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Fukuzawa Yukichi didn’t usually make impulsive decisions.

That morning, however, he had returned to the Agency with six.

Not six new recruits.

Not six enemy agents.

Six… cats.

They meowed in various tones of existential confusion from the box he was cradling as he entered the building. Kunikida froze mid–coffee sip. Ranpo dropped his lollipop. Atsushi blinked. Dazai, naturally, started clapping.

“Fukuzawa-san!” Kunikida sputtered. “What are—are those cats? Why—?”

Fukuzawa set the box gently on his desk. “They followed me.”

“Six of them?” Atsushi squeaked.

“Yes.”

Dazai leaned over, grinning like a demon blessed with fur allergies. “Boss, be honest. You stole them.”

Fukuzawa leveled a calm look at him. “I rescued them.”

Ranpo tilted his head. “From where?”

“A cardboard box behind a restaurant.”

Kunikida adjusted his glasses, clearly suppressing an oncoming moral crisis. “You can’t just bring six animals into the Agency!”

Fukuzawa, however, was already busy placing saucers of milk on his desk.

That was how it started.

By evening, there were hairballs in the file cabinet, two cats nesting in the top drawer of Kunikida’s desk, and Dazai insisting that one of them was “emotionally attached” to him. (“See? It bites only me! Proof of love!”)

When Fukuzawa returned home—

Home being a quiet, traditional-style residence halfway between the ADA and the Port Mafia’s medical wing—

he was met with a really worried Mori.

Mori Ougai’s day, like the velvet he preferred, had been smooth and perfectly structured. He was enjoying the rare evening without Port Mafia crises, basking in the glow of domestic (if unconventional) tranquility. He was the boss of the largest criminal organization, but in this shared, elegant home—a home few knew he shared with his oldest frenemy—he was simply Ougai.

​It was 7:45 PM. Fukuzawa Yukichi, the grounded anchor of his life and the president of the Armed Detective Agency, was twenty-five minutes late.

​“Elise, my dear, what do you suppose is delaying Yukichi?” Mori paced the living room. It was common knowledge in their secret circle—a circle consisting only of a doll and two organizations' top brass—that the leaders of the darkness and the light were... involved. Few, however, realized the extent of their domestic entanglement.

​Elise paused her drawing. “Maybe he’s adopting a third child. Or he finally realized he needs a pet for the Agency. Something loud and annoying.”

Mori shuddered. 

The key turned in the lock. Mori, ready to deliver a sharp, loving reprimand, saw Fukuzawa step into the foyer. He was dressed in his usual severe kimono and haori, his expression carved from stone, but he carried a large, repurposed cardboard moving box.

​And the box was not still. It was vibrating, punctuated by muffled mews and light scritching sounds.

​Mori’s worry vanished, replaced by a deep, theatrical horror. He recognized the look on Fukuzawa’s face: the noble, completely oblivious look of a man about to commit a massive act of humanitarian idiocy.

​Mori’s voice dropped to a low, incredibly serious whisper. “Yukichi,” he began, eyes fixed on the vibrating cardboard rectangle. “What in the name of all that is reasonable, logical, and structurally sound are you carrying?”

​Fukuzawa set the box down with a solid thump. He adjusted his haori and met Mori’s gaze with the serene calm of a martial artist achieving inner peace.

​“Ougai,” Fukuzawa said, his voice flat. “I had a hypothetical question for you on the drive home.”

​Mori’s breath hitched. Hypotheticals from Fukuzawa were always a precursor to expensive chaos. “I am listening, dear.”

​Fukuzawa inhaled slowly. “What would you say if one day I came home with six cats?”

​The silence was deafening. Mori’s face went from pale to a faint, sickly green. Six cats. Six times the potential for destruction. Six times the pet bills. It was a terrifying, geometrical disaster.

​Mori’s eyes darted from the box, back to Fukuzawa’s face, and back to the box as a tiny, desperate mew escaped. His composure was incinerated.

​“Yukichi!” Mori shrieked, clutching his raven hair in both hands, the medical professional utterly gone. “Yukichi! What's in the box?!”

​Fukuzawa expression remained unchanged. He tilted his head.

​“I think you know.”

Mori let out a strangled, wounded cry. “You absolute, noble brute! You skipped the hypothetical and went straight to reality! Did you buy them? Steal them? What kind of Agency field exercise involves feline acquisition? I forbid it! My silk rugs will be ruined! Elise will have a fit! I will simply not allow it!”

​Fukuzawa, with the patience of a saint facing down a dramatic plague, slowly peeled back the tape. The moment the seal broke, a flood of six kittens burst forth, turning the foyer into a tiny, fluffy riot.

​The Ginger terror (Cat 3) instantly spotted Mori’s favorite $5,000 antique silk tapestry and began climbing it like a furry, cross-eyed mountaineer.

​The Fluffy White Persian-mix (Cat 5) sauntered over to Mori’s most expensive Italian leather boot and began using it as a scratching post with utter disdain.

​The Siamese-mix (Cat 6) managed to knock over a delicate porcelain vase, though miraculously, it didn't break.

