chuuya started to struggle more, his mind flooded with images of what Mori had done to him, the needles, the screams, the endless nights of pain. “Let me go!” he roared, though his voice cracked at the end, betraying the fear consuming him.

“Let you go?” the soldier laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied, pushing him up the helicopter ramp. “Now you’re our key. Our weapon. We’re not letting you go that easily.”

The deafening noise of the helicopter blades filled the air as they forced him inside. Chuuya tried to stop, his legs trying to resist, but his muscles didn’t respond as he wanted.

“I’m not going to be your experiment again!” he shouted, his voice ragged, flailing his arms as some tears escaped.

“Again? No, Nakahara,” the leader said as he shoved him into the helicopter. “This will be worse.”

The panic became an overwhelming wave. His chest felt as if it were being crushed, and his vision began to fade. But it wasn’t the sedative weakening him; it was the terror.

“Let me go! Let me go!” he screamed again and again, his voice growing weaker as the soldiers restrained him inside the containment box.

One of them slammed the door with a metallic thud, and the sound of the lock clicking shut resonated like a final sentence. From the inside, Chuuya could hear their muffled voices, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

As his eyelids began to close from the sedative, a cry of pain woke him briefly, and he looked through the small window and saw him.

Dazai...

Wait.

DAZAI!

“Osa...” he started coughing a little. “Osamu! OSAMU! KUNIKIDA! Don’t let them take me, please—” The coughing worsened, and as he looked around the narrow box, he noticed the source of the scream.

He had shot one of the soldiers in the hand, sniffed, and found a small ventilation. Soon, the box was filled with white powder, and as he breathed, he choked, inhaling the powder and feeling his throat close. He looked at the brown-haired man one last time.

“Shut up, you— Damn bitch!” one of the soldiers shouted, repeatedly pressing a button, releasing more of the white powder, causing Chuuya to struggle to breathe properly, though he kept fighting.

He looked desperate, shouting things that Chuuya couldn’t hear.

“O-Osamu...”

The last clear thought that crossed his mind before the sedative overtook him was the desperate look on Dazai’s face and a single word that echoed in his mind like a desperate cry: “Help me.”

Atsushi, Dazai, and Ranpo ran through the dark corridors of the Nest, their footsteps echoing like unsettling sounds in the maze. The radios were filled with static, interrupting the feeble attempts to communicate with Kunikida, and all that could be heard was the sound of gunshots, growls, and the broken voices of Kunikida and Chuuya.

“Kunikida-san! Can you hear me?!” Atsushi shouted into the radio, but only received more static in response.

Dazai frowned, his mind working at full speed as he loaded his gun. Despite his serious expression, in his mind, he fondly looked at the animated faces of the weapon—obviously, this belonged to Chuuya. “If we don’t move quickly, there won’t be anyone left to rescue. Ranpo, do you have any idea where they are?”

Ranpo, adjusting his glasses calmly but with unusual intensity, pointed to a tunnel on the left. “They’re in that direction. But if we’re too late, Dazai…”

Dazai didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence. He ran down the tunnel, leaving Atsushi and Ranpo behind, his steps faster than the echo of the distant gunfire.

They searched and searched, through all the corridors, until they reached the scene.

The place... seemed like a massacre.

The bodies of the European soldiers lay on the ground, some without limbs or smoking from Chuuya’s bomb explosions. But what caught Atsushi and Ranpo’s attention was Kunikida, kneeling, his face bloodied, and his broken notebook lying beside him.

“Kunikida-san!” Atsushi ran toward him, but Kunikida didn’t lift his gaze. His eyes were fixed on the slowly ascending helicopter, carrying Chuuya away.

“You came... too late,” Kunikida murmured, his voice broken.

Dazai arrived at that moment, and his gaze immediately turned to the helicopter. Inside, he could see Chuuya, conscious but barely lucid, weakly struggling against the soldiers holding him.

“Chuuya!” Dazai shouted, raising his gun and firing without thinking, though it didn’t do much.

The first shot hit the hand of the soldier closing the box they were pushing Chuuya into. He screamed in pain, but another soldier quickly took his place, securing the lock tightly.

Dazai shot again, this time hitting the side of the helicopter, but it wasn’t enough to stop it. The engine roared louder, and the aircraft began to rise quickly.

In a desperate attempt, he shot until his gun was empty. Each missed shot seemed to tear something more than just frustration from him; it felt like he was losing a part of himself with every futile attempt.

In one final attempt, he threw the weapon, which fell straight into the void, screaming in rage, grabbing his hair and pulling, tearing out some strands, kicking rocks and bodies, whatever was in his way.

The other three could only watch the outburst of anger and helplessness from the brown-haired man. Ranpo took off his glasses roughly, while his fingers pressed his eyes. They had been so close, they had made a perfect plan to extract part of the liquid from Chuuya’s blood, and now everything had gone to hell.

Kunikida clenched his jaw, trembling with pure anger and sadness. If he hadn’t gotten distracted, maybe none of this would have happened. Chuuya would be with them, and they would be heading to the Agency to start treatment.

If he had... done more, maybe none of this would be happening.

Atsushi could only hold back his own tears of helplessness. He had never seen his mentor like this—desperate, furious, and deeply sad. He looked at the bodies and tried not to look away. Each of the soldiers was almost completely mutilated.

There were arms, legs, organs, and... a head, scattered everywhere, blood, smoke, and some of Chuuya’s forgotten bombs, along with knives and weapons.

He just... He just hoped this wouldn’t get worse, but maybe he should have stayed quiet.

The sound of the helicopter blades slowly faded into the horizon, leaving behind a deafening silence that seemed to swallow everything. Dazai stood still, motionless, his eyes fixed on the point where the helicopter had disappeared. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but it wasn’t from the lack of air—it was from the rage and pain consuming him.

“Chuuya...” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if saying his name could bring him back.

Ranpo, his usual calm shattered by the tension, took a step toward him, a little hesitant about his action but firm. “Dazai, we can’t stay here. We have to move.”

But Dazai didn’t respond. Instead, his body trembled as he clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, breaking the skin. A drop of blood ran down his knuckles and fell to the ground, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Dazai-san...” Atsushi murmured, approaching cautiously. He looked at Ranpo, who simply had his head down, swallowing before speaking. “We need to go back to the Agency. Maybe... maybe we can track them from there.”

The brown-haired man finally reacted, but not as they expected. He took a step forward, his face a mask of contained fury. With a swift movement, he kicked a stone at his feet, sending it flying toward a nearby wall. The impact echoed through the empty hallway.

“This was a fucking mistake!” he shouted, his voice reverberating in the space. His gaze, usually calculating and cold, was now filled with a mixture of rage and desperation.

Ranpo tried to approach again, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Dazai, calm down. This isn’t your fault, and it’s not anyone’s fault.”

The touch seemed to trigger something in Dazai. He spun around abruptly, brushing Ranpo’s hand off with a violent motion, his dark, hollow eyes meeting Ranpo’s, but there was nothing familiar in them. They were cold, empty, as if the person they knew had disappeared.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he said in a low, cutting tone, his voice full of warning. Ranpo, surprised, took a step back.

Atsushi watched the interaction, his hands trembling as he tried to process what was happening. He had never seen Dazai lose control like this.

Kunikida, still on the ground, finally stood with effort, though his legs felt like jelly. His face was pale, and his eyes reflected a mixture of guilt and exhaustion. “Dazai, I’m sorry I didn’t... protect him, but this isn’t the time for... this. We need to go back. Now.”

For a moment, it seemed like Dazai would ignore him, but he finally nodded with a brief, abrupt movement. Without saying another word, he began walking toward the exit, his steps echoing with a mechanical determination.

The journey back was tense, laden with a silence that weighed like a stone. Atsushi tried to start a conversation several times, but the words got stuck in his throat. Ranpo, usually eloquent, was lost in his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the passing landscape outside the window.

Dazai sat in a corner, arms crossed and head tilted forward. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t resting. His mind was a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts, each darker than the last.

Kunikida, sitting across from him, observed in silence. He wanted to say something, anything that could ease the weight they all felt, but he couldn’t find the right words.

Finally, they arrived at the Agency. Fukuzawa was waiting for them at the entrance, his face grim. It was clear he already knew something had gone terribly wrong.

“What... What happened?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.

Ranpo was the first to speak. “They took Chuuya. Some idiots—” He took a breath to calm himself. “European soldiers arrived. They were... much better prepared.”

Fukuzawa nodded slowly, processing the information. His gaze shifted to Dazai, who had remained silent since they arrived. “Dazai, do you have anything to add?”

The brown-haired man looked up, and for a moment, Fukuzawa saw something he rarely saw in him: vulnerability. But it was fleeting, as quick as it appeared, it vanished. Dazai quickly regained his neutral expression and shook his head. “There’s nothing more to say. We failed.”

Atsushi stepped forward, his voice trembling. “But we can do something, right? We can find him... And—” His nervous chatter was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

Fukuzawa looked at Atsushi, smiling slightly, trying to calm him. “We will, Atsushi. But we need a plan, something more concise. We can’t just act impulsively.”

As Fukuzawa spoke, Ranpo approached Dazai again, this time more cautiously. “Dazai, we need you with us on this. You can’t lose yourself now.”

Dazai looked at him but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned and began walking toward his desk. Each step seemed heavier than the last.

The darkness was broken by a blinding flash. Chuuya slowly opened his eyes, only to find himself surrounded by a dense, cold liquid. He tried to move, but his body was immobilized by cables clinging to his skin as if they were roots burrowing deep.

The tube containing him vibrated slightly, and the greenish light illuminating the water made everything seem unreal, like a bad dream he couldn’t wake up from. His breathing quickened, but there was no air to inhale. Bubbles escaped his lips as he desperately struggled to breathe, only for the water to fill his lungs with suffocating pressure.

“Where... am I?”

The question echoed in his mind as his eyes frantically searched for something familiar. Through the glass, a figure approached. It was a tall woman, wearing a spotless white apron and her hair tied up in a bun that seemed too perfect. Her eyes, cold yet calculating, looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and fake compassion.

“Welcome back, Chuuya Nakahara,” she said, her voice amplified by a speaker. It was soft, almost maternal, but there was an edge to it that made him feel exposed, as if he were being dissected with every word.

Chuuya stopped moving for a moment, his eyes locking onto the woman. Something in her tone, in her presence, struck him like a buried memory. Then he heard it:

“I am Dr. N.”

The name resonated in his mind like an echo of trauma he hadn’t forgotten. His body tensed instinctively, and panic returned with renewed force. He began pounding on the glass with his fists, but the tube barely shook.

“Calm down,” Dr. N continued, leaning slightly toward the glass. “I know this is terrifying, but I’m here to help you. I don’t want to hurt you, I promise.”

Chuuya growled, bubbles escaping his mouth as he tried to scream. His eyes burned with fury, but also with fear.

“I know what Mori did to you,” Dr. N said, her tone lowering as if she were sharing a secret. “I know what you had to endure. You didn’t deserve that. No one should go through that.”

Her words hit him hard. The fury in his eyes faltered, and for a moment, Chuuya stopped pounding on the glass. His mind, clouded by the sedative and panic, clung to her words like an anchor in the midst of chaos.

“I’m here to free you, Chuuya, and save you from yourself,” she continued, placing a hand against the glass. “I’m not like Mori. I don’t want to control you. I want to help you rid yourself of that burden he imposed on you.”

Chuuya tilted his head, his eyes filled with distrust, but also with something else: hope.

“Free me...?” he murmured in his mind.

Dr. N nodded, as if she had heard his thoughts. “That liquid running through your veins... it’s destroying you. It has turned you into something you never wanted to be. But I can fix it. I can give you back your freedom.”

Her words sank into him like daggers, piercing through the layers of anger and pain that had protected him until now. His movements stopped completely, and his eyes searched Dr. N’s, as if trying to find something genuine in her gaze.

“Why...?” he thought, his mind struggling to understand. “Why would you want to help me?”

Dr. N seemed to catch his doubt. Her expression softened, and for a moment, her voice lost its clinical edge. “I know what it’s like to be used, Chuuya. I know what it’s like to be seen as a tool, not as a person. And I don’t want you to go through that ever again.”

Chuuya swallowed, or at least tried to. His chest burned from the lack of oxygen, but his thoughts were clearer than ever. Something inside him wanted to believe her. He wanted to cling to the idea that someone, anyone, could see him as more than just a weapon.

“Please,” Dr. N continued, her voice barely a whisper. “Let me help you.”

The panic in his chest began to ease, replaced by a strange mixture of resignation and hope. His hands relaxed, and his body stopped fighting against the restraints. But before he could respond, the liquid in his lungs became an unbearable weight. His vision began to fade, and his mind filled with images of Mori, the experiments, the screams.

“Chuuya,” Dr. N said, her voice breaking through the chaos. “This is just the beginning. Trust me.”

Her words were the last thing he heard before his body gave in completely. Darkness enveloped him, taking with it any trace of resistance.

Chapter Text

The room was dimly lit by a flickering light that occasionally cast unsettling shadows on the metallic walls. Dr. N sat at her desk, surrounded by a pile of documents and holographic screens. Her dark hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her sharp, tired eyes scanned the reports with surgical precision.

"Unstable progress," she muttered, jotting something down in a worn notebook she had been using for years. Her hands trembled slightly—not from nervousness, but from exhaustion. The experiments with Chuuya Nakahara had progressed further than she had anticipated, but the results were... unpredictable.

The soft sound of something creaking interrupted her thoughts. She didn’t look up from the documents, but her expression tightened. She knew she wasn’t alone.

“I can hear you, brat,” she said in a dry but not aggressive tone, setting her pen aside.

A faint whisper of movement was followed by a soft thud. From the ceiling beams, a figure descended, hanging upside down like an acrobat. It was Chuuya. His hair, now long and braided, cascaded like a red waterfall toward the floor, and his eyes glinted with a dangerous spark.

“What are you doing working so late, doctor?” he asked in a mocking tone, swaying slightly as he spoke.

Dr. N looked at him with a mix of exasperation and affection. “And what are you doing climbing around my facility like a stray cat? Get down before something breaks—and I don’t mean the ceiling.”

Still hanging from the beams, Chuuya let out a mocking laugh. “How do you do it, doctor? Do you have cameras in every corner, or can you just smell my irresistible charm from afar?”

“What I smell is the disaster you bring with you,” she replied, not missing a beat as she resumed writing. “Now get down before you break something. Again.”

Chuuya landed with a fluid motion, spinning on his feet before leaning against the desk. “Come on, admit it. This place would be boring without me.”

The doctor sighed, finally looking up. “I don’t know if ‘boring’ is the right word. Maybe ‘peaceful,’ ‘quiet’... ‘bearable.’”

Despite the sarcasm, there was a glint of affection in her eyes. Chuuya noticed it and smiled, letting out a short laugh but saying nothing. Deep down, he knew that Dr. N was the only person who had truly accepted him in those years, scars and all.

“What are you scheming now?” Chuuya asked, leaning toward her. “Don’t tell me you’re planning another round of ‘life-saving experiments,’ as you call them, but which feel like near-death experiences to me. Bleagh!” He finished with a mock throat-slitting gesture before laughing.

The doctor rolled her eyes and then narrowed them. “If it weren’t for those experiments, you’d be dead. Or worse, in the hands of those idiots who saw you as a broken toy.”

Chuuya straightened, his expression hardening as his eyes instantly turned hollow. “I’m not a toy. I never was,” he growled.

The doctor stared at him, setting her pen aside. “I know, Chuuya. But the world out there doesn’t think the same. And until you’re ready to face it, you’ll stay here. With me, you’re safe.”

Chuuya averted his gaze, his jaw tightening. He knew she was right, but he hated admitting it. “What if I’m never ready? What if I’ll always just be a broken shell?”

“Then you’ll never leave, and I’ll take care of you until you accept that you’re more than a broken shell,” she replied calmly. “And that, perhaps, wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

For a moment, silence filled the room. The relationship between them was complex, full of unresolved tensions and an affection neither dared to name. Dr. N was his savior and his jailer, his protector and his manipulator. And Chuuya, despite everything, couldn’t bring himself to hate her. He stared at her, trying to read her thoughts and understand her. The doctor, of course, noticed and raised an eyebrow.

“Do you need something else, brat?” she asked, picking up her pen again.

“No… No, I just… I just wanted to see you,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re still alive, buried under your papers and those damn machines. You should… take a break. Himiko asks about you sometimes.”

The doctor paused her writing and looked at him, this time with something resembling tenderness, accompanied by a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m alive. Thank you for your concern, Chuuya. I’m just finishing the paperwork from your last mission.” Chuuya nodded slightly, understanding her words. “And tell Himiko I’ll join them for their next tea party.”

“At first, I was against you bringing the kid here" Chuuya raised an eyebrow, his claws tapping against the desk. The tap-tap sound filled the silence. "But… maybe it’s been good for you. I still remember how you were before they arrived—angry, almost suicidal.”

Chuuya let out a laugh, not one of his fake ones, but a real, warm one. “Ah… Yeah, it’s like they opened my eyes. I’m grateful I found them.” He looked at the doctor and smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, old hag.” He watched as her face shifted from confusion to indignation, laughing loudly before dodging her hands as she tried to grab him.

“You little brat, you’ll pay for that!” she shouted back as she got up from her seat, smiling fondly when she heard his laughter. Then she sighed, sitting back down and picking up the documents to read them one last time.

Yes… Maybe, in another life, I would’ve liked to have raised him from the start…

The Detective Agency building had changed radically, expanded with separate offices for each member of the Agency, but the building wasn’t the only thing that had changed; the atmosphere had as well. The walls were adorned with new solved cases, but also with scars from the past that never fully healed. Fukuzawa, though still in charge, had delegated most of the responsibilities to Kunikida, who now acted as a sort of successor to the Agency.

Ranpo still looked the same on the outside, but his attitude had matured. The disappearance of Chuuya and the change in Dazai had affected him more than he would ever admit. He now took cases with a seriousness that he used to reserve only for the most critical moments.

Atsushi, who had grown both in skill and character, was a reflection of the Agency’s determination. However, he still carried the weight of not having been able to save Nakahara that night. He had sworn never to fail like that again and that if finding him alone would make his mentor crack even a smile, he would personally go to Europe to find Nakahara.

Dazai was the figure who had changed the most over these years. His hair was longer, now tied in a messy ponytail, and a slight beard covered his face, along with dark circles under his eyes, giving him a disheveled look that didn’t match the man he once was. His eyes, which had once gleamed with a mix of cunning and cynicism, were now dark, as if empty of everything but determination.

He spent most of his time locked in his office, surrounded by documents, maps, letters, and files from years of aging. No one knew exactly what he was doing, but everyone knew it had to do with Chuuya.

Atsushi used to leave coffee on his desk in the mornings, hoping it would get him to talk, but Dazai rarely said anything more than a grunt of thanks.

Kunikida had tried confronting him several times, insisting that he should let go of the past and release the redhead, but every argument ended with Dazai looking at him with a mix of fury, pain, and betrayal: “Let him go? How do you let go of someone who should never have left? Who should never have been used like he was?”

These kinds of discussions always left a tense air in the Agency, a bad taste in everyone’s mouth or a stomach ache. Kenji always tried to lighten the mood, but after a few years, he simply gave up, leaving with Kyoka to some bar or other place far from the shouting.

While the Agency was stable, the Port Mafia wasn’t for long.

After Chuuya’s kidnapping, the Port Mafia fell into deep chaos. Without Chuuya to lead them and serve as their force of containment, Kouyou had to take charge.

Kouyou had proven to be an efficient and ruthless leader, but with a code of honor that set her apart completely from Mori. She had maintained peace with the Detective Agency, respecting the treaty that had been established before Chuuya’s kidnapping, only for him.

However, she never stopped searching for him. Every time she got a clue, no matter how small, about the redhead’s whereabouts, she sent teams to investigate it, though many of those missions ended in dead ends.

Kouyou had sworn to bring Chuuya back, explicitly alive, not only because he was one of hers, but because she felt she owed him something. She knew that Mori had done horrible things to him, and the fact that she had never noticed the signs, the cries for help that the younger man’s attitude and body had shown, finding him was the only way to atone for this great mistake of hers. Though she would never admit it aloud, she considered Chuuya both a son and a younger brother—call her cheesy, but she had finished raising the little chick that had come under her wing.

In secret, she had funded multiple independent investigations to track any trace of the damn Europeans who had taken her most prized jewel, as well as a certain brunette.

She had sent spies to Europe, but every time they were close to obtaining information, something or someone silenced them.

At his desk, Dazai stared at an old photo he had kept for years. It was of him and Chuuya, taken during one of the rare moments when they weren’t arguing. They were both laughing, and Chuuya had that arrogant smile that used to annoy him, but now he would give anything to see it again.

On the quietest nights, when everyone had left, Dazai would often stay looking at the photo. Sometimes, his fingers would brush the image, as if he could bring him back just by touching it, longing to caress the redhead's hair one last time. But the silence of the office always reminded him that he was alone. Chuuya was far away, and with each passing day, the chance of finding him seemed to fade a little more.

Atsushi approached timidly, leaving a cup of coffee on the desk. "Dazai-san, any news?"

Dazai didn’t respond immediately. He continued staring at the photo before finally speaking. “Sometimes I think that if I had stopped him... If I had done something different…”

"Dazai-san, we did everything we could," Atsushi said, his voice filled with sincerity. "But we haven’t finished. We’ll find him, I know it."

Dazai looked up, his eyes meeting Atsushi’s. For a moment, they seemed to shine at the thought, and it seemed like he was about to say something more, but instead, he took the coffee cup and nodded slowly, taking a small sip.

"Yeah," he murmured. "We’ll find him."

In an office decorated with elegance but with an air of authority, Kouyou Ozaki sat behind a dark wooden desk, holding a glass of wine. The warm light from a lamp illuminated her serene yet calculating face. In front of her, a subordinate waited in silence, shifting nervously in his seat, uneasy about what he was about to report.

"Speak," Kouyou ordered, her voice soft but filled with authority.

The man swallowed before pulling out an envelope stained with dust and what appeared to be dried blood. "We’ve received information from a reliable source in Europe. It seems... it seems there’s activity related to the Arahabaki liquid in a clandestine facility."

Kouyou placed the glass down on the desk with an elegant but firm motion. Her golden eyes glinted with interest as she looked directly at the subordinate. "A clandestine facility? How reliable is this source?"

"90% of our previous leads were false, either in content or dates," the subordinate admitted, bowing his head. "But this... comes from someone who used to work for them. They’re fully willing to talk and help find Nakahara-san, but only if we protect them."

Kouyou remained silent for a moment, her fingers playing with the edge of the glass. Finally, she raised her gaze, her expression determined and her brow slightly furrowed. "Did they mention anything about Chuuya Nakahara, either in documents or something?"

The subordinate hesitated before responding. "Not directly, but... Mori’s name appeared in the leaked documents. We believe there could be some kind of connection."

Kouyou stood slowly, her kimono fluttering slightly as she took a step toward the window, gazing at the lights of Yokohama in the distance. "Send our best men. I want to confirm this information personally."

"Yes, Kouyou-sama," the man replied, bowing before leaving.

Kouyou remained alone in the room, looking at the city with a mix of determination and melancholy. She pulled a small pendant from her pocket, an object she had kept since Chuuya’s disappearance. She held it in her hand, remembering the day she promised herself she would bring him back, no matter the cost.

"Chuuya..." she murmured, her eyes shining with a mix of hope and pain. "No matter how much time passes, I’ll find you. That’s my promise." From her sleeve, she pulled out a flip phone and dialed a number she never thought she would call again.

‘Ane-san? What do I owe the... unexpected call?’

"I have information, meet me at the neutral bridge."

There was a silence, followed by the sound of a chair scraping, a door opening, cutting through the stillness.

‘I’ll be there.’

And the call ended.

Kouyou closed the phone and placed it on the desk. Her hand trembled slightly, a reflection of the tension she had learned to hide behind years of leadership. She couldn’t fail this time. Chuuya wasn’t just a subordinate; he was a symbol of what the Mafia had lost, and what she had promised to protect.

And in three different places, under different skies, three people were thinking the same thing: Chuuya Nakahara. To each of them, he was a lost piece of a puzzle they could no longer complete. And though none of them knew it, their paths were about to cross again.

The night was cold and dark, with a fog covering the streets of the European city where Chuuya was. He was dressed in a long coat and a hat that concealed his face, his braided hair tucked under the hat, and his eyes, hidden behind dark glasses, revealed no trace of emotion. He walked calmly, holding a briefcase containing something more valuable than any weapon: information.

He had spent weeks infiltrating the inner circles of the guards at the facility, posing as a data trafficker willing to sell secrets about Dr. N's operations. It was a dangerous mission, but Chuuya had accepted it without hesitation. Not because he believed in the objective, but because it was his only chance to send a message to the outside world.

Inside the briefcase was an envelope filled with documents detailing experiments with Arahabaki, records of Mori, and clues about the facility's location. Everything had been carefully gathered by Chuuya over the years, waiting for the right moment to act.

When he arrived at the meeting point, a dark alley behind an abandoned warehouse, two men were waiting for him. Their faces were grim, and their weapons hung from their belts, ready to be used.

"Do you have what you promised?" one of them asked, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

Chuuya nodded, extending the briefcase. "Here it is. Everything you need to dismantle their operation. Don’t forget who’s giving you this. Remember me when you start your work. I want to be front and center when this godforsaken place burns."

The men exchanged a glance, but before they could take the briefcase, a noise behind Chuuya made him turn. Several guards from the facility emerged from the shadows, their weapons aimed directly at him.

"You filthy raider!" one of them shouted before firing a bullet that grazed Chuuya’s shoulder.

Without hesitation, Chuuya threw the briefcase toward the two men, who caught it just as he began to fight the guards. His movements were quick and precise, but he was at a disadvantage. The guards outnumbered him, and although he managed to take down a few, they eventually immobilized him, though he put up a good fight.

Unfortunately, among those guards was the man he found terribly handsome, Shouta.

“Oow~, Shouta-san, that really hurt! Don’t you think you’re being a bit too cruel with me? Mmh~?”

“Oh darling, I’m not being half as cruel as what awaits you at home.”

One of the guards struck him hard in the face, making him stagger. Another grabbed his arms, while a third searched his clothes, pulling out a small communication device he had been hiding.

"Ah... Maybe in, other circumstances, you could be even crueler, but you have a very strange way of flirting with your hostages."

"Did you think you could escape?" one of them said, mocking him as he hit him again.

Chuuya spat blood, but smiled arrogantly. "I didn’t need to escape. I’ve already done what I had to do."

The guards exchanged confused looks, but they didn’t have time to process his words. One of them knocked him out with a blow to the back of the neck, and everything went black for Chuuya.

When Chuuya woke up, he was back at the facility. His body ached from the blows, and his wrists were shackled with restraints that suppressed his ability. They dragged him through the halls to a room he recognized instantly: Dr. N’s laboratory.

She was there, waiting for him, arms crossed, with an expression that mixed disappointment and coldness.

"Do you know how much time I’ve invested in you?" she said, her voice soft but laced with danger. "And this is how you thank me?"

Chuuya lifted his gaze, his face bruised but defiant. "What did you expect? That I would stay here like a domesticated dog while you play God?"

Dr. N approached slowly, her heels clicking on the metallic floor. "What I expected, Chuuya, was loyalty. But I see you still don’t understand what it means to survive."

With a gesture, she ordered the guards to tie him to a chair in the center of the room. Then, she took a syringe from a nearby cart, filling it with a bright red liquid that Chuuya recognized instantly. It was the same liquid that ruined him, that ruined his life.

Chuuya began to squirm, growling and trying to free himself from the grip of the gurney. "You said you wouldn’t use it again! Not even as punishment, Dr.!" he cried out in pain as one of the guards held his head to the left, growling as he tried to break free from the firm grip of the man.

"This isn’t punishment," she said as she approached him, the syringe in hand. "This is to remind you what happens when you try to defy me."

Chuuya tried to resist, but the restraints kept him immobilized. Dr. N injected the liquid into his arm, and the effect was immediate. His body arched as the pain spread through his veins, burning like liquid fire.

"Does it hurt, doesn’t it?" murmured Dr. N, leaning toward him. "That’s what happens when you forget who saved you. I want you to remember this moment the next time you think about betraying me."

Chuuya gasped, his body trembling from the intensity of the pain. But even in his weakened state, he managed to murmur: "It doesn’t matter what you do... Someone will come for me, I know it."

Dr. N looked at him in silence for a moment before stepping away, then bursting into mocking laughter. "Maybe," she finally said. "But by then, it will be too late."

The hallway seemed longer than usual, as if the metallic walls stretched endlessly, mocking him. Each step sent a wave of pain through his body, but he couldn’t stop. The order had been clear: walk.

Chuuya was barefoot, his feet sliding on the cold floor of the facility. The blood from his wounds left a trail behind him, a path of humiliation that none of the guards seemed willing to clean. His breathing was heavy, ragged, and his body trembled with each movement.

The marks of torture were fresh. His nails, ripped from their roots, left his fingers bloody and trembling. Each step made the wounds on his feet open further, as small shards of glass embedded into his skin. His teeth ached, some missing, ripped out coldly during the "punishment." The sharp pain in his gums was almost unbearable, and the metallic taste of blood still filled his mouth.

He was somewhat grateful for the existence of Arahabaki inside him; its power helped regenerate his wounds quickly. He could feel his teeth slowly growing back, thank God, though it added more heat and unbearable pain to his gums. His nails, or rather claws, were growing little by little, though it didn’t alleviate the pain.

On his arms, the marks of the recent injections glowed under the dim light of the hallway. Red lines followed the path of his veins, where Arahabaki’s liquid had once again been forced to travel through his body. His torso was covered in dark bruises, the result of the methodical blows he had received.

A guard followed him closely, his expression completely indifferent. "Faster, Nakahara. We don’t have all day."

Chuuya didn’t respond. His lips were cracked and dry, and each word he tried to speak cost him too much. He knew that if he complained, if he even asked for help, he would only receive more humiliation. So he kept walking, his faltering steps echoing in the silence of the hallway.

Finally, he reached his room. The door opened automatically with a mechanical beep, and the guard pushed him lightly in the back. "Inside. And clean up that mess you call clothes. We don’t want you getting too comfortable."

The door slammed shut behind him with a sharp thud, leaving him alone.

Chuuya collapsed to the floor of his room, unable to hold himself up. His knees hit the cold metallic floor, and the impact sent a jolt of pain that he barely registered. His body trembled uncontrollably, each muscle screaming from the punishment he had endured. But it wasn’t the physical pain that was breaking him; it was the chaos in his mind.

The drawings on the walls seemed to stare at him, their childish strokes distorting before his eyes. The colors warped, turning into familiar faces that looked at him with contempt.

"I’m not... I’m not some type of animal," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

The echoes of the torture reverberated in his mind like a drum. He could feel the pliers ripping his nails, the cold metal against his teeth before they were torn out one by one. The needles piercing his skin, injecting a liquid that burned like fire through his veins. The shouts of the guards, the mocking laughter as they forced him to walk to his room, bleeding, humiliated.

And then, the voices began.

At first, it was Dazai, his mocking tone, but now filled with a venom he had never shown before.

"Did you really think I would come for you, Chuuya?" The voice seemed to come from everywhere, echoing off the walls. "Come on.. You're more smart of what you think. You’re a broken toy, and I don’t have time for things that don’t work."

"You’re not real!" Chuuya shouted, clutching his ears. But the voice continued, louder, crueler.

"Not real? Then why do you keep calling me? Why do you keep waiting for me to save you? No one wants to save you, Chuuya. No one wants a monster."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Chuuya slammed his fists against the floor, ignoring the pain in his broken knuckles.

The figure of Kouyou appeared before him, her gaze stern and full of disappointment.

"I always knew you were weak," she said, her voice cutting. "He shaped you to be strong, but you were never really strong. You were just a scared child, unable to protect anyone. Not even yourself."

Chuuya recoiled, crawling on the floor as the figure moved toward him. "No... I tried... I tried to be strong..." crashing into the corner of the room and hugging himself, realizing that his nails had finished growing.

"You tried and failed," Kouyou responded, her tone full of disdain. "You failed as a leader, as a brother, as a person."

Kouyou’s face distorted, turning into Verlaine’s, with a cruel smile and eyes full of contempt.

"Look at you, you look pathetic," he mocked, leaning toward him. "I should never have called you my brother. Someone as weak as you doesn’t deserve that title. You’re just a failed experiment. A remnant of something that should never have existed."

"I’m not an experiment!" Chuuya screamed, his voice breaking. He brought his hands to his head, his nails scratching his scalp in desperation.

He began to scratch his arms, hoping that the pain would wake him from this nightmare. But it didn’t work. The figures were still there, laughing, mocking, their voices blending into a deafening chorus.

"Wake up! Wake up, damn it!" he screamed, his nails leaving bloody marks on his skin.

Dazai’s face appeared before him, his mocking smile distorting into something monstrous.

"You’ll never wake up, Chuuya," he said, leaning toward him, grabbing his chin so that Chuuya couldn’t look away from his gaze. "This is all you are. A broken toy. An empty shell."

"I’m not an empty shell, Im more than that, I'll prove you all!" Chuuya began to rock back and forth, his trembling hands hitting his head as if he could shake the voices out of his mind.

The drawings on the walls seemed to move, the faces of the figures distorting into something grotesque. The colors mixed, creating a spiral that made him feel like he was falling.

"What’s real?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "What’s real?"

He crawled toward the whiteboard, where the huge "0" seemed to glow with mocking light. He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn’t respond. He collapsed again, his fingers scraping the floor as he sobbed.

"Ane-san..." he whispered, tears falling to the floor. "Osamu..."

The Doctor N observed every movement of Chuuya through the cameras. The screens displayed his trembling body, the fresh marks on his skin, and the bloodstains now covering the floor of his room. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, were fixed on the image, but there was something more in them: a shadow of doubt, a crack in her iron facade.

She leaned back in her chair, intertwining her fingers in front of her face. The room, filled with monitors and advanced machinery, seemed vast and empty at the same time. The flickering light from the screens cast shadows on the walls, making the scene seem even more oppressive.

"I'm sorry, Chuuya," she murmured, barely audible, as if afraid someone might hear her.

She knew those words meant nothing. Not to him, not to someone who had endured so much. But what else could she say? The excuses and justifications she used to repeat sounded emptier with each passing day.

She took his file to read what she already knew.

Experimental File: Subject 01 - Chuuya Nakahara

Start Date: [Year 1 of Containment, Subject Age: 22]

Current Status: [Year 7 of Containment, Subject Age: 29]

Report Written by: Doctor Nadia

 

Initial Summary: Discovery and Confiscation of Mori Ougai's Documents

 

After the disappearance of the former leader of the Port Mafia, Mori Ougai, classified documents related to the Arahabaki experiment were recovered. These files, hidden under various codes and ciphers, contained disturbing information about using Chuuya Nakahara as a catalyst to "control the uncontrollable."

 

Excerpt from Mori Ougai's File:

 

"Chuuya is not just human; he is the living manifestation of a god who resists control. If we synchronize his will with Arahabaki, we could eliminate human limitations. He would not be a soldier; he would be war itself. But there is a price. His mind, his identity, are obstacles. Destroying them will be inevitable. He is not human. He is a vessel."

 

The document ended with disordered, almost illegible notes, obsessively repeating phrases like: "Why isn't this working?" "What am I overlooking?" and, most disturbing, "He screams like a child when it hurts... does it matter?"

 

 

---

 

 

Containment Summary: Year 1

 

When Chuuya arrived at the facility, his body showed signs of severe physical and psychological trauma. The marks of Mori's previous experiments were evident: scars on his arms from repeated injections, hypersensitivity, and dissociative episodes.

 

My initial goal was simple: stabilize him. But stabilizing Chuuya Nakahara proved to be a much greater challenge than expected. The properties of Arahabaki were not only deeply embedded in his biology, but also influenced his psyche. Arahabaki seemed to respond to his extreme emotions, causing bursts of power that put the facility at risk.