​The Gray Tabby (Cat 4) panicked and projectile-vomited a tiny hairball directly onto the lace of Mori’s vest.

​Mori froze, eyes wide with genuine shock, witnessing the swift, brutal destruction of his domestic peace. The sight of his immaculate vest soiled by a hairball, coupled with the ginger terror scaling the tapestry, pushed him past the point of simple frustration.

​“Oh, God! The chaos!” Mori clutched his hands together, staring at the destruction. “The sheer, unadulterated anarchy! Yukichi, they were not worth saving! Look at the damage! They are feral agents of structural instability!”

​Fukuzawa sighed, the sound barely audible over the purring and scratching. “They were abandoned behind the restaurant, near the agency. I just pet them, and they started to follow me. I couldn't just left them to starve, Ougai.”

The justification was solid. But the chaos was intolerable. Mori spent the next five minutes rescuing the tapestry, shooing the fluffy white cat away from the leather, and frantically scrubbing his vest. He looked utterly defeated.

​Minally, Mori grabbed Fukuzawa’s arm, his voice strained and high-pitched. “No. I cannot live like this. This is a level of unpredictable danger even I, the leader of the Port Mafia, find unacceptable. The sheer cat hair alone is an existential threat to my wardrobe! We are not keeping six.”

​Fukuzawa looked down at Mori, his gaze heavy with reluctance. He looked at the chaos, then back at Mori’s distraught face.

​“Very well, Ougai,” Fukuzawa conceded, his voice betraying his soft heart. “We will keep two. Only the two most composed. For your sanity.”

​Mori felt a surge of triumph mixed with lingering horror. He was the one who restored order. He was the one in control.

Mori, now focused and ruthlessly efficient, selected the two quietest cats that had instantly bonded with the man who had rescued them.

​The Calico. This one had immediately settled on Fukuzawa's shoulder, purring softly. Mori recognized the creature’s stillness and overwhelming sense of self-importance.

​“This one,” Mori declared, pointing. “Is too dignified to cause trouble. It has the gravitas of a truly terrifying literary mastermind.”

​Fukuzawa stroked the calico’s head. “It shall be named Natsume.”

Mori silently stared at his husband, who did nothing but starred back. "What do you think would happen if Natsume-sensei got to know that?"

"He'll probably like it." Mori just nodded at his Husband's remark. 

​Cat 2: The White and Black. This tuxedo cat had buried itself deep in Fukuzawa’s haori, its frantic nature soothed only by the President’s large, steady hand.

​“And this jittery, black-and-white blur?” Mori asked. “It’s needy, high-energy, and completely dependent on an immovable rock to function.”

​“We shall call it Jinko,” Mori decided, a small, genuine smile creeping onto his face, acknowledging the Agency’s Weretiger.

​Now came the fun part: redistributing the chaos. Mori decided on a method that would both alleviate his domestic suffering and provide endless, amusing surveillance material of his subordinates' reactions.

Cat 3: The Ginger Terror, The aggressive, chaotic ginger kitten (Cat 3) was still trying to climb Mori's clothes.

​“This one is pure, concentrated spite and endless conflict,” Mori announced. “It requires two handlers who already exist in a state of mutually assured destruction, forcing them to unite against a common, furry enemy.” 

He said, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. 

Recipient: Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya.

Mori left the cat, along with a note reading, “A domestic obligation to practice collaboration. Best wishes from your leader,” on Dazai's desk in the Agency. Dazai, recognizing the unmistakable implication of the note and the expensive carrier, immediately realized exactly what was going on between the two leaders. He sent Mori a text: “Oh, you’re married now? And this is the fruit of your chaos? How adorable, Ougai-san.”

​Later, Mori received a frantic, misspelled text from Chuuya: “IT IS TRYING TO DROWN MY HAT IN THE SINK. DAZAI IS LAUGHING. I HATE YOUR HUSBAND.”

​They eventually named the cat Akane, and while Chuuya grumbled, he quickly became fiercely protective of the fluffy menace.

Cat 4: The Tabby of Emotional Turmoil

​The quiet, nervous gray tabby (Cat 4) was prone to sudden, terrifying leaps and clingy attachment—a perfect match for a dynamic of deep care masked by painful self-doubt and existential angst.

Recipient: Nakajima Atsushi and Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

Mori arranged a handover at a neutral cafe, personally giving the cat to Atsushi.

​“This little one needs intense, dual-parental affection to feel secure,” Mori explained with a sugary-sweet smile. “It will force you two to learn collaboration, communication, and basic mutual toleration. It requires an Agency member’s kindness and a Mafia member’s devotion. Enjoy the forced domesticity, dear boy.”

​Akutagawa, standing guard, was visibly flustered. He saw the way his boss had spoken to the Agency boy, and the casual, almost familiar tone of the entire exchange. He stared at the tabby and realized his leader was essentially assigning him joint guardianship of a cat with a boy from the Agency. The implication of Mori and Fukuzawa’s relationship, and the uncomfortable parallelism to his own unwanted partnership, hit him full force.