 

Initial Protocol:

 

1. Emotional outbreak control: Introduction of an inhibitor serum to regulate Arahabaki manifestations.

 

 

2. Mental rehabilitation: Controlled sessions to assess the subject's cognitive stability.

 

 

3. Utility assessment: Constant monitoring to determine if Chuuya could be safely used in missions.

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

Progression: Year 3

 

The inhibitor serum worked, but with devastating side effects. While it controlled the power outbursts, it also exacerbated his episodes of paranoia and hallucinations. At this point, Chuuya began to show self-harming behaviors. The cameras captured him scratching himself until he bled, muttering names like "Dazai" and "Verlaine."

 

Personal Note:

I often wonder if this is the price of saving him. Mori destroyed his humanity, and I can only offer him a half-life.

 

 

---

 

Progression: Year 5

 

Chuuya became more functional during this period. His physical abilities were optimized with new training methods, and Arahabaki remained stable. However, his relationship with me grew more tense. Though he followed my orders, his gaze always held resentment, as if blaming me for every drop of suffering.

 

A detailed report in my personal file indicates that during this year, he attempted to escape three times. Each attempt ended with his capture and forced return to the facility.

 

Notable Incident: Year 5, Month 3

Chuuya infiltrated an external group and was almost extracted by a rival organization. However, an explosion at a neighboring facility forced his return. The incident made two things clear: his desire for freedom was unbreakable, and my methods were failing.

 

 

---

 

 

Current Progress: Year 7

 

Initial Conclusion:

Chuuya Nakahara is a paradox. He is a man with scars who screams for freedom but remains trapped in the cycle Mori imposed on him. Arahabaki will not let him go, and neither will I.

 

She closed the file with trembling hands. She had read these words over and over, but their weight never lessened. Her job as a scientist was to ensure he survived, but at what cost?

Doctor N sat in front of the old screen, the flicker of the monitor's light illuminating her tired face. In front of her, a dusty VHS player. In her hands, a tape labeled with almost illegible handwriting: "Incident A-158."

She knew what it contained. She had avoided watching it for years, burying it among Mori's darkest files. But something inside her knew she could no longer ignore it.

With a heavy sigh, she slid the tape into the player. The mechanical hum filled the room, and the screen lit up with a white flash before showing the images.

The footage was raw, unedited. A fixed camera pointed at a clinical, cold, sterile room. In the center, a metal examination table where a young Chuuya, about 22 years old, was strapped down with leather restraints. His hair was disheveled, his body covered in sweat and dried blood.

Mori's voice echoed, calm but with a disturbing edge.

"Chuuya Nakahara. The ultimate weapon. My masterpiece."

The camera captured Mori approaching Chuuya, holding a syringe filled with a bright red liquid.

"This is not just your fate, Chuuya-kun. It is the fate of the world. With Arahabaki in your veins, you are more than human. You are a god."

Chuuya struggled against the restraints, his eyes filled with fury and fear. "Let me go, you crazy bastard!"

Mori smiled, leaning in. "Go? And waste this potential? No, Chuuya. This is the price of greatness."

The camera showed Mori injecting the liquid into Chuuya's arm. His body arched violently in a spasm, a gut-wrenching scream escaping his lips as his skin glowed with a reddish hue. The marks of Arahabaki seemed to burn on his skin.

"More power. More control," Mori murmured as he took notes.

The scene shifted. Another recording. This time, Chuuya stood in a glass cell, surrounded by electrodes. Mori observed from a control room while a group of scientists manipulated controls.

"Increase the intensity to 80%," Mori ordered.

Chuuya screamed as an electric current coursed through his body. The glass of the cell cracked under the pressure of his ability, but the scientists did not stop the experiment.

"PLEASE STOP!" Chuuya screamed, his voice breaking.

Mori, unfazed, smiled. "This is only the beginning, Chuuya-kun. Only the beginning."

The image on the screen flickered, showing an office that was once elegant but now a chaotic mess. Papers scattered, furniture overturned, fresh bloodstains covering the floor. The camera was slightly tilted, as if it had been knocked over in the middle of the chaos, capturing everything from a strange angle.

In the center of the room, Mori was on his knees. His suit was torn and soaked in blood, a deep wound in his side that was bleeding profusely. His breathing was irregular, but he still wore that cold, calculating smile that had always characterized him.

In front of him stood Chuuya. His disheveled hair fell over his face, soaked in sweat and blood. His chest heaved violently, and his eyes glowed with an intense red that seemed to consume him. The marks of Arahabaki pulsed violently on his skin, as if alive.

In his hands, Chuuya held a metal pipe he had ripped from the wall during the confrontation. The end was deformed, covered in blood and tissue.

"Why?" Mori murmured, his voice weak but still holding that tone of superiority that made it unbearable. "After everything I did for you... you repay me with this?"

Chuuya gritted his teeth, his hands trembling as he raised the pipe. "What you did for me? You stole my life! You turned me into a damn monster!"

Mori let out a weak, almost mocking laugh. "A monster? No, Chuuya. You are perfect. You are what you were always meant to be. I gave you a purpose. Without me, you are nothing."

"Shut up!" Chuuya screamed, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. He took a step toward Mori, raising the pipe above his head.

Mori raised a hand, as if trying to stop him, or perhaps just to mock him one last time. "You will never escape me, Chuuya. I made you. You will always be mine."

The first blow landed with a dull thud, the metal crashing against Mori's skull. His head tilted to the side, a trickle of blood running down his temple.

Chuuya didn’t stop. He hit again. And again. And again.

The pipe sank into Mori's face, breaking bones and tearing flesh. The camera captured every impact, the grotesque sound of bones cracking and blood splattering on the walls. Mori's face, once pristine and arrogant, became an unrecognizable mass of mangled flesh and blood.

Chuuya screamed as he hit, his voice torn by rage and pain. "Im! Not! Yours!" Each word came with a blow, each blow more brutal than the last.

When he finally stopped, the pipe was bent, covered in blood and bone fragments. Mori lay motionless on the floor, his body still in a pool of his own blood. His face was no longer a face; it was a grotesque mass of crushed flesh and congealed blood.

Chuuya dropped the pipe, which fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. His chest heaved violently, and his hands trembled as he stared at Mori's body.

"What... what have I done?" he murmured, stepping back.

His gaze shifted to his hands, covered in blood, and then to the mangled body in front of him. The marks of Arahabaki still glowed on his skin, as if mocking him, reminding him of what he was.

"This... this isn't me," he whispered, his voice breaking. "What have I become..?"

Chuuya fell to his knees, his hands covering his face as tears fell down his cheeks. But even as he cried, a part of him felt a dark satisfaction. Mori was dead. His torturer, his jailer, his creator... was no more.

The screen went black, leaving the room in oppressive silence. Doctor N remained still, her eyes fixed on the turned-off monitor.

She knew what had happened, but seeing it was something else.

"So this is what broke you," she murmured, bringing a hand to her chest.

She stood and walked to the window, looking at the facility she had worked so hard to build. "It wasn’t just Mori who died that day, was it, Chuuya? A part of you died too, unfortunately."

She returned to the desk and took Mori’s file, flipping through the pages filled with chaotic notes. Mori’s handwriting became more erratic with each page, the words filled with obsession and madness.

"Chuuya is the key. Arahabaki is perfection. With him, I can remake the world."

Doctor N slammed the file shut, her expression hardening. "And now it’s my turn to fix what he destroyed."

She looked at the camera showing Chuuya’s room, where he was curled up on the floor, muttering through his tears.

"I'm sorry, Chuuya," she whispered. "But I can’t let you go. Not until you’re truly free."

The cold wind of Yokohama blew fiercely, making the city lights flicker like distant stars. In a secluded alley, under the dim light of a streetlamp, Dazai waited, leaning against a brick wall. His coat fluttered slightly, and his face showed a mix of weariness and melancholy.

Footsteps echoed in the distance, each one firm and calculated. Akutagawa appeared from the shadows, his black cloak fluttering like a stalking crow. His sharp gaze fixed on Dazai, but there was no hostility, only contained curiosity.

"Dazai-san," Akutagawa said, slightly bowing his head in a gesture of respect.

Dazai lifted his gaze, his eyes empty but attentive. "Akutagawa. Punctual, as always. Though I thought you'd be too busy with your responsibilities in the Mafia by now."

Akutagawa crossed his arms, still observing him. "Kouyou-sama sent me. She says this is important."

Dazai let out a short, dry laugh. "Always so efficient. Though I suppose you didn’t come just to deliver messages, did you?"

Akutagawa stared at him in silence for a few seconds before speaking. "Seven years have passed."

Dazai raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Since Nakahara-san disappeared.." Akutagawa continued, his voice low but heavy with meaning. "I thought by now we would have found something... anything. But it’s as if the world erased him."

Dazai looked away, his eyes fixing on an undefined point on the horizon. "The world can’t erase someone like Chuuya. No matter how hard it tries."

Akutagawa nodded slightly, as if those words confirmed something he already knew. "Do you miss him?"

Dazai let out a bitter laugh. "Miss him? Akutagawa, Chuuya was like a hurricane. He was always there, tearing everything in his path. Even when you didn’t want him to, it was impossible to ignore him."

Akutagawa tilted his head slightly, remembering. "I remember how he used to yell at me for not following his orders to the letter. He said I was 'a useless brat who didn’t know how to survive without help.'"

Dazai smiled faintly, his gaze lost in the past. "That sounds like him. He always had such a... subtle way of motivating people."

A brief silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of the wind.

"And you?" Akutagawa asked, his tone softer than usual. "Do you have any memory that... makes you think of him?"

Dazai closed his eyes for a moment, letting the images of his time with Chuuya flood his mind. "Too many. Like the time he almost destroyed an entire building because someone called him 'short.' Or when we bet on who could drink more and he ended up hitting me because, according to him, 'I cheated.'"

Akutagawa looked down, his lips tightening. "He was... someone you couldn’t ignore. Even when he made you feel insignificant, he forced you to be better."

Dazai looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his words. "That’s true. Chuuya had a unique way of bringing out the best and the worst in people."

Silence returned between them, heavier this time. Akutagawa finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting Dazai’s.

"Do... Do you think he’s still alive?"

Dazai didn’t answer immediately. His gaze softened, and a small, melancholic smile appeared on his lips. "He is. I’ve never met someone as stubborn as him. If anyone can survive all of this, it’s Chuuya."

Akutagawa nodded slowly, as if those words were all he needed to hear. "Then, we’ll keep looking for him."

Dazai watched as he turned to leave, his cloak fluttering behind him. Before Akutagawa disappeared into the shadows, Dazai spoke once more.

"Akutagawa."

The young man stopped, turning his head slightly.

"If you find him before I do... tell him I miss him. Though he’ll probably hit me for saying something so cheesy."

Akutagawa didn’t respond, but a small smile formed on his lips before he disappeared into the darkness.

Dazai stood alone, the wind blowing around him. He looked up at the sky, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and pain.

"Wait for us, Chuuya," he murmured. "We’re not done with you yet."

Chapter Text

The sky was beginning to turn orange as the sun slowly descended on the horizon. Kouyou waited by the bridge railing, his posture straight and elegant, but his eyes reflecting the weight of years. His fingers played with the pendant he wore around his neck, a small locket containing a photo of Chuuya in his youth.

Dazai’s footsteps echoed on the bridge, breaking the silence. Kouyou didn’t turn around immediately, but she knew it was him. His walk, relaxed but purposeful, was unmistakable.

“Ozaki-san,” Dazai greeted, stopping a few feet away from her.

“Dazai,” she replied without looking at him, her voice soft but heavy with tension.

The silence between them stretched for a few seconds before Kouyou spoke. “I have a lead. One that could lead us to Chuuya.”

Dazai slowly approached, leaning on the railing beside her. “How reliable is this lead?”

Kouyou pulled out an envelope from his kimono, stained with dust and dried blood. “It comes from an informant who worked at one of the European facilities related to Arahabaki. According to him, there are documents in an archive in Germany that might contain information on Chuuya’s whereabouts.” He wiped his kimono with his hand, before speaking again.

“Also, Akutagawa is on a mission in Germany, the contact told us that there were other documents and other things there that could help us.”

Dazai took the envelope and examined it, his face remaining expressionless as he opened it and looked through the papers. “What kind of documents?”

“Investigations. Reports on previous experiments, transportation records… everything points to them being linked to Mori and what he did with Chuuya before his death.” Kouyou paused, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “But there’s something else. According to the informant, Chuuya might have been at that facility recently.”

Dazai clenched the envelope in his hands, his jaw tightening. “Why didn’t you tell me this information before? You wanted me to keep running around in circles like a dog?”

Kouyou looked at him, his eyes shining with a mix of frustration and sadness, sighing before he began to speak. “Because I didn’t trust you, Dazai. Not after how you let him down seven years ago.”

“You think I don’t blame myself every day?” Dazai replied, his voice low but heavy with emotion. “That I don’t think day and night about the thousand and one ways I could have prevented all of this? Well, I do. It should have been me they took, not...” He took a deep breath before hesitantly saying. “Not him. Not someone as brilliant as him.”

They both stared at each other, a silent battle of wills. Kouyou was still assimilating Dazai's outpouring of emotions, she looked at the sea, Chuuya was like a sea, full of incredible and dangerous things, she looked at the brown-haired boy to speak again before being interrupted.

“He... is my light, you know that, right? I know you tried to prevent Chuuya from getting together with me but, I was grateful when he didn't obey you and looked for me. He illuminated even the worst days and made the good ones better.” Kouyou stared at him, silently because she knew this wasn't over yet. “I saw a future with him after not wanting one all my life, he's my reason to keep fighting, Ozaki-san.”

Dazai stared at the redhead again, not knowing when he had looked away, he showed her the envelope again. “You may think this is nothing compared to how long he's been missing, but, listen to me carefully, Ozaki-san.”

“We will bring him back,” Dazai said firmly, it was a promise, it was an affirmation, he would bring Chuuya back, no matter what the cost.

The echo of Akutagawa's footsteps resonated in the deserted hallway. The air smelled of burning paper and gunpowder. It was not a place that invited him to linger. But something made him pause.

A dull sound. A thud. Another. Something heavy falling against the floor.

He turned, his sharp eyes scanning the gloom. At first, he saw nothing. Just the scattered remnants of papers, the flickering lights, and the slight trembling of the facility.

Then, he saw it.

An orange flash, a weight in his stomach.

His heart stopped for a second. No. It couldn't be.

He took another step forward, and the scene unfolded before him.

A body fell to the ground, limp. Above it, a figure watched him with a crooked smile, holding a still-smoking gun. His muscles tensed as he recognized the posture, the way his prey lay lifeless at his feet.

The attacker stood up straight, shaking the blood from his knuckles. He had another weapon hanging from his shoulder, tapping his hip in a steady rhythm. His hair, longer than he remembered, was tied back in a messy braid. His skin, too pale, contrasted with the blood stains on his clothes.

But what took his breath away were the eyes.

One a deep red, the other… a luminous spiral of an unnatural color.

Akutagawa opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat closed, his mind unable to process what he saw.

Chuuya picked up the documents he had snatched from the corpses and quickly scanned through them with a satisfied smile. But as soon as he turned around, his expression froze.

They both stood still, time suspended between them.

Chuuya's lips parted as he slowly backed away to lean against the counter, shaking slightly but saying nothing. His chest rose and fell with tense breaths.

Akutagawa gulped. His body trembled. Not from fear. Not from rage. But from something deeper, more primal.

"You're... you're alive," he whispered at last, his voice breaking.

Chuuya blinked, trying to erase the blurriness in his eyes, his pupils dilated, as if his brain couldn't accept the reality in front of him, turning to face this new situation as he let the papers fall on the counter, he breathed shakily refusing to accept that this was all just another illusion of his twisted mind.

"This isn't real," he muttered. "You're not real."

His labored breathing worsened, he grabbed his chest as a hand brushed the unruly strands of hair from his face, he closed his eyes squeezing them shut to try to calm his breathing.

Akutagawa moved forward until he was inches from the orange-haired man's back, looking at his elder's tense shoulders as he raised a hand to help, his fingertips brushed the shoulder, as he hesitantly called out to his former superior.

"Chuuya-san…"

But then, before he even placed his hand on the shoulder, a phosphorescent red glow was the only thing he managed to see before he was abruptly, ow, pushed onto the table, and he hadn't even thought of defending himself when the sound of a gun's safety resonated, as he felt cold metal resting on his temple.

"Chuuya-san, I'm-!"

"I know who you are, I may be crazy but that doesn't make me remember the dogs that betrayed me." He declared as he pressed the gun against the black-haired man's temple. "And I would think about it before trying to use that ability of yours. You may be fast, but you are very good with weapons, your skill will not touch me before you fall dead like a bag of pure shit.” He threatened, before laughing as if he had told the joke of the century.

“Chuuya-san, please listen to me.” He begged, and, shit, if this wasn’t his superior who disappeared seven years ago, he would have already torn him to pieces. The orange haired man leaned towards his face, his eye wide open as he looked into Akutagawa’s eye, the black haired man almost looked away, the gaze was deep and empty, it had color, they weren’t black at all but something about them gave you the creeps.

“Alright, you have five minutes before the alarms go off, I hear you.” He abruptly released the shorter man, laughing when he heard the sound of a bone snap. “Oops”

Akutagawa readjusted his shoulder, before turning completely towards Chuuya, smirking. “If you didn't shoot me, it means you know and care who I am.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue as a sign of his displeasure, placing his hand on his hip, “You sure talk nonsense, you bastard dog.” But there was something false in his attitude, Akutagawa noticed it, it was there, slightly but it was there. Chuuya's voice hadn't sounded as firm as he wanted, a slight tremor could be heard.

Akutagawa stared at him, his shoulder and body still sore from the strong impact, looking at the orange-haired man he noticed that his breathing was accelerated and his eyes were out of focus, Chuuya was there in the background, and he had to get him out of there.

“If I really was a monster like they say, you would have annihilated me already. Right, Revenant?”

Chuuya growled, raising the gun as he pointed it at Akutagawa. “You overestimate yourself.”

“No, I don’t. I know you.”

Chuuya let out a low, harsh laugh, cocking his head with that crooked smile that didn’t quite belong to him.

“And what do you know about me, you traitorous bastard?” His voice dripped with mockery, but Akutagawa didn’t take the bait.

“I know you hate being ordered around. I know that when you’re faced with something you can’t control, you act before you think. I know you cling to anything that makes you feel strong because if you allow yourself to be weak for even a second, you feel like you’re going to fall apart.”

Chuuya’s spiral eye gleamed dangerously, but Akutagawa took a step closer.

“You know what else I know?” His voice became lower, sharper. “That this person in front of me is not Chuuya-san.”

Chuuya let out an abrupt laugh, but something in his fingers tightened around the gun, as he pressed the gun safety again.

“Oh, right. Now you’re going to tell me I’m a ghost,” he laughed dangerously. “Or a robot, or another experiment of those bastards.”

Akutagawa shook his head.

“No. What I’m saying is that you’re running away.”

Chuuya’s face immediately hardened. “I’m not running away.”

Akutagawa narrowed his eyes. “Oh, no? Then look me in the eyes and tell me my name without hesitation.”

Silence.

Chuuya stood completely still. His lips parted, but no words came out.

Akutagawa didn’t smile. It wasn’t a victory.

“I told you so.”

Chuuya breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling violently, as if his body was trying to reboot itself. His pupils were dilated, his hands shaking slightly.

Akutagawa kept pushing.

“If you were really a monster, you wouldn’t care about this. If you were just a killing machine, you would have already ended this conversation.” Chuuya blinked, his spiral eye vibrating slightly.

Something inside him cracked.

Akutagawa saw it the exact moment it happened.

Small. Almost imperceptible. But there it was.

An all-too-human blink.

A muscle in his jaw twitching.

A step back.

Reality had set in.

Akutagawa didn’t move, waiting.

Chuuya lowered the gun slowly, his fingers tightening on the handle as if he needed it to hold himself up. His other hand came up to his face, covering his eyes as he breathed unevenly.

“This isn’t real.” he murmured, his voice sounding different now. Lower. Shakier.

Akutagawa allowed himself to soften his tone, just a little.

“Yes it is, Chuuya-san.”

Chuuya pulled his hand away, and when he looked down at his palm, he saw something glistening.

Tears.

But they weren’t normal.

The liquid that coursed through his veins was now on his face, dripping between his fingers.

Chuuya stared at them, his breathing quickening again, his mind overloading.

Akutagawa took a step closer, his voice barely a whisper.

“Breathe. Just breathe.”

And for the first time in a long time, Chuuya complied.

But breathing hurt.

His lungs expanded in a painful spasm, as if they had forgotten how they worked. Her throat burned, her chest rose and fell erratically, her mind teetered between delirium and reality.

The world felt too big, too heavy, too real.

His hand slid to his temple, squeezing hard, as if trying to hold back the scattered fragments of his consciousness before they shattered against the floor.

Akutagawa moved cautiously, but each step he took towards him felt like a blow to Chuuya's chest.

It was like seeing a ghost walking towards him. One that his mind refused to accept.

Chuuya closed his eyes tightly, his back hitting the wall behind him.

"No. You can't be real," he muttered, his voice cracking.

His breathing quickened again.

The bodies on the floor shook. The flickering lights seemed to whisper things to him. The sound of the alarm was a distant echo, warped, unrecognizable.

Everything moved, everything twisted, everything was a nightmare that never ended.

But then, he felt something warm on his wrist.

A touch.

Akutagawa.

The pressure was light, almost nonexistent, but his skin reacted instantly, shivering at the mere contact.

“Chuuya-san…” Akutagawa’s voice was barely a murmur, but it sounded different from the other voices in his head.

It was real.

Chuuya opened his eyes, his vision blurry, his body trembling.

His lips parted, but no words came out.

His mind still didn’t accept it

.

The phosphorescent red liquid with violet sparkles slid down his cheeks like liquid poison.

Akutagawa felt his stomach tighten.

Chuuya was crying.

But his tears weren’t normal.

They hadn’t been in years.

Before he could say anything else, Chuuya raised a trembling hand and, without thinking, tried to wipe away the tears of Akutagawa, who hadn't even realized he was crying.

His thumb brushed his cheek, and Akutagawa's dark makeup smeared under his touch.

Chuuya blinked, staring at the black smudge on his fingertip. "Woops…" he muttered with a broken smile.

Akutagawa felt a lump in his throat.

He didn't think about it.

He didn't have time to think about it.

Before he knew it, his arms had already wrapped around him, clinging to him tightly, as if letting go would make him disappear again.

Chuuya immediately tensed, his body rigid, unmoving. But after a couple of seconds, the air in his lungs came out in a shaky sigh, and his grip loosened.

Then, slowly, as if he was remembering something forgotten, his hands closed around Akutagawa's back.

And he trembled.

His breath hitched.

Akutagawa felt every spasm in Chuuya's body, felt his heat, felt the way his chest rose and fell as if he had trouble staying upright.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched. "You're alive," he whispered against his shoulder, his voice breaking.

Chuuya tried to respond, but when he opened his mouth, a choked sob escaped his throat.

He couldn't stop it.

Not this time.

The phosphorescent red tears kept falling, soaking into Akutagawa's cloth, staining it with something unnatural, yet completely real.

For a moment, nothing else existed. Just the two of them, in a world torn apart.

But then, reality hit them.

The deafening sound of the alarm interrupted the moment, bringing them back to the nightmare they were living in.

Akutagawa pulled away first, though his grip still remained firm on Chuuya’s shoulders, as if he was afraid he would fade away if he let go completely.

Chuuya, however, had immediately changed.

As if he had reminded himself where he was.

As if he had just realized he had shown too much.

With a quick movement, he took the documents he was still holding and pressed them against Akutagawa’s chest.

“Akutagawa, here is everything,” he said urgently, his voice firm, though still shaky. “The location of each and every facility. My number is 0002158. I don’t know which facility I’m in, but everything is here.”

Akutagawa looked at him in despair, his fingers clenching the papers, his eyes heavy with everything he didn't know how to say.

"Chuuya-san… what do I do with this?"

Chuuya stopped.

He didn't turn around completely, but enough so that his profile was illuminated by the red light of the alarm.

His lips curved into a smile, one Akutagawa never thought he'd see again.

"Give them to Osamu," he said softly.

His tone wasn't an order. It was absolute certainty. "Find me, Ryuu."

Akutagawa felt his heart stop for a second.

Ryuu.

It had been a long time since he heard Chuuya call him like that. And before he could answer, Chuuya had already turned around, disappearing into the shadows.

Akutagawa watched him go, the documents shaking in his hands.

Only when the alarm grew louder and the sound of hurried footsteps filled the hallway did he realize he was paralyzed, his throat closed, his body tense.

He couldn't lose him.

Not again.

He clutched the papers to his chest and fled.

Back at the Agency, Dazai gathered everyone in the meeting room. He spread the map out on the table and placed Kouyou’s papers next to it.

“Ozaki-san gave me this information,” he began, pointing at the papers. “A file in Germany might hold clues to Chuuya’s whereabouts. It’s not a certainty, but it’s the best we have.”

Ranpo adjusted his glasses, studying the documents. “If this facility is connected to Arahabaki, it won’t be easy to infiltrate. These places are designed to be impenetrable.”

Kunikida nodded, checking his notebook. “We need a solid plan. We’ll split the team into two groups: one to distract the guards and one to search for the documents.”

“That won’t work,” Ranpo interrupted. “If we divide our forces, we increase the risk of failing at both tasks. We need something more efficient.”

Tanizaki timidly raised his hand. “Uh… I have an idea.”

Everyone turned to him. Kenji, sitting next to him, encouraged him with a smile. “Come on, Tanizaki, tell them.”

Tanizaki took a deep breath before speaking. “We could use my ability to create a distraction at the main entrance. Something big enough for the guards to focus on there. Meanwhile, Kenji and Atsushi can use their strength to open a secondary entrance.”

“And then what?” Kunikida asked, interested.

“Ranpo can lead the main team from here,” Tanizaki continued. “Using the layouts of the place, he can direct us to the archives without needing to explore too much.”

Kenji added seriously, “Obviously this plan sounds easier to do than to plan, Tanizaki-san gave us an idea of ​​what we could do.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone processed the plan. Finally, Dazai walked up to Tanizaki and Kenji, a wide grin on his face.

“THEY ARE SO BIG!” he exclaimed, hugging them in exaggeration. “My little geniuses! I’m so proud of you!”

The other Agency members exchanged surprised glances. Seeing Dazai display such energy after so many years was almost surreal.

“Dazai-san…” Atsushi muttered, smiling slightly.

Dazai separated from the two, returning to his usual seriousness. “Okay, so we have a plan. Now, all we need is to make sure it works.”

Atsushi picked up a map that had fallen out of the files, moving it around on the table. There were lines marking certain places and some had no markings at all. Ranpo picked up one of the documents, reading it quickly and stopping when something caught his attention.

“Let’s focus on the marked places. Something tells me that this map is about the central labs. Maybe Nakahara is in some of these… Or not.”

They had spent two full days researching the documents, each of them receiving a handful of papers, marking, writing, and noting the most essential things that should not be forgotten.

Yosano took some papers, reading them without any interest at first, until something stopped her. “Wha... What is this shit?” On the papers was information about chemicals that were used, injections or emergency surgeries performed on inmate 00002158.

“I see you found something, Akkiko-san.”

The purple-haired girl looked up at Dazai, gulped and nodded, then began to speak, “These papers are medical reports on inmate 00002158, I have no idea who he could be, but these injections contain liquids to make a person or animal act or be more docile.”

Yosano circled different parts of the paper with a marker before handing the document to Dazai and Ranpo. “This document mentions some of the many chemicals, one of them is number fifteen, Sodium Pentothal, its use is for patients in barbiturate coma, although if you look closely, here” She pointed out some numbers in sequence, doses. “These are the doses used, it is 50 mg to 100 mg, it is considered dangerous for most humans, not lethal.”

“They do the same with each of these, Polonium-210 is a radioactive isotope, some studies say it is lethal to humans, but the doses that are read are minimal. 5 to 10 microcuries aren’t immediately lethal but they can really screw you up, there’s also Lysergic Acid, they used a high dose but not too lethal, these morons know what they’re doing the 100 to 200 microgram dose can induce very serious psychotic effects, paranoia, hallucinations, distortion of perception and constant fear.”

Yosano sighed as she tied her hair, “If it wasn’t Chuuya who was receiving each of these chemicals and doses, I would be very interested in the study.”

“In short, Yosano-san.. They..”

“That’s right, Tanizaki-kun, they’re driving him crazy, beyond what any human has ever witnessed, perhaps, we’ll manage to find him but I’m afraid that, from what I’m reading, we won’t find the Chuuya we find, maybe they’ve even changed his biology with some of these.”

Kenji, while listening to the conversation of the older ones, took the envelope where these documents were, although he felt something hard, small, but there it was, he put his hand inside the envelope to discover that the small thing he felt, was nothing more and nothing less than a pendrive, he looked up surprised that no one had seen or felt the pendrive before.

“Hey..” He began but was soon interrupted by Kunikida.

“And how do we know that this information is true? It could very well be a plan by the Port Mafia to deceive us.”

“Ozaki-san, personally, was the one who gave me these papers, and I must warn you, Kunikida-san, to think carefully about what you are insinuating.” Dazai looked annoyed at the blond. “Ozaki-san sees Chuuya as a brother and maybe even as a son, never and I say this from my own experience, would I let someone harm him.”

Soon the agency was deep in discussion about the authenticity of the documents, some were in favor of the fact that it wouldn't be a waste of time to investigate these files further, others were against investigating the documents, they always ended up in a dead end, and they didn't feel any kind of satisfaction, only a growing frustration, and it continued until a shout interrupted them.

“HEY! I've been talking to you for twenty minutes. Could you stop acting so immature when most of you are already or are entering your thirties?” Kenji looked at them annoyed, scolding them for their childish attitudes, in his point of view. “I found this, I thought it might be important.” The younger showed them the pendrive, before going to Tanizaki's computer and connecting it, letting the owner of the computer manipulate the rest.

The orange-haired boy looked at the files that were displayed on the screen. “Discipline A-074, B-121, C-089, D-142 and A-158..” He read each title, shrugging his shoulders he clicked on one of the files, the player started up.

The screen was black, although sounds of someone being dragged could be heard, soon the screen went blank, slowly coming into focus until they had a full view of the panorama. It left him completely horrified.

Tied to a chair from head to toe was Chuuya, although he looked young, the video was noticeably old, they concluded that perhaps this video was recorded in Chuuya's first years as a captive.

“Prisoner 00002158, you are here for attacking different members of the faculty, injuring thirty-seven of them, and ending the lives of fifteen, this is your first time receiving a consequence for such actions, so we will be patient while you get used to it.”

“Ha! Get used to it? You must be crazy, you filthy animals. If you think I'll call this place a “Home” how is your imbecile friend forced me to call this disgusting place forgotten by God.”

Yosano couldn't help but laugh at Chuuya's words, he still maintained that showy personality. 

“Start with the shocks, first do it between 10-20 AM, if he gets insolent, raise him.”

“HAH!?”

The screen flashed as the shocks covered the orange-haired boy’s entire body, who let out a 

gasp at the pain, but held on, surprisingly.

“You guys.. Is that all you have?”

“Fine, if you’re feeling so confident, turn it up to 20-50 AM.”

The scream echoed through the computer speakers, the pain the orange-haired boy was suffering was noticeable. Chuuya’s lips had tightened, forming wrinkles where there had been none before. It was noted that his breathing stopped as his stomach contracted inwards, before letting out the most grotesque scream anyone had ever heard.

“Do you regret your actions, 00002158?”

A sob sounded, Dazai closed his eyes, refusing to watch as Chuuya suffered for himself for not being faster to reach the orange haired boy.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again–!”

Chuuya’s plea was cut off, letting out a scream that made Atsushi’s ears hurt, who had instinctively protected himself, the glow of electricity went out, the members watched as the orange haired boy’s head fell forward, there was silence, before Chuuya’s body began to spasm and then he released everything he had in his stomach. Many made a face of disgust, others simply looked away, although a brown haired boy simply kept his gaze fixed on Chuuya’s state.

“Ugh! Just take him to his cell, send someone to clean him up, I don’t have time to take care of puppies kicked by their owner, do I, 00002158? You must understand that no one will come for you, we were sent to look for you because no one would want to take care of a... A pitiful weapon like you, you are a very good knife but dull and very easy to break.”

Footsteps were heard moving away and the sound of a door creaking closed, there was a brief silence not including the sounds of the straps being opened and Chuuya's body falling abruptly to the ground, then a broken sob suffocated the silence of the room as the body on the ground trembled non-stop.

The video ended, and automatically the second video began to play, although Tanizaki paused it to slowly turn to the other members of the Agency, all of them have different emotions changing every second, although there was one that they all had in common.

Frustration.

They had had the opportunity to save the orange-haired boy, but they had been too slow, although not all of them participated in the first roada, they still had the same feeling, would something have changed if they had participated? Maybe yes, maybe not.

“Tanizaki-san, play the others.” Kunikida interrupted the silence, looking directly at the screen.

“I will refrain from stopping the videos, I will let them play, keep that in mind.” The orange-haired man warned before playing the next video.

The image stabilized, showing a dark room with a single spotlight illuminating the center. Chuuya was on the floor, his wrists chained above his head, his bare torso revealing more recent tones and cuts. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling erratically.

A man in a white coat approached him with a syringe filled with a clear liquid.

“The subject continues to show signs of resistance,” the man said, grabbing Chuuya by the chin to force him to look at him.

Chuuya spat blood in his face.

The man grew suspicious and injected him with the substance.

The effect was almost immediate. Chuuya began to convulse, his back arching in an unnatural manner as his breathing became labored. His nails dug into his own skin, trying to resist the excruciating pain that was going through him.

Yosano clenched his fists as he watched the scene.

“That’s not just an inhibitor serum,” he muttered. “They’re messing with his nervous system.”

The exposed back was filled with red spots, before they transformed into red bruises and then changed to purple, while this happened, Chuuya continued to writhe on the ground, 

kicking and screaming like a wounded animal.

“Give him the second dose, try to sneak up on him in this state he won’t recognize anyone, although the color of your hair may save you.”

A white coat became visible, as little by little more of the new character’s body was shown, everyone felt the air leave their bodies when they saw the hair color of the scientist, who in his right hand held a syringe while in the other he held a taser for defense.

Brown.

That bastard’s hair was brown.

“Hey, Chuuya.. I found the cure, how about you be a good puppy and let me give it to you? Mm?”

“Osa-Osamu..”

“Yes, the same one”

They watched closely as Chuuya's gaze changed, from being petrified by pain to uncontrollable anger, he automatically growled like an animal before launching himself with surprising strength, his hands were covered in black before his nails became sharp, he ripped the chain off the wall, screaming as he fell on top of the scientist.

His claws dug into the face of the man below, although something surprised them even more, the man was surrounded by a red light, and soon they saw how the man tried to hit the orange-haired man with the syringe, his eyes rolled up before a grotesque noise 

sounded. Little by little, blood began to run through the ears, mouth, nose and eyes of the 

man below Chuuya, who as soon as he reacted began to cry.

“Osamu, I'm sorry, don't leave me, forgive me!”

The video ended with the scientist's shattered face in first perspective, Kunikida walked to the nearest trash can he found and emptied his entire stomach in it, while the blond was doing his thing, many looked at the screen horrified.

“They..” Yosano began, her hands forming into fists from contained anger, “They used Dazai, as a method of punishment..?”

“Not only that.” Ranpo spoke after a long time, “They used many men similar to Dazai to subdue Chuuya and make him act more submissively and follow orders, I think they hit the nail on the head with the person he trusted the most.”

The sound of water was the first thing heard.

When the image appeared on the screen, Chuuya was already on the metal table. Tied up.

Motionless.