​The cat, now named Gin, after Akutagawa’s gentle sister (a name suggested by Atsushi), immediately settled between the two, forcing them to stop arguing about who was better equipped to purchase cat litter.

Cat 5: The Fluffy Empress

​The fluffy, white Persian-mix (Cat 5) was a creature of high maintenance, demanding aesthetic perfection and constant admiration.

Recipient: Yosano Akiko.

Mori packaged this cat with a small, embroidered silk pillow. “This cat is an icon of feminine power and absolute intolerance for mediocrity,” he informed Yukichi. “It belongs with the doctor, who will treat it like the tiny, decorative deity it is.”

​Yosano took the cat with a delighted, yet unsettling, smile. The cat looked like a tiny, snow-white cloud. Mori's insistence on such a delicate hand-off, contrasting sharply with his usual Mafia business, made Yosano raise a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. The shared, domestic language used by the two leaders was becoming less of a secret and more of an accepted, hilarious reality amongst the staff. She named it Scalpel.

Cat 6: The Confused Specialist

​The tiny, enormous-eared Siamese-mix (Cat 6) looked perpetually puzzled and had a surprisingly loud, demanding little voice.

Recipient: Edogawa Ranpo and Kunikida Doppo.

​“This cat requires structure, logical routines, and endless intellectual stimulation,” Mori mused, dropping the final cat off at the Agency President’s office (which was empty).

​Ranpo, upon seeing the cat, declared, "It's a gift from your father, Kunikida. He's outsourcing his domestic burdens to the Agency. Its name is Logic, and it will only eat salmon."

​Kunikida, horrified by Ranpo’s deduction, immediately typed a detailed, 14-point schedule for the cat’s feeding, napping, and play times into his Ideal. The cat immediately derailed the schedule by demanding attention at exactly 1:37 PM, forcing Kunikida to rewrite his life plan.

The great six-cat invasion was over, leaving behind the two chosen survivors: Natsume and Jinko.

​Mori was back on the plush sofa, exhausted but victorious. Jinko, the tuxedo cat, was draped across his lap, purring like a tiny jet engine. Natsume, the calico, was stretched out regally on a velvet cushion nearby, occasionally opening one amber eye to assess the room.

​Fukuzawa returned from his final, quiet task—cleaning up the single, stray hairball on the oriental rug. He sat beside Mori, leaning back against the cushion, his hand resting lightly on the back of the sofa, right near Mori’s neck.

​“Are you satisfied, Ougai?” Fukuzawa asked, his voice low, still carrying a hint of regret for the four he had to give up.

​Mori sniffed dramatically, pretending to be still aggrieved. “Satisfied? I was violated, Yukichi! My meticulous domestic order was destroyed! But yes,” he paused, looking down at the black-and-white kitten, “Natsume is distinguished, and Jinko is tragically adorable. They are an acceptable level of chaos. You chose well.”

​Fukuzawa only gave a small, contented hum in response, accepting the reluctant praise. He was the one who brought the chaos, and Mori was the one who restored order—a dynamic that defined their relationship. Mori leaned into the strong hand near his neck, a silent admission of emotional exhaustion and a request for comfort.

​Fukuzawa recognized the subtle shift. He didn't speak, but lifted his hand and placed it gently on Mori's jawline, his thumb resting near the sharp curve of his cheekbone. Fukuzawa’s touch was warm, heavy, and reassuring—a tangible reminder of his constant, quiet presence and authority.

​Mori closed his eyes, tilting his head into the touch, utterly surrendered. Fukuzawa was the dominant, grounding force he needed.

​Fukuzawa leaned closer, his dark, usually guarded eyes now soft and focused solely on Mori. He waited until Mori’s breath was even, until the last flicker of dramatic tension had left his body. Then, with the deliberate, unhurried motion of a man who knows exactly what he wants, Fukuzawa bowed his head.

​He pressed his lips to Mori's. It was a slow, deep kiss, carrying the subtle, grounding taste of the Agency’s industrial-strength coffee and the faint scent of old wood and leather. It wasn't frantic, but it was absolute. It was Fukuzawa’s way of saying I am here. We are fine. And yes, the cats are staying, thanks to you.

​When Fukuzawa finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against Mori's, his breath ruffling the delicate silver strands of his hair.

​"They are staying," Fukuzawa murmured, a statement of fact, acknowledging Mori's wise decision.

​Mori, still breathless and slightly flushed, couldn't argue. He only tightened his hold on Jinko and gave a tiny, defeated nod.

​"I know," Mori whispered, his voice still low, now utterly surrendered. "Just promise me, Yukichi, no more than two. And no puppies. Or ferrets."

​"No puppies or ferrets," Fukuzawa agreed, pressing one last, softer kiss to the corner of Mori’s mouth. "But if I come home tomorrow with a particularly distressed houseplant, you will at least hear my hypothetical first."

​Mori groaned, but the sound was muffled by the kiss that followed, a soft acknowledgment that his perfect, orderly life was now, and forever, gloriously ruined, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

​Jinko purred louder, and Natsume opened both eyes, watching the ridiculous humans with the detached wisdom of a genuine literary master. They had won.