The straps held him with the same force, but his body did not push against them. He did not try to break free.

He seemed… resigned.

"The inmate tried to attack a guard. You know the protocol."

The words barely seemed to affect him. His eyes were half-lidded, his chest rising and falling unevenly, but he didn't respond.

The guard tilted the bucket and water fell on his face.

Chuuya flinched, his body reacting automatically, but it was a weak, muted movement. A reflex, not an act of resistance. When the water soaked into the cloth and seeped into his nose and mouth, his reaction was minimal. His hands, bound above his head, barely 

twitched.

He was being drowned.

And yet, his body no longer struggled with the same ferocity.

Another pour of water.

This time, his chest shook violently, but he made no sound. His throat only let out a broken gasp as the water seeped into his lungs.

The cloth was pulled back for an instant.

Chuuya inhaled sharply, his breathing a harsh echo in the room. He coughed, his body shaking, but his eyes…

They had no light.

Before, even in the worst of punishments, they burned with rage, hatred, absolute refusal to give in. Now, they were dull. Dark. Like a broken mirror that no longer reflected anything.

Another bucket tilted.

Chuuya closed his eyes before the water covered him again.

The video cut off.

Silence.

Tanizaki was the first to look away. His hands trembled slightly on his knees, and his breathing was uneven, as if he himself was about to drown. Naomi, if she were there, would probably have taken his hand.

Kenji didn't blink. His expression was one of pure horror, he couldn't look away from the screen, refusing even if he could. But his hands were clenched into fists on his lap.

Atsushi felt nauseous. His stomach was churning, his throat was tight, and his breathing had become erratic. He ran a hand over his mouth, trying to calm himself, but he couldn't. He couldn't erase the image of Chuuya drowning without even fighting.

Ranpo had closed his eyes. Not because he couldn't bear it, but because he'd already understood what was coming. His jaw was clenched, and his normally relaxed posture was rigid.

Kunikida took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. His other fist rested on his knee, so tense that his knuckles were white.

Dazai hadn't moved. He was still staring at the screen, his face completely expressionless. But his fingers were drumming against his knee, a minimal gesture that, to those who knew him, was the sign of a silent hurricane.

He didn't say anything.

No one said anything.

Atsushi knew he should look away. But he couldn't.

The image on the screen didn't look like the previous videos.

There was no screaming. There was no banging.

Just a silent room and a small, hunched body on the floor.

Chuuya was sitting against the wall, his legs bent to the side, his wrists cuffed in front of him. He wasn’t moving. His head was bent forward, his hair covering part of his face, but what little of his skin was visible was pale and lifeless.

He was breathing. Barely.

There was something unbearably unsettling about the stillness of the image. The way his chest barely rose with each weak inhalation.

The camera zoomed in. His eyes were open.

Black. Empty.

There was nothing left in them. No anger. No pain. Not even the dull glow of someone enduring suffering.

Just darkness.

A hand entered the frame and stroked his hair. Atsushi waited for him to react, to turn his face away, to at least harden his jaw. But Chuuya didn’t move.

Not a single muscle in his body reacted to the contact.

As if it didn't matter anymore.

"He learned."

The off-camera voice sounded satisfied.

The hand moved from his hair to his cheek, pressing his face slightly to the side. Chuuya didn't resist. His eyelids slid down slightly, but he didn't react otherwise.

He was an empty shell.

The video cut out.

Ranpo exhaled, his breathing heavier than usual. He took off his hat and let it fall to his knees, looking down.

Kenji couldn’t help but let out a soft, shaky sigh, a sigh so low it almost went unnoticed.

Tanizaki covered his face with both hands.

Kunikida took a deep breath, gritting his teeth.

Atsushi felt his vision blur with tears. Chuuya wasn’t dead, but… what difference did that make?

The only person who didn’t react was Dazai. He was still staring at the screen. His eyes dark, his posture motionless. Only his hand, the one resting on his knee, had stopped drumming.

All movement had ceased.

“There’s still one left.” Ranpo interrupted the somber silence, pointing at the remaining video. “Let’s get this over with.” His voice had a slight tone of hidden anger, internally he was trying with all his might not to leave the room, he had to see everything. So he quickly pressed the video and it played.

The video started with an image of Chuuya on the floor.

But it wasn't just that.

He was a puddle of broken flesh and tired bone, a body still breathing out of sheer stubbornness.

Blood covered his skin in layers, some dry and cracked on his flesh, some still fresh, slowly sliding down his cheek from a wound on his forehead. His hair, dirty and sticky, clung to his face as if he also wanted to hide from what was coming.

His wrists were tied behind his back, the skin under the handcuffs irritated and raw. His lips were split, swollen and with traces of black blood at the corner. His left eye was completely closed by swelling, a purple bruise covering half of his face.

Five guards surrounded him.

The shadow of their bodies covered his, enclosing him in a circle of contempt and violence.

“Ready for your last lesson today, inmate?”

The sneer in the guard’s voice was sharp, piercing the air with its restrained sadism. Chuuya didn’t respond.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because he barely could.

His chest rose and fell with difficulty, his breathing ragged and raspy. Every movement was an effort, every inhalation a reminder of the pain in his probably fractured ribs.

One of the guards leaned over him, tangling his fingers in his dirty hair and tugging roughly.

Chuuya’s head snapped up, his neck forced to arch into an unnatural position. A low moan escaped his throat, barely a whisper of resistance.

“You really are beautiful when you’re broken,” the guard whispered, his tone laced with mockery and something worse.

Something disgusting. Something that made even the image on the screen seem to stain the room where the Agency was watching the video.

The others laughed.

A sound that was a mix of amusement and sadism.

Chuuya trembled. Not from fear, but from exhaustion. His body, his mind, his very will were at their limit. His back hunched over itself, as if he wanted to disappear, as if his very existence was shrinking to avoid the inevitable.

But there was no escape.

There was nothing left to fight for. One of the guards pulled out a syringe, the liquid inside glowed a sickly red, reflecting the light from the camera.

“Time for your medicine.”

The guard’s hand dug into Chuuya’s arm, holding it tight enough for the skin to turn white under the pressure. Chuuya tried to pull away, but his body no longer responded like before. He barely managed to flinch, a pathetic attempt at resistance.

The needle sank into his skin with ease.

It wasn't a quick jab.

The guard inserted it slowly, savoring the way Chuuya's muscles tensed beneath the skin.

Chuuya didn't scream.

But his breathing became erratic, his body convulsing slightly, his head falling forward in an attempt to stem the dizziness that was already beginning to consume him.

The substance entered his system, and within seconds, his skin grew paler. His eyelids blinked heavily, as if he was between unconsciousness and lucidity.

His mouth opened slightly, his tongue trying to form words that never came out.

The guard smiled.

"That's it… Be a good boy and stay still."

The screen went black.

But the image of Chuuya, reduced to an object for his captors' sick pleasure, was burned into the minds of every person in the room.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, voices.

The image came back to life, showing a white room lit with an artificial glow. Two figures stood in the frame: a man in a lab coat and the guard who had injected Chuuya.

“What the hell did you do?!” the scientist snapped, his face twisted in anger as he shoved the guard back against the table. “That wasn’t the right dosage, you fucking moron.”

The guard, Eduard, held up both of his hands with a smirk. “Relax, little doctor. He looked amazing, didn’t he? His eyes, his skin, that little tremor on his lips when the needle entered his skin. I could get used to seeing him like that.”

The scientist paled. “You’re a sicko.”

Eduard shrugged. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it. The way his body shook as the drug started to take effect. He was so…” He paused, smirking. "Delicious."

The scientist looked at him in utter disgust. "You're scum."

"Scum or not, the bastard is already broken, what does it matter if I enjoy it a little?--"

A loud noise interrupted the conversation.

Both men turned around.

Something had crashed into the wall, something heavy.

Another thud.

The scientist frowned. "What's going on in the containment zone?" The thud was repeated, louder this time.

Then, a scream. Muffled. Desperate.

The video flickered.

For an instant, the screen was static. When it came back, the image was a mess.

Eduard was on the floor, his face sweaty and contorted with fear. He was breathing heavily, the camera shaking. His eyes stared at the screen, wide open in terror.

“Send help!” he gasped, his voice tinged with panic. “Inmate 00002158 has escaped… He’s  killing them all. I don’t know how, but—” A scream interrupted his plea.

A grotesque, bone-cracking sound.

Someone begged for their life before being silenced with a wet gurgle.

Eduard shrank further against the wall. Behind him, the hallway lights flickered. Shadows 

moved in the blood spilled across the floor.

Slow, shuffling footsteps, but with a presence that filled the entire air with death. Eduard looked up.

And the camera captured the image in its entirety.

Chuuya was there, standing in the middle of the hallway. But it wasn’t the same man they had tortured.

His gaze was completely dark, without a single trace of white in his eyes. Only a black, endless abyss, interrupted by red pupils, glowing like embers in a fire, his mouth curved into a crooked smile, teeth stained with blood.

In his right hand, a hammer dripped with bits of flesh and bone.

Eduard gulped, his body paralyzed. "Put me down this instant! It's an order from your superior!" he shrieked in despair.

Chuuya laughed, but it wasn't his usual laugh.

It was distorted. Slurred. As if his voice had been twisted into a hellish echo.

"Superior?" Chuuya tilted his head, looking at him mockingly. "Guess what…" His eyes flashed with something primal. Something inhuman.

"My life, even if they put me through all this…" He took a step closer. “It has even more meaning…”

Another step.

“Than your pathetic existence.”

Eduard screamed. The hammer descended.

The video switched to a security camera shot in the hallway.

Chuya was seen lunging at Eduard, his movements completely fluid, without hesitation or hesitation. Like a predator executing the inevitable, the first blow resonated with a crunch.

The second, with a wet snap.

The third, with a pasty sound.

Blood splattered the wall. The guard’s body shook with each impact until he stopped moving.

But Chuuya didn’t stop.

The hammer fell again and again, shattering flesh and bone.

By the time it stopped, Eduard’s head was nothing more than an unrecognizable mass.

And then, the screen went black.

But the feeling it left behind didn’t go away.

The sound of flesh being pulverized, the echo of blood-choked screams, the distorted laughter that didn't seem human. It was all still present in the room, like a ghost tangled in the heavy air.

No one spoke. No one could.

Atsushi felt like he was going to vomit. He put a hand to his mouth, holding back his gags, his stomach twisting in pure horror. He had seen it. He had heard it. Chuuya hadn't just killed that man... he had destroyed him. Not with precision, not with the calculated lethality of a seasoned assassin. But with fury. With a rage so overwhelming, so absolute, that it seemed to have no end.

But what terrified him most wasn't the violence.

It was the way Chuuya had enjoyed it.

He gritted his teeth, breathing raggedly, trying to push away the feeling of something inside his chest tightening, of a chill running down his spine. I didn't know what was scarier: the fact that Chuuya had been reduced to that...

Or the fact that there didn’t seem to be a way back for him.

Tanizaki looked away. His hands trembled slightly in his lap. Everything about the image, about the screams, about the sound of hammer against soft bone, was spinning around in his head like a cursed echo. He had never seen Chuuya like this. Sure, he had heard stories, he knew of his reputation as an enforcer, of his unwavering loyalty to the Port Mafia. But that person… he wasn’t the one who had appeared in the video.

He wasn’t a human.

He was something that had been shattered so many times that he no longer had a sense of self.

Ranpo exhaled slowly, his lips pursed, his eyes sharp and focused on the black screen in front of him. He understood. Oh, of course he understood. There was nothing more dangerous than someone who had nothing left to lose. And Chuuya… Chuuya was beyond loss.

He was beyond anger, beyond pain.

He had been reduced to an empty shell, a vessel of pure violence. A monster that didn't 

distinguish between enemy and ally.

But that wasn't what worried him the most. What worried him the most was Dazai.

He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, watching him in complete silence. Dazai hadn't said anything. He hadn't moved. But the way his fingers were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white said it all.

Yosano let out a low sigh. Not because she was tired, but because it was the only way she could control the seething rage inside her.

She knew what it was like to be on an operating table as a mere experiment.

She knew what it was like to feel your body crumble under another's hands, to hear words that reduced your existence to nothing.

She knew what it was like to have pain that never ended.

And Chuuya had been submerged in it. Over and over again, until only this remained.

It was their fault. The ones who had done this to him, the ones who had broken him.

But the question that gnawed at her was…

Could they save him now?

Finally, Dazai closed his eyes.

His lips were pressed together, his expression blank, but not in the usual way. It wasn’t the usual indifference.

It was something else.

Something darker.

Dazai had seen a lot of things in his life. He had done a lot of things in his life.

But this… This was personal.

Chuuya had always been strong. He had always been a stubborn idiot, with an explosive personality and an iron will. He had always been the kind of person who got up even when life threw him down.

But that Chuuya was no more, he had been torn out by the roots and in his place they had left something that wasn’t human.

Dazai felt something cold and unpleasant in his chest. If Chuuya saw him now… Would he even recognize him?

Or worse yet…

Would he care?

Because in that last image, in that last second of the video, when the blood splashed on his cheeks and his laughter echoed in the room…

There was no hate.

There was no anger.

Just absolute emptiness.

And if Chuuya had lost himself in that emptiness…

Dazai knew there was nothing in the world that could bring him back.

Atsushi stood up abruptly, turning around to look at the door of the agency, he frowned as he stared at the door before muttering. “Someone is coming.”

All the members imitated the white-haired man’s action, before, with a bang, the door opened, revealing a man in black clothing, high-heeled boots, the cherry on the cake being that distinctive black hair with white tips.

“Akutagawa..!”

“Akutagawa.”

The aforementioned looked directly at Dazai, approaching and placing the various papers he had in his arms on the table, Ranpo raised an eyebrow at seeing Akutagawa’s worn clothing, torn, with dried blood and dust.

“And where were you? You don’t look well,” Ranpo added, being honest as always.

“I found Chuuya-san.” Akutagawa took a paper, before handing it to Dazai, before rummaging through others and handing them to Ranpo and Kunikida. “He handed me these documents, he mentioned that on them was his exact location.”

“Norway..”

Akutagawa nodded, “I found Chuuya-san in Germany, I was sent to try to find some information about Chuuya-san, I didn’t… I didn’t expect to find him there, the only thing I can say is that he’s not the same as the one we once knew, but deep down, deep down, he’s there.”

“It’s not strange what you say, Akutagawa, his brain could have created a defense method to everything he suffered.” Yosano commented, finishing reading the new paper in her hands and dropping it on the table.

“We need to make a plan, we already have an idea thanks to Tanizaki-san” He tilted his head towards the orange haired boy. “And as soon as we have it, we start it immediately.” Kunikida stood up from his seat and then walked over to a whiteboard and brought it closer to the others.

“Let's find Chuuya.” Dazai spoke with a determined and serious voice, looking at a photo of Chuuya that he always had around him.

The hallways of the facility were in their usual sepulchral silence, with the lights flickering in their usual dim glow. Chuuya walked with light steps, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, while his spiraled eye gleamed faintly in the darkness. Himiko hadn't been in their room when he went to look for them, which meant two things: either they had snuck out to explore places they shouldn't, or…

Chuuya barely smiled.

He knew exactly where they were.

He pushed open the door to the recreation room without bothering to knock.

“If you keep combing it like that, she’s going to end up prettier than you.”

A silent laugh escaped Himiko as their small hands continued arranging the dark strands of the woman in front of them. Selena, with her hardened expression and imposing physique, had a look of absolute resignation as she let Himiko do whatever they wanted.

“I said you could braid my hair, not turn me into a princess,” the woman grumbled, her voice deep and raspy, but without enough bite to sound truly threatening.

Himiko just stuck out their tongue in response before making a quick gesture with their hands.

You look beautiful, Lena!

Chuuya couldn’t hold back a low chuckle. “I think this is the most put-together I’ve ever seen you.”

“Shut up, shorty.”

Himiko lightly tapped Selena’s arm in reproach before pointing to the table where their little tea party was set up. Mismatched porcelain cups, plates with cookies that had probably been stolen from the pantry, and a small lace tablecloth that someone had clumsily sewn by hand.

Chuuya walked over and took a seat with a sigh, looking at the setup with a slight smile.

“So, is today a special day?” he asked as Himiko began pouring tea into the cups.

Every day is special, they signed, before adding with a proud expression: But today is extra special because Lena let me do her makeup!

Chuuya looked at Selena again, now noticing the pinkish eyeshadow on her lids and the slight shimmer on her lips. If it weren’t for the scar crossing her cheek and her naturally intimidating expression, she might have even looked delicate.

“It suits you,” he commented teasingly.

Selena huffed, crossing her arms. “If it weren’t for the fact that they promised to let me win at cards today, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

Himiko elbowed her lightly before responding with quick signs.

I never said I’d let you win! I just said we’d play another round.

Aquí tienes la traducción al inglés:

Himiko silently clapped in excitement and then quickly turned their face toward Chuuya, pointing at him with a finger.

Your turn!

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Not a chance.”

Himiko puffed their cheeks and tapped his leg in protest. That’s not fair!

Selena, still wearing her usual scowl but now with glittering eyeshadow, snorted. “Oh, come on, doll. If I had to go through this, so do you.”

Himiko moved forward eagerly, their eyes shining with determination.

Chuuya sighed dramatically. “Fine, but if you make me look ridiculous, I’m going to—”

I’ll make you look beautiful! Himiko interrupted, cupping his face with both hands, their fingers small but firm.

Selena shot them a warning look. “If you did my makeup like a princess, this bastard is walking out of here looking like a prince.”

“I’m already a prince,” Chuuya muttered arrogantly, but he didn’t protest as Himiko began their masterpiece.

Himiko’s hands were careful, their sign language slow as they explained what they were doing. A little foundation for the skin… eyeshadow to bring out those gorgeous eyes of yours… and some color on the lips so you don’t look like a corpse.

Chuuya chuckled softly. “So now I’m your canvas?”

Himiko nodded, fully concentrated on their work.

When they were finished, Himiko grabbed a small handheld mirror and held it out to him. Chuuya blinked a couple of times before looking at himself.

His eyes, always intense, now shone even more with the smoky eyeshadow Himiko had applied. His cheeks had a slight touch of color, giving life to his pale skin. His lips were highlighted, but not exaggeratedly—just enough to make his mouth look even more attractive than it already was.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t look like a prisoner of war.

He looked… good.

Selena whistled. “Shit, Himiko, you did a spectacular job. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the shorty actually looks cute.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “I’m still here, idiot.”

Selena flipped him off, but Himiko only smiled innocently before offering him a cup of tea. Chuuya watched the interaction in silence, letting the warmth of the moment settle into his body.

It was strange how here, in this small, hidden corner of the world, reality felt less cruel.

The hot liquid slid down his throat with unusual relief.

“How’d it go today?” Selena asked after a while, her voice lower, less sharp.

Chuuya shrugged. “The usual.”

That was enough for Selena and Himiko to exchange a glance. They knew that “the usual” never meant anything good.

On instinct, Himiko shifted until they were sitting right beside Chuuya, resting their head on his shoulder. They were small compared to him, barely a mess of unruly hair and loose clothing. But the weight of their presence against his side was comforting.

Hesitant, Himiko looked up at Chuuya before asking:

Chuuya-nii, what was your life like outside?

The question caught the redhead off guard, and he slowly set his cup down on the small makeshift table. He hummed as if thinking about his answer.

“It was… loud, though I never really minded,” he said with a small smile, lifting his hand to run his fingers through Himiko’s long, dark hair. “I had friends, family, and… I had a love.”

Himiko’s eyes sparkled with excitement as they signed their question.

Really?! What were they like?

Chuuya laughed at their enthusiasm, calming them down before taking another sip of tea. “Well…”

Selena scoffed. “Oh, hell. Here comes the sappy part.”

Chuuya shot her a murderous glare before sighing and leaning his head against the back of the couch.

“His name was Dazai Osamu, and he was… he was a damn pain in the ass,” he said, his tone caught between fondness and exasperation. “Annoying, arrogant, manipulative… but god, if he wasn’t the most brilliant person I’ve ever met.”

Himiko watched him with fascination, following every word with utmost attention.

“He was always two steps ahead of everyone, but with me… with me, it was different,” Chuuya continued, his voice softening. “We fought all the time, yelled at each other until we lost our voices, but when it mattered… we always had each other’s backs.”

His fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of his pants.

“He was the only person who could keep up with me,” he murmured. “And I… I trusted him more than anyone.”

Himiko frowned, tilting their head.

You don’t trust him anymore? Did something happen?

“Oh… no, he… he just stopped looking for me,” Chuuya admitted. “Doctor N told me after a few years of being here.”

Selena let out a growl, straightening up as she locked eyes with Chuuya.

“You know she’s not a reliable source, Chuuya,” she pointed out.

Chuuya sighed, a melancholic, nostalgic sound. “I know… but there’s no one else in this place with direct contact to the outside. Besides…” He smiled sadly, a quiet, humorless chuckle escaping him. “Osamu is a genius. If someone else had disappeared, he would’ve come up with a plan. But…”

He looked down at the tea in his cup. It was lukewarm now, barely any steam rising from it. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I’m… I’m still here.”

Chuuya placed the cup on the table and ran a hand through his braided hair—a nervous tic he wasn’t sure when he had picked up.

He felt a gentle pressure on his arm. Looking down, he saw Himiko resting their head against him.

Everything will be okay, Himiko signed, their fingers moving softly.

Chuuya didn’t respond. He just watched their hands in motion, the meaning carving itself into his mind.

He wondered, not for the first time, how much longer he could hold on to moments like these.

But for now, he simply closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The tea was warm. Himiko was here. Selena was here.

For now, that was more than enough.

Here’s the translated and enhanced version with Selena taking things a step further:

"Okay, this got way too depressing. Why don’t we check out your drawings, Himiko?" Selena broke the silence, pulling a sketchbook from a nearby cabinet.

Himiko’s face lit up, letting out a silent laugh as they nodded excitedly. They rushed over to Selena, taking the sketchbook eagerly and flipping through their artwork.

Seeing that Himiko was distracted, Selena slid closer to the shorter redhead, bumping her shoulder against his.

"You know… You won’t be here forever, but until that happens, if you ever feel like you can’t stand anyone, you can always come to me."

Chuuya blinked in surprise at her uncharacteristically gentle words. "I thought your job was just to be my bodyguard?"

Selena met his gaze, a rare warmth in her expression. "My job is to protect you, yeah. But that includes looking out for you, too. If you ever need anything, I’ll be here."

Chuuya smiled—a small but genuine curve of his lips—before tilting his head mockingly. "Didn’t know the great and terrifying Selena could say such sweet and kind words to a sinner like me!"

Selena huffed and shoved his shoulder. "Oh, fuck you. Here I am, trying to be nice, and you’re making fun of me."

Chuuya laughed, then immediately put on an exaggerated, dramatic act, letting out a fake sob. "Oh no! I’ve offended the great and mighty Selena! I shall never again hear such kind and loving words!" He threw his arms toward the artificial ceiling. "Oh, Lord, please make the great and powerful Selena forgive me!"

Selena burst into laughter at his ridiculous performance. "For someone so damn tiny, you’ve got way too much drama packed into that small body. Careful, you might just explode while you’re on top of me, doll."

Chuuya choked on his own spit, his face instantly heating up.

"Could you just forget about that already!? I thought you were a guy with long hair—it’s not my fault!"

Selena smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Mmm, no, I don’t think I will. You looked so pretty when you were all desperate like that… Well, the hot ones are always a little gay."

Chuuya gawked at her, his blush darkening. He smacked the back of her head. "You’re disgusting."

Selena merely clicked her tongue in amusement. "Mmm, don’t think I’ll forget how cute you looked, all needy and squirming."

She moved in before Chuuya could react, pressing her body close. One of her hands slid down his side, teasing over his waist before gripping his hip with a firm squeeze.

Chuuya shivered. His breath hitched when her fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over his thigh.

"Well…" Her voice dropped into a husky whisper, lips grazing his ear. "If you need to let out some of that pent-up energy…"

Her lips brushed against his neck, just enough to make him gasp softly, the sound barely escaping past his lips. Then, without warning, she sucked lightly at the sensitive skin, making his breath stutter. A low, almost involuntary whine slipped from his throat before he bit his lip, mortified.

Selena chuckled against his skin, clearly pleased with herself. Her free hand ghosted over his stomach before stopping at his waist, squeezing just enough to make her point.

"I’ve got a nice little strap in my room that would look so pretty wrapped around you."

That was it.

Chuuya shoved her away, scrambling to his feet with his face burning. "You’re fucking disgusting!"

Selena landed on the floor with a smug grin, entirely unbothered.

Grabbing his things with frantic urgency, Chuuya pointed at her accusingly. "I am never apologizing to you again!"

And with that, he stormed out of the room, still visibly flustered.

Selena, sprawled out on the floor, burst into full laughter, savoring every second of her victory.

Chapter Text

The Agency was in full motion, working on the final details of the rescue plan, though there were still a few things that needed to be perfected to ensure nothing went wrong.

Thanks to the documents from Akutagawa and the ones Kouyou had provided, they had managed to establish a starting point for the rescue. At first, there had been many gaps they had no idea how to fill.

Akutagawa had described the state in which he found Chuuya—it wasn’t a state of complete detachment; he was still there.

They were in the middle of a heated discussion when it happened: Dazai’s phone started ringing. The owner of the device raised an eyebrow at the number—it was foreign. He shrugged and moved to reject the call.

“Answer it.” The brunette looked at Ranpo, who was pointing at the phone. “Come on, answer it.”

“You do know it’s a foreign number, right? Could be a scam or a sales call.”

“It’s worth giving it a shot, don’t you think?”

Dazai rolled his eyes and accepted the call, immediately putting it on speaker. A noise came through the line, making the brunette sigh. “If you’re trying to sell something, I’m sorry to tell you I already sold all my organs on the black market—”

“You’re just as annoying as ever, Dazai Osamu.”

The brunette’s eyes widened in surprise before letting out an irritated groan.

“Buichirō Shirase, I never thought I’d hear your... annoying voice again.” Dazai glanced at Ranpo, who was still staring intently at the phone. A laugh echoed through the speaker.

“Well, then take it as a gift.”

“What do you want, Buichirō? What are you after?”

The silence was almost deadly—Dazai had to check the call hadn’t dropped.

“I know you’re looking for Chuuya.”

Yosano leaned over the table, eyes narrowing at the phone. “And who gave you that information?”

“Who do you think destroyed most of my supplies, hmm?”

The Agency remained completely silent after Shirase’s last statement.

Dazai narrowed his eyes.

“Let me guess. Chuuya.”

A sound of agreement came from the other side of the line.

“It was him. And when I say he destroyed half my supplies, I mean it.” Shirase’s voice was tense, but not angry. Not completely. “Two weeks ago, one of my main warehouses was attacked. Security cameras were disabled, defense systems bypassed… I thought it was a professional operation until I saw the footage we managed to recover from a portable camera.”

The sound of papers shuffling could be heard, as if Shirase were searching for something.

“The flames were devouring the place. My men and I arrived just as the final explosion destroyed nearly the entire damn complex. Amid the rubble, I saw him.”

Dazai felt a lump form in his throat.

“What did he look like?” Kenji asked, breaking the silence.

Shirase took a moment to respond.

“At first, I thought he was a damn ghost,” he admitted. “Thinner, but with the same damn arrogance as always. He walked through the fire like he didn’t care at all. And his eyes…” He paused.

“What about his eyes?” Kunikida pressed.

“…One of them was glowing with a red spiral. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t human.”

Silence fell over the office. Some looked at Akutagawa, who was biting his lip nervously—this confirmed that what he had seen wasn’t just his imagination.

It was real.

“Then he looked at the camera, the only one left intact,” Shirase continued. “And for a second, I swear I saw him hesitate. But then he smiled. A crooked smile, like he was enjoying everything. Like what he’d just done meant nothing.”

Dazai felt like he was running out of air, like someone had wrapped their hands around his throat and was squeezing, cutting off his oxygen.

“He said something before leaving,” Shirase murmured.

“What did he say?”

Shirase hesitated but finally spoke. “He looked directly at the camera and said: ‘I guess next time I’ll have to destroy the other half.’”

The silence in the room was thick. Ranpo let out a low whistle. “I bet that was a message,” he said. “Not for Shirase. For us.”

“You mean Chuuya knew we’d eventually find out?” Tanizaki asked.

“Maybe,” Ranpo replied, though his expression remained serious.

Shirase sighed. “Listen, even though I despise you, Dazai, and I’ve never liked you or the Mafia, Chuuya is still, deep down, a member of The Sheep. And even if it looks like he’s changed… he’s still one of ours. That’s why I’m going to give you shelter in one of my bases.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow. “Well, how generous of you.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Dazai,” Shirase growled. “You have two days to prepare. I’m sending the coordinates to this number. Don’t be late. And get ready, because things here are completely different from what you’re used to.” With that, the call ended.

The phone lay silent on the table as everyone processed the information.

“Two days,” Kunikida murmured. “That’s not much time.”

“No,” Dazai said, slipping the phone into his pocket. “But it’s all we’ve got.”

The Agency plunged into controlled chaos. With only two days before their departure to Shirase’s base, every minute counted.

Kunikida took the lead, organizing supplies with surgical precision. Detailed maps of Europe were spread across the conference room table, along with information on safe routes and strategic points.

Atsushi and Kenji were in charge of gathering basic provisions: water, non-perishable food, and essential medicine. Tanizaki and Yosano, meanwhile, checked the medical equipment, making sure they had enough supplies to treat any potential injuries.

“We don’t know what state we’ll find Chuuya in,” Yosano said as she checked the contents of her kit. “If they’ve been keeping him drugged, his body might be in critical condition.”

“We’ll take what we need to stabilize him,” Tanizaki assured her, packing adrenaline doses and IV fluids.

Dazai, for his part, had another task in mind. Staring at the contact on his screen, there was a moment of hesitation before—

“Dazai,” Kouyou’s voice answered immediately.

“I’ll be very brief. I need you to choose five members of the Mafia. People you consider essential to retrieve Chuuya.”

There was a moment of silence.

“How much time do I have?”

“Sixteen minutes.”

“Location?”

“I’ll send the coordinates.”

“You’ll have it.”

The call ended. Dazai pocketed his phone and returned to the planning. Ranpo, who had been watching everything from his chair, smiled.

“Don’t you think asking the Mafia for help is a bit… desperate?”

Dazai shrugged. “Getting Chuuya back isn’t just any mission. It’s a war.”

Ranpo grinned with amusement. “It always was.”

The minutes flew by.

Sixteen minutes later, the front door of the Agency burst open. Akutagawa was the first to enter, his cloak billowing behind him.

At his side, Gin walked in complete silence, her hand resting on the hilt of her knife. Tachihara followed, his expression serious and a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Verlaine came in next, his cold eyes scanning the room with a calculating gaze.

And finally, Higuchi, her pistols secured at her hips, her stance rigid but determined.

Dazai gave them a quick once-over before nodding.

“Alright. We have our team.”

“When do we leave?” Akutagawa asked.

“Now.”

They grabbed their things and left. Four long days of travel awaited them before reaching Shirase’s base.

And each of those days brought them closer to Chuuya.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the bedside lamp.

Selena lay on her side, her head resting on her hand as her eyes wandered across Chuuya’s bare back.

Her fingers moved on instinct, tracing the scars that marked his skin.

Thick scars.

Recent scars.

Old scars.

So many damn scars.

Chuuya had his back to her, his breathing steady, his messy hair spread across the pillow.

Selena drew a line with her fingertips along the deepest of the scars, feeling the rough texture beneath her skin.

Human bodies were fragile.

Too fragile.

They could break with a well-placed blow.

They could bleed out from a single cut in the right spot.

They could die from one careless mistake.

Selena didn’t fully understand the weakness of the human body, but she understood how it broke. She had seen Chuuya break more times than she could count.

She had found him after inhuman punishments, covered in blood, with broken bones, a lost gaze, and a mind trapped in a place no one could reach.

She had found him after his psychotic episodes, scratching his skin raw, ripping out his hair, murmuring names under his breath—names of people who never came for him.

She had found him after forced training, his body covered in open wounds, muscles torn, hands trembling from sheer exhaustion.

And every time she found him like that, she wondered how much more he could take before finally shattering completely.

Selena sighed and pressed her forehead against Chuuya’s back.

“Sometimes I wonder how you're still alive,” she whispered.

Chuuya, still half-asleep, gave a faint smile. “Because I’m too stubborn to die.”

Selena closed her eyes.

She couldn’t argue with that.

But deep down, she wondered how much longer his stubbornness would carry him before his body could no longer follow.

And whether anyone would get to him before it was too late.

The European cold greeted them with an icy blow against their skin.

The rescue group stepped off the plane, their expressions marked by the fatigue of the journey. Three days of uncertainty, obsessive planning, and speculation about what they would find on the other side of the world.

Dazai walked at the front, his coat billowing in the night breeze. Kouyou had done her part: Akutagawa, Gin, Tachihara, Verlaine, and Higuchi were with them, merging with the Agency in an effort that, if not for Chuuya, would have never happened.

Minutes passed in tense anticipation on the runway. Headlights appeared in the distance, s everal off-road vehicles came to a sudden stop in front of them.

From one of the cars stepped out a thin man dressed in tactical gear, a scar across his face.

Dazai let out a theatrical sigh. "I could pretend it’s a pleasure to see you, but I’d rather spare us the hypocrisy," Dazai said with an ironic smile.

Shirase ignored him and addressed the group. "Welcome to New Sheep territory." Behind him, several armed people emerged from the cars, wearing the same cautious expression. "You took longer than I expected," Shirase continued, crossing his arms. "If this is a reflection of your efficiency, you’re screwed."

Kunikida frowned. "We made sure to prepare everything we needed. We weren’t going to show up empty-handed."

Shirase scoffed. "Let’s hope your weapons are faster than your bureaucracy."

Dazai gave him a lazy look. " We didn’t come here to fight with you, Shirase. You called us, so why don’t we get to the point?"

The leader of The New Sheep exhaled with frustration and looked around before speaking. "We can talk about that somewhere safer. Follow me."

The group exchanged glances before following him. They got into the vehicles and disappeared into the darkness of the road.

Inside the car, Dazai settled into his seat and looked at Shirase. "I hope this whole show is worth it."

Shirase didn’t take his eyes off the road. "Believe me. When you see the footage I have, you’ll wish it wasn’t real."

The car sped up, and in the air hung the promise of a truth none of them were ready to face.

The vehicles traveled down hidden roads, highways barely lit by the moon. It wasn’t a long trip, but the silence inside the car made it feel endless. The tension weighed on every held breath.

When they finally stopped, they were facing a massive structure, hidden among abandoned buildings and surrounded by a tall wall with barbed wire.

"Welcome to my base," Shirase said, getting out of the car.

The members of the Agency and Port Mafia exchanged glances. The place looked more like a fortress than a refuge. A pair of armed guards opened the gates, and the group moved forward with caution.

Inside, the atmosphere was even colder. Hallways lit by fluorescent lights, monitors displaying various areas of the complex, people walking with serious faces. Everything indicated that The New Sheep had evolved into something far more organized than the gang of teenagers Chuuya once led.

"I won’t waste time with unnecessary talk," Shirase said, guiding them to a large room with a table full of documents and monitors. He turned and looked directly at Dazai.

"What I’m about to show you will make it clear what kind of hell Chuuya is in. Maybe the story I gave you about the security video was… weak, to put it mildly, but now you’ll see for yourselves."

He turned on a monitor and selected a file. "This is what happened two weeks ago..." he muttered, crossing his arms.

The screen showed footage of a ruined warehouse. Broken boxes, debris, and blood on the floor.

"Looks like Chuuya has something personal against you." Kunikida adjusted his glasses before jotting down everything essential from the video.

"Yeah. He just walked in, destroyed half of my supplies, and left a trail of corpses."

Ranpo, standing farther back, smirked. "Let me guess, those supplies were very essential to you?"

Shirase stared at him and then pointed to the screen. "See for yourself."

The video changed to blurry footage from a security camera. The image was shaky, but what it showed was unmistakable.

A figure with long hair, impossibly fast movements, and a reddish aura was tearing through the warehouse guards. His attacks were precise, brutal. Every movement left a pool of blood on the floor.

Then, the camera caught his face for a second.

Dilated pupils, one deep red eye, and the other glowing with a golden spiral.

Chuuya.

Dazai felt a knot in his stomach.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen him covered in blood, but this was different. His movements, his expression... that wasn’t the Chuuya he knew.

"Shit..." Higuchi murmured, looking away. "He’s alive..."

Akutagawa, still silent, clenched his fists.

In the video, Chuuya noticed the camera, and everyone could see the hesitation in his eyes and movements—but that fragile gaze was interrupted by a large body.

Chuuya was moved—someone grabbed him by the waist and lifted him onto their shoulders. It was a woman, tall, muscular, with green hair tied in a messy bun.

“Don’t just stand there, brat!”

Shirase turned off the monitor, seeing the video had ended. "Yeah. But he’s not the same."

Silence.

"Despite everything," Shirase continued, looking at Dazai, "Chuuya is still a member of The Sheep. That’s why I’m going to help you."

Dazai looked at him warily. "And what’s the price?"

Shirase gave a bitter smile. "That you get him out of there before it’s too late."

He turned to the table and slid an envelope toward Kunikida. "You have two days to prepare. Inside this envelope are the coordinates of an extraction point. At midnight, someone will pick you up and take you to the final location."

Kunikida took the envelope and opened it, reviewing the documents. Yosano raised an eyebrow. "Why the rush?"

Shirase shrugged. "Because everything over there is different. If you don’t adapt quickly, you’re dead."

"Listen carefully," he said in a low but firm tone. "You’re not in Japan anymore. The rules are different here. The people are different. And what you’re facing... is not something you’re used to."

The weight of his words lingered in the air.

Two days. Two days to prepare for hell.

In two days... they either get him out—

Or they lose him.

Forever .

The smell of burnt metal and chemicals filled the air. The room was immersed in meticulous chaos: disassembled improvised weapons, blueprints scribbled with smudged ink, gloves stained with dried blood, and tools scattered without any apparent order.

In the center, Chuuya worked in silence. His fingers, stained with grease and gunpowder, assembled pieces with almost obsessive precision. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe too loudly. It was as if, if he stopped moving, something inside him would collapse.

The music thumped through the room, deafening, enveloping him in impenetrable noise.

That’s why he didn’t hear her enter.

He didn’t feel her presence until the music abruptly stopped.

The silence hit him like a whip.

“Shit!” Chuuya exclaimed, turning around with a furrowed brow.

Dr. N held the unplugged speaker cable, her expression hardened. “Thousands of guards dead. A building almost destroyed.”

Chuuya exhaled with fake boredom, leaning against the table. “So?”

“So!? Do you have any idea what you’ve done!?”

He smiled, a crooked and empty grin. “I guess you want me to apologize.”

“I want you to use whatever’s left of your common sense,” her voice was low but loaded with tension. “Or at least pretend you have some.”

Chuuya stood up, walking until he was right in front of her. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some damn kid. I’m not.” He growled, just inches from her face.

“Then stop acting like one.” Dr. N held his gaze, daring him to do something, daring him to act immature and childish.

His jaw clenched.

The doctor didn’t look away. “Thank me that the other doctors don’t know about this,” she continued, her tone relentless. “If they did, you’d be sedated on an operating table right now.”

Chuuya felt a sharp pang in his chest.

Hatred.

Fear.

He didn’t know. And he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He gritted his teeth and looked away.

She was right. And he hated her for it.

The doctor watched him for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Get dressed. You have training in ten minutes.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. "What? Since when do you decide my schedule?”

“Since your little stunt put us all in danger,” she replied coldly. “If you can’t control what’s in your head, at least make sure the rest of your body is up to the task.”

She tossed him a towel before turning and leaving the room.

Chuuya caught it mid-air effortlessly.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed like a gunshot.

He stood still, jaw clenched.

His reflection in the dusty metal of the desk stared back at him with eyes he no longer fully recognized.

He let out a snort, shrugged off his shirt, and wiped his face with the towel.

Then, without thinking too much about it, he reconnected the speaker cable.

The music exploded into the air.

And Chuuya prepared for the only fight he could still win: the one he fought with his own body.

The music roared in the room, vibrating against the steel walls. Chuuya felt the familiar pressure in his chest, the racing pulse of adrenaline before a fight. His shadow moved to the rhythm of the flickering lights, cast against the sealed gates.

His knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists.

He didn’t need orders. He didn’t need reasons.

He needed to move.

Training wasn’t optional; it was a damn necessity.

He took a deep breath.

Begin simulation. Level: Extreme.

The lights flickered, and a mechanical hum filled the room.

The first enemies entered the scene.

Tall, armed, built to kill. Experimental units with reinforced limbs and adaptive sensors. Not like the trial models he’d played with before.

Chuuya didn’t give them time to analyze him.

He launched forward with impossible speed.

The first enemy raised a bladed arm, but Chuuya spun in the air and landed behind it.

The shotgun was already in his hands.

One shot.

A smoking hole tore through the machine’s torso.

Two shots.

The second enemy staggered, losing balance.

By the time the third tried to lunge at him, Chuuya had already triggered his weapon’s mechanism.

The shotgun reconfigured into a monstrous blade.

With a fierce spin, the blade sliced through metal and wires, cutting the enemy in two.

One of the bigger ones charged him with brutal force.

Chuuya used the impact to propel himself upward.

Somersault in the air.

Descending kick to the robot’s skull.

The sound of fracturing metal was music to his ears.

No time to celebrate.

A new wave of units entered the room—faster, more aggressive.

A projectile grazed his cheek, leaving a burning cut.

Chuuya grinned.

"Is that all you’ve got?"

The blade still vibrated with the last impact when the lights flickered and the training system abruptly shut down. Chuuya was left panting in the middle of the wreckage, with the music still pounding in his ears.

He scowled and turned sharply, ready to snap at whoever dared to interrupt him.

At the entrance of the room, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed, stood Selena.

The peridot was looking at him with that mocking expression that infuriated him so easily.

“Why the hell did you shut the bots off?” Chuuya growled, practically animalistic, shoulders raised, breath ragged.

Selena tilted her head, feigning confusion. “Because you’ve been pacing around like a rabid dog for over three hours.”

Chuuya huffed, adrenaline still coursing through him.

“I need to burn off energy.”

Selena’s lips curled into a dangerous smile.

“Oh, you know I can help you burn that energy.”

The peridot stepped closer, enjoying the faint but obvious blush that crept up Chuuya’s cheeks.

“Don’t be shameless!” he snapped, turning away in frustration.

Selena laughed in amusement. “Oh, come on, it’s only been three days since the last time…”

Chuuya clenched his teeth and muttered under his breath, “And my thighs still hurt.”

Selena burst out laughing. “The great Chuuya Nakahara complaining? This is historic.”

Chuuya threw a towel at her face, which only made her laugh harder.

Before the conversation could go any further, the door swung open and a small, energetic figure bounced inside.

Himiko.

They wore a frilly dress and a headband with ribbons in their fluffy hair. Their eyes sparkled with excitement as they stopped in front of them.

‘Tea party!’ they declared with enthusiasm, smiling brightly as they approached the older pair.

Chuuya sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair.

“Himiko… seriously?”

Himiko nodded eagerly.

‘Yes, yes, yes. It’s time. You’re both coming with me, and I won’t take no for an answer.’

Selena rolled her eyes but smiled.

“I guess a break won’t kill you.”

Chuuya mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t argue further.

(...)

Chuuya adjusted the long dress and huffed.

“Was this necessary?”

Selena, still adjusting her outfit, gave him a mocking look.

“You look adorable.”

“Shut up.”

Himiko was arranging the table with near-obsessive precision, placing teacups and plates of sweets. It was a blend of chaos and elegance, as usual with them.

The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with jokes and laughter.

For a moment, Chuuya almost forgot where he was.

But then, Himiko’s smile vanished.

They looked directly into Chuuya’s eyes, sudden and intense, as if staring straight into his hollow soul.

‘They’re coming.’

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

Chuuya frowned.

“ W-what ?”

Himiko moved their hands, signing with precision and stiffness.

‘They’re coming for you. Him, that special person to you… He’s coming to rescue you.’

Chuuya felt a chill run down his spine. He jumped slightly at the sensation of a hand on his lower back and turned quickly to his right. Selena was watching him with concern.

“You okay?”

Chuuya swallowed and nodded slowly. “Y-yeah… yeah, I’m fine.” He forced a small smile and picked up his tiny teacup. “So… could I have another cup?”

The tea still left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

Himiko's message repeated in his head like a distant echo:

He's coming for you.

Chuuya frowned.

Nonsense.

He paced aimlessly, his footsteps muffled by the polished floor of the complex. He didn't want to return to his room yet. 

Something was unsettling about the stillness of the night, something that wouldn't let him let his guard down.

Without realizing it, his feet carried him to 

The training room.

The smell of burnt metal and old oil still hung in the air, reminding him of the hours he'd spent there.

But something felt... different; a chill ran down his spine.

The air was thick, so charged that his muscles tensed. His eyes scanned the room.

There were three people there.

Two guards.

And a doctor.

One he hadn't seen before.

 White clothes were immaculate, hair neatly tied back, but something about the posture didn't fit.

It was too firm. Too prepared.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

A second.

A moment of recognition.

The throbbing in his temples became deafening.

It couldn't be, it couldn't be him.

He had personally taken it upon himself to destroy every kind of 'miracle' that bastard's body had managed to survive when he killed him.

So how was he here?

A pounding headache lashed through him, rapid memories flowing as his breathing became erratic.

Loose fragments of pain and blood.

A cold stretcher.

Clinical eyes staring at him like he was a puzzle to be solved.

That bastard's voice saying, "You can do a little more, don't be a coward."

Chuuya's eyes darkened with fury.

Mori Ougai.

That bastard. That endless torture.

His fingers twitched.

His instincts screamed before his mind could even process it, his knife flashing in the light as he lunged at him.

A clean cut to the neck.

It would be swift and lethal.

But it didn't come.

Something struck him with brutal force, knocking him to the ground before he could react.

A sickening crunch filled the air.

A piercing scream escaped his throat as  his arm twisted at an impossible angle.

Pain.

The pressure on his back was suffocating. His cheek hit the cold floor, his body paralyzed by the impact. He gasped, each movement sending an unbearable burning pain through his body.

The guard holding him snorted. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Use the Taser."

Chuuya narrowed his eyes, his vision clouded with pain.

But then he saw it.

The other guard.

Standing. Still.

The black fabric of his uniform contrasted with his pale skin.

His posture was rigid, but his face was hidden behind the mask.

He couldn't see his expression.

But he could feel the hesitation.

The world lurched slightly as he tried to move his head.

His eyes met his.

He could see the hesitation in those eyes; something in his muddled, blurry mind told him he knew those dark, empty eyes.

Something icy ran down her spine.

"Just fucking do it!" Guard Number 2, as his mind named him, growled impatiently.

Guard Number 1 gulped.

Before, with a tense movement, he ignited the taser and pressed it against Chuuya's side.

And the world erupted in absolute pain.

A brutal scream broke the silence.

His body shook uncontrollably.

Violent spasms ran down his spine, his back arching involuntarily.

The air escaped from his lungs in ragged gasps.

When the current stopped, he still felt the shock waves coursing through him.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't breathe properly.

But he heard footsteps.

Quick footsteps.

The sound of a body colliding with another.

And then, a familiar voice.

"Chuuya!"

The touch of firm hands on his face brought him back.

Selena's green eyes were right in front of his, her expression tense and fierce. "I'll take you to your room."

Chuuya tried to speak. But his throat only produced a trembling gasp.

Selena clenched her jaw and carefully placed an arm around him, making sure not to touch his injured arm.

The world was still a mess of smudged colors and throbbing pain.

Chuuya didn’t know how much time had passed since the taser wreaked havoc on his nervous system. But the burn still ran through his skin, the ghostly feeling of the electric current tingling in his limbs.

The dislocated arm was a different kind of pain, deeper and sharper. Something heavy and constant, pulsing with each passing second.

Selena didn’t give him a chance to react as she took him, nearly dragging him, through the white hallways.

Chuuya tried to focus on her.

Her face was tense, her lips pressed into a hard line.

But her green eyes…

They weren’t cold.

They weren’t like his.

"You can do a bit more, don’t be a coward."

Chuuya’s stomach churned.

Selena pushed the door to one of the rooms without hesitation and guided him to the treatment table.

"Sit." Her voice was firm, but deep down... There was something that almost sounded like pleading.

Chuuya barely processed the command before his body decided to collapse on its own, sinking into the table with a low groan.

His muscles were too tense, too burned.

He couldn’t control the tremors in his hands.

Selena moved quickly, gathering what she needed.

Chuuya watched her movements with narrowed eyes, trying not to get lost in the dizziness.

The metallic sound of instruments made his jaw tighten.

Cold tables.

Gloved hands.

Mechanical voices saying, "Don’t move." Fear froze his skin before he could control it.

"I’m going to reset it," Selena announced calmly.

Chuuya felt his stomach sink.

His gaze wavered.

The peridot quickly noticed the change in his breathing.

"It’ll be quick."

That voice... It sounded too sure.

Too confident.

Too much like him.

"No..." Chuuya exhaled, his voice barely a trembling whisper.

Selena frowned. "Chuuya, I have to do it. The longer we wait, the worse it’ll be." Her tone was firm, but not cold.

Chuuya forced himself to swallow, his vision blurring and coming back in nauseous waves.

But it wasn’t the pain that suffocated him.

It was the memory.

"I’m not him," Selena suddenly said, her voice cutting through the tension in the air.

Chuuya’s eyes opened in shock, h is heart beat violently in his chest.

Selena stared at him.

Not with pity.

Not with empty compassion.

Just with certainty.

"I’m not him, and this isn’t him."

Chuuya didn’t realize he had stopped breathing until that moment.

His chest rose sharply in a broken gasp, Selena sighed, more to herself than to him.

And then, her hand firmly placed itself on his shoulder.

Chuuya barely had time to tense before she made the move.

A dry sound filled the room.

The pain ripped through him.

A scream was smothered in his throat as the bone returned to its place with a sickening crack.

His breathing spiked, sweat beading on his forehead.

But... The burn lessened.

It didn’t disappear, but at least now he could breathe.

Selena exhaled, relaxing her shoulders. "It’s done."

Chuuya closed his eyes, but… The tremor in his body didn’t stop.

His breathing was still erratic, his chest rising and falling in frantic gasps.

It wasn’t just from the pain.

It was from the cold, f rom the terror that still crawled under his skin, refusing to dissipate no matter how much he tried to force himself to snap out of it.

Chuuya’s fingers clenched into the sheets of the treatment table, the fabric wrinkling beneath his grip.

Selena noticed the change in his  breathing. "Chuuya."

He didn’t hear her.

Or rather, he couldn’t hear her.

All he could hear was his own deafening heartbeat pounding against his skull, a relentless drumming that made him want to vomit.

His vision blurred.

Panic climbed up his throat like a suffocated scream.

"It was him." His voice sounded broken.

Selena blinked. "What?"

Chuuya didn’t see her.

He didn’t even realize she was there, h is pupils were dilated, his gaze lost in something that wasn’t in front of him.

"He... it was him... it was Mori-san."

The blood in Selena’s veins froze. Chuuya trembled.

His body shook as if the temperature in the room had dropped suddenly.

"He came back for me." His voice cracked.

Selena felt a lump in her throat.

Chuuya inhaled sharply, his chest trembling with each erratic breath. "He came back for me and he’s going to take me and... and no one will be able to help me and–"

His breath caught in a terrified gasp.

His nails dug into his skin.

Selena reacted before he could keep sinking. "Chuuya, look at me."

He didn’t hear her.

"Chuuya." Her hands gripped his face firmly. "Look at me."

Something in her tone broke through the fog in his head.

Chuuya’s eyes met hers, but they were filled with pure terror.

They were lost.

Selena held his face more firmly.

"It’s not real."

Chuuya blinked, his breathing still chaotic.

"It’s not real," Selena repeated, moving closer until their foreheads almost touched. "It’s not him."

Chuuya’s lips trembled. "But I saw him, it was him and—"

"No." Selena cut off his sentence softly, her thumb brushing his cheek. "It’s not him."

Chuuya’s body trembled. "But..."

"It’s not him," Selena whispered against his skin.

And then, his voice cracked. "I— I made sure."

Selena felt her grip tremble.

"I swear." Chuuya gasped between breaths, his chest rising and falling with a frantic rhythm. "I... I crushed him! I took away every chance he had to survive, but he—"

His throat closed with a violent sob.

His nails dug even deeper into Selena’s clothes, as if he needed to anchor himself to something, anything.

"He did it." His voice was smothered in a broken gasp. "And he’s here."

Tears fell uncontrollably.

His whole body shook with broken sobs and sharp breaths. Selena said nothing.

She didn’t try to stop him.

She didn’t try to calm him with empty words.

She just let him cling to her.

Let him hide his face against her neck while his fingers gripped her back tightly.

Let him cry until there was nothing left inside.

And when his sobs turned into trembling gasps, when his breathing began to stabilize, she kissed him.

Soft, small kisses around his face, gentle and full of warmth.

One on his temple, another on the curve of his cheek.

One on the tip of his nose.

And finally, one on his forehead, long and deep.

Chuuya let out a small sigh.

His grip was still desperate, but something in his body started to relax.

Selena slid a hand through his hair, stroking it gently. "Hey, hey, puppy." Her voice was low, calm. "Listen to me."

Chuuya breathed shakily.

"If it’s easier for you, I can make sure it’s not him."

Chuuya stayed still.

Selena pressed another kiss to his forehead. "I can talk to that new doctor first." Her hand kept stroking his hair. "And then, if it makes you feel calmer, you could meet him too."

Chuuya didn’t respond immediately.

But when he did, his voice was fragile. "Y-You... you’d make sure for me?"

Selena hugged him tighter. "Of course, puppy."

The air in the hallway was thick.

Guard number 2 stretched, relaxing his muscles with a loud crack.

“Ugh, damn it,” he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “That damn alien took him.”

He rubbed the back of his neck irritably, watching the direction in which Selena had disappeared with Chuuya.

“Well, it'll be for next time.”

He turned disinterestedly toward the other two.

His eyes scanned the impeccably dressed doctor and then the other guard who stood rigidly beside her.

“Well, from this hallway to the end is your room, Dr. Akkiko.”

Yosano’s eyes remained neutral, but her jaw tightened slightly.

The guard ignored any change in her expression.

“And you,” he pointed at Akutagawa disinterestedly, “escort her. We don't want another crazy person trying to attack her.”

Akutagawa nodded without saying anything.

Yosano also kept her mouth shut.

However, as they started walking, she could feel Akutagawa's gaze on her.

It was a look that only someone like him could have.

One that understood too much.

One that had seen the same things she had.

They walked in silence, their steps muffled by the hallway carpet.

The cold light of the fluorescent bulbs gave the place an even more spectral air than usual.

Finally, they entered the room assigned to Yosano.

The door clicked shut behind them.

The silence between them was thick.

Yosano took a deep breath. “He… looked at me with so much hate, anger, and…”

Her voice trailed off.

Akutagawa didn’t let her finish. “Fear.”

Yosano blinked. “Fear…” Her own voice sounded uncertain.

Her gaze dropped to her hands.

For a moment, it wasn’t her reflection she saw in the window’s glass.

It was someone else.

Another girl.

Younger.

More broken.

Afraid of a man with calculating eyes and immaculate gloves.

“That look…” she murmured. “I had it.”

Akutagawa remained silent.

But he didn’t avert his gaze.

Yosano exhaled, pressing her fingers against her temples. “Years ago… with Mori.”

Akutagawa closed his eyes for a moment.

He hadn’t met the Mori she knew.

But he knew well what puppet masters of flesh and bone could do to a person.

His own scars were proof of that.

Yosano crossed her arms, her face tense. “Dazai must know.”

Akutagawa nodded.

With precise movements, he pulled a small device from inside his coat and pressed the coded call.

The tone sounded once.

Twice.

Dazai’s voice answered on the third. “Any progress?”

Akutagawa didn’t waste time. “Chuuya-san saw us.”

Silence.

Yosano could feel the tension even through the line.

“Did he recognize you?” Dazai’s voice was sharp.

Akutagawa clenched his jaw. “He saw me. But he didn’t recognize me.” He paused. “He did recognize Yosano-san.”

The silence on the other end of the line grew even deeper. “How did he react?”

Akutagawa glanced at Yosano.

She crossed her arms and looked away.

It was she who answered. “I feel like he mistook me for Mori.”

The line went completely silent.

Until Dazai exhaled a low whisper. “…What?”

“He looked at me the way I used to look at Mori when I was under his wing.” Yosano closed her eyes, massaging her temple. “And what I saw in his expression was pure panic.”

Akutagawa could feel Dazai’s breath through the line.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Finally, his voice grew graver. “Tell me everything.”

Akutagawa recounted what happened with precision.

Yosano’s expression hardened as she recalled the exact moment Chuuya had screamed in pain.

As if he were still trapped in that hell.

The line stayed silent even after Akutagawa finished speaking.

Then, an order. “Proceed with the mission.”

It wasn’t a soft tone. It wasn’t a hard tone.

It was a calculated tone.

One that made it clear Dazai had filed this information deep in his mind. “Make sure to keep gaining the trust of the other workers, avoid Chuuya until I send a message saying otherwise.”

Akutagawa nodded. “Understood.”

“Watch each of your steps.”

“We know.”

A final sigh. “Take care of him.”

The call ended.

Akutagawa slid the device back into his coat and turned toward the door.

But the moment he opened it… He found himself face to face with a figure.

A figure that was waiting.

Selena’s green eyes pierced him with absolute coldness.

She leaned against the doorframe with a look of disdain painted across her face, arms crossed and one eyebrow arched in a mocking expression.

“So… you’re the bastards from Japan, huh?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, every word drawn out in that lazy drawl she only used when she wanted to make it clear she didn’t give a damn who she was talking to.

Akutagawa didn’t react, his posture stiff and expression unreadable. Yosano, on the other hand, tilted her head with a dangerous glint in her eyes, sizing up the woman in front of them.

Selena let out a short, condescending laugh before continuing:

“Honestly, I expected something more impressive. Maybe a bigger rescue team, with explosives and high-caliber weapons. Not two infiltrators playing spies in a fucking madhouse.” She clicked her tongue, eyes locking onto Akutagawa. “And you? You’re the one who electrocuted Chuuya, aren’t you?”

Akutagawa didn’t respond.

“Come on, don’t be shy. Make a face or something!” she mocked. “I swear, if I weren’t so busy keeping him alive, I would’ve ripped your lungs out with my bare hands by now.”

Yosano narrowed her eyes, jaw tightening. “Are you done?”

“Oh, for now.” Selena grinned with pure malice.

But then, the red light on the surveillance camera in the corner blinked twice… and went dark.

The change in Selena was immediate. Her posture relaxed, the sarcasm vanished from her face, and her eyes took on an unexpected calm. She let out a long sigh and ran a hand through her hair.

“Alright, they’re not listening anymore.” Her tone was completely different now—no trace of mockery or threat. She walked over to a nearby seat and dropped into it with evident exhaustion. “Let’s talk.”

Yosano and Akutagawa exchanged a glance.

“You have information on what they’ve done to Chuuya.” Akutagawa didn’t ask—it was a statement.

“A lot of it. But first…” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, eyeing them carefully. “Who are you to him? Don’t think I’ll just hand over information to a couple of idiots who don’t know Chuuya at all.”

Yosano was the first to speak. “I’m a doctor. Akiko Yosano. I worked with Mori Ougai when I was younger, but now I work with the Armed Detective Agency.”

Akutagawa let out a soft huff. “Ryuunosuke Akutagawa. I was his subordinate.”

Selena looked at him curiously. “Subordinate?”

“Chuuya-san was my superior in the Mafia. He guided and supported me through my best and worst moments.”

Selena seemed to process that before speaking. “Interesting.”

She settled more comfortably in her chair and began to speak again, her tone more reflective. “My name is Selena. I’m a Peridot. We were created to guard and watch over others, but my ‘assignment’ was Chuuya. They pulled me out of nesting and ordered me to observe him. If he showed any signs of escape, I had to report it. If he tried to rebel, I had to restrain him.”

Akutagawa clenched his jaw. “So you’re one of his jailers.”

Selena let out a bitter laugh. “At first, yeah. And Chuuya treated me like one. He hated me. Spat at me every chance he got, insulted me, tried to kill me whenever he could.” She shrugged. “But…”

She paused, as if carefully choosing her words. “But, over time, he softened. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. What I do know is that now he trusts me enough to let me sleep beside him without trying to stab me in the throat.”

Akutagawa looked away, lips pressed into a tense line. “Chuuya-san… was never someone who trusted easily.”

Selena studied him. “What was he like before?”

Akutagawa and Yosano exchanged a glance.

“He was strong,” Akutagawa said. “Unstoppable. His presence filled every room he walked into. When he gave an order, you obeyed without question. But he was more than that…”

“He cared about his people,” Yosano added. “He had a terrifying sense of loyalty. If he decided to protect you, he’d do it to the bitter end.”

Selena smiled with a trace of nostalgia. “That part hasn’t changed. It’s good to know there’s still a piece of his past with him.”

There was a brief silence before Selena tilted her head and asked:

“Who’s Osamu?”

The air in the room tensed.

“Why do you ask?” Yosano asked cautiously.

“Because when we’re having sex, he always moans or gasps that name.”

Silence fell immediately.

Akutagawa coughed awkwardly. Yosano blinked a couple of times before crossing her arms.

“Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that!” Selena burst out laughing. “I’m not stupid. I know people have fantasies. I imagine he’s someone else too, sometimes. But… when I asked him directly, he completely shut down. He went stiff, like I’d kicked him in the ribs, and refused to answer.”

Akutagawa clenched his fists.

Yosano sighed. “Dazai Osamu.”

Selena frowned. “Who?”

“Dazai Osamu,” Yosano repeated. “That’s the name Chuuya—” she rolled her eyes at Selena’s amused smile “—He used to be his partner. They spent years together in the Mafia. And even if Dazai never admitted it, to Chuuya… he was the love of his life.”

Selena stared at her in disbelief. “That idiot was the love of his life?”

“He still is.”

Selena blinked slowly. “That… makes sense.”

“Why?”

“Because a few months ago, Himiko asked him about his life before all this. And when he mentioned that Dazai…” Her expression turned serious. “He sounded so… empty. Like he was remembering a ghost.”

Silence settled between them again.

Selena sighed, running a hand down her face before looking at Yosano. “Listen… treat him well. There’s only one doctor he trusts. Try to earn it. If he acts like a brat, play along if it’s fun. If he’s being cruel, treat him like a child. He’ll change instantly.”

Yosano raised an eyebrow. “That easy? I thought he’d put up more of a fight.”

Selena gave a lopsided smile. “After years of beatings and torture, most people get docile. But… with Chuuya, it’s never easy. Still, he’s predictable when you know how to handle him.”

Akutagawa watched her for a moment before murmuring, “Thank you.”

Selena shrugged. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t tried getting him out of here.”

Yosano gave a faint smile. “Still, we appreciate you giving us this information.”

Selena stood with the ease of a predator deciding it had lost interest in its prey. Her expression remained relaxed, but something serious flickered in her gaze as she looked at Yosano.

“I came here not just to talk about Chuuya, but to see if you could be trusted.”

Yosano didn’t react, simply waited.

“That brat isn’t too fond of doctors,” Selena added fondly. “And I know every time a new one shows up, they force him into a check-up. So I’ll bring him in a few minutes… after convincing him you’re trustworthy.”

Akutagawa frowned. “And if you fail? You’ll put him through stress for nothing.”

Selena arched a brow with amusement. “Who said I’ll fail?” She crossed her arms. “Just… don’t cross any lines. None. Deep down, he might remember you—but on the surface, he doesn’t.”

The weight of those words fell on them like a slab of stone. Akutagawa looked away, and Yosano stayed quiet for a moment before nodding.

“Understood.”

Selena gave them one last evaluative look before turning and walking out the door, leaving them alone.

Akutagawa ran a hand over his face and let out a barely audible sigh. “If he doesn’t kill us first… maybe he’ll trust us.”

Yosano smiled wryly. “If he survives the medical exam without trying to rip my throat out with his teeth, it’ll be a miracle.”

No more than twenty minutes passed before the door opened again.

Selena entered first, wearing an expression of patience bordering on exasperation.“They don’t bite, brat.”

Chuuya followed, but his posture gave him away. His muscles were tense, lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes gleamed with a mixture of distrust and exhaustion. 

He still showed signs of his earlier breakdown: puffy eyes, slightly irregular breathing, like he hadn’t fully come down from the emotional crash.

When his eyes met Akutagawa’s, there was a flash of recognition… followed by a spark of restrained relief.

Akutagawa held his gaze without blinking, a nd before Selena or Yosano even noticed, Chuuya had vanished. Yosano flinched at the speed before turning to look at Akutagawa—and what she saw surprised her.

Akutagawa was being pulled upward into the redhead’s height as he was hugged. Chuuya was hugging him tightly and firmly, like he never wanted to let go.

Akutagawa was stiff at first, unsure what to do or how to react. Was he supposed to keep up his role as a guard?

The black-haired man’s mind kept working until he heard it—soft, but there.

“Ryu…”

And he couldn’t hold back. He hugged the redhead back with equal strength, and Chuuya sobbed as he felt Akutagawa’s arms around him.

Akutagawa held him tighter, while Chuuya cried at the contact. “Oh god… My boy, look at you, you’ve grown so much.”

Akutagawa felt his throat tighten, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The weight of the moment hit him with overwhelming force. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him like that—with desperation, with genuine affection, with the certainty that he was someone worth holding onto.

It was too much.

His vision blurred, and when he blinked, a hot tear rolled down his cheek. He didn’t try to stop it.

Chuuya remembered him. After all this time, after everything that had changed, after the distance, the war, the blood and the years… Chuuya remembered.

“Chuuya-san…” His voice trembled, but he didn’t care. Not now.

Chuuya pulled back just enough to look at him properly. His face was flushed from crying, lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say more but needed to catch his breath first.

Then, with a soft, tired, and amazed laugh, he said:

“When I saw you in Germany, I thought it was something my stupid mind made up… that my head was playing tricks on me. But… wow…” His eyes roamed Akutagawa’s face in sincere awe, as if he were seeing him for the first time.

“Look at you… You’ve turned into a handsome man.”

Akutagawa let out a trembling laugh, almost disbelieving, mixed with the remnants of his held-back tears. “And you’re still just as stubborn…” he replied, his voice a little rougher than usual.

Chuuya smiled, though his chin still trembled from the storm of emotions.

Akutagawa lifted a hand and rested it on the redhead’s nape, unable to help himself, as if he needed to make sure this was real—that Chuuya was really there.

And for the first time in a long while, Akutagawa felt something in his chest—something that had been tight and empty for years—finally begin to loosen.

Yosano stayed calm, smiling faintly at a reunion both of them had thought would never happen.

Chuuya then looked at her, and for a brief second… something broke in his expression.

There was hatred. Distrust. But above all—pure, absolute terror, i n his mind, the idea still throbbed that somehow, Mori had come back for him.

Selena noticed the shift in his breathing, his posture tensing. Wasting no time, she stepped forward and firmly grabbed his wrist, giving it a squeeze.

“Chuuya.”

Chuuya inhaled sharply and looked at her.

“It’s not him.”

His throat worked hard as he swallowed. 

“I know.”

But it didn’t sound like he truly believed it.

Yosano then spoke, in the most neutral tone she could manage.

“My name is Akiko Yosano. I’m the new doctor they hired after… the previous one had an accident.”

Chuuya closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he opened them, his jaw was clenched. “And that same accident will happen to you if you don’t keep your hands off me,” he threatened, crossing his arms.

But he didn’t move forward.

Selena rolled her eyes. “Get over there before I make you.”

“As if you’d get a hand on me before I bit it off,” Chuuya spat—but even so, he took a step forward.

Akutagawa watched him with restrained intensity, but hidden behind it was fear.

This wasn’t the Chuuya he remembered.

This Chuuya didn’t radiate the same untamable strength… it was as if he had spent far too long fighting invisible shadows.

Yosano waited, not rushing him or forcing anything.

Chuuya looked at her.

A long silence settled.

Selena, with infinite patience, just sighed. “Well, doctor, are you going to examine him, or do you need me to send you an invitation by mail?”

Yosano smiled in amusement before getting to work.

Chuuya, for his part, was ready to react at the slightest suspicious movement.

But Yosano didn’t approach immediately, i nstead, she extended a calm hand.  “May I?”

The gesture made Chuuya blink, confused.

It was... unusual.

“Huh?”

Most doctors here didn’t give him the option to say no, or even bother to ask for his permission.

Selena gave him a gentle nudge with her shoulder. “Relax, she’s not going to eat you.”

Chuuya growled under his breath, but after a moment of hesitation, he allowed Yosano to do her job.

Yosano began the examination with clinical precision. Her fingers assessed every inch of marked skin, every scar left behind by hands that should never have touched Chuuya.

Every wound told a story he never spoke of.

Every mark spoke of suffering he had been forced to endure.

Without a word, Yosano pulled out her phone and began taking photos. The flash lit up the room with every capture.

Chuuya frowned. “What, you planning to sell them or something?”

“Medical documentation,” she replied casually, jotting down notes in a small notebook.

Chuuya scoffed but chose not to argue.

When Yosano asked him to take off his shirt to examine his chest and back, he hesitated for a moment. But, after a heavy sigh, he did it.

The silence that followed was... peculiar.

The scars didn’t surprise her. Not after what she’d already seen.

But the bite marks did.

Several of them—some more recent than others. She raised an eyebrow and slowly turned her head toward Selena.

“Don’t look at me like that, doctor, I’m not the only one who gets hungry around here,” Selena responded with a sly grin.

Chuuya didn’t even hesitate. With impressive fluidity, he grabbed a scalpel from Yosano’s coat and threw it at Selena without a second thought.

Selena barely had time to dodge, feeling it brush past her hair.

“Are you nuts ?!” She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Actually, yes, you are.”

“Shut your mouth, you damn degenerate!” Chuuya shouted, his face burning with embarrassment.

Akutagawa, who had remained silent the whole time, let out an exasperated sigh. “Pathetic…”

Chuuya whipped around to face him. “It’s not pathetic! It’s embarrassing! Especially with you in the same damn room!”

Selena didn’t miss her chance. “That’s not what you said before.”

Chuuya turned even redder. “I swear if you keep talking, I’m going to kill you!”

Selena smirked, leaning in slightly. “Well, when I was inside you, you were much nicer than now.”

Chuuya felt his soul leave his body. “Oh my god, shut up!” Desperate, he turned to Yosano with a silent plea. “Isn’t it your job to remove people who make your patients uncomfortable?”

Yosano, barely containing a laugh, nodded with complete seriousness. “You’re right.”

She turned to Selena and, with a wave of her hand, pointed to the door. “Out.”

Selena put on a face of mock indignation. “Really? This is how you treat me after everything we’ve been through, Chuuya?”

Chuuya shot her a deadly glare.

“Get. out.”

Selena laughed as she walked to the door. But before leaving, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “Remember you’ve got training in a few minutes. Doctor N found out I interrupted, so she decided to make you train double.”

Chuuya closed his eyes in frustration. “Fucking Bitch.”

Selena blew him a kiss before disappearing through the door.

Chuuya let out a low growl as he rubbed his temples. “I’m going to kill her one of these days…”

Akutagawa shook his head. “I doubt you have the capability.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “Shut your mouth.”

Yosano just smiled as she continued her work, thinking to herself—

That maybe Chuuya wasn’t as lost as they initially thought.

There was still hope.