Chapter Text
Kenji woke up to a smell that burned his nose. It wasn't the scent of fresh soil or morning dew, it was the sharp, biting sting of bleach and rubbing alcohol. He slowly opened his eyes, and had to close them again as sharp white light buzzed above him. He sat up, putting a hand over his eyes as he tried to blink against the glare. It was terribly cold, the type of creeping chill that triples any anxiety you might have. The walls were a bleak, off-white color, they were probably pristine in the beginning, but had slowly dulled into a sickly gray as the years went on.
“Oh, you're finally awake.”
Kenji looked across the room where a man in a spinning chair, dressed in white was sitting. His white outfit gave off the feeling of care and goodness but his menacing aura clashed with that perception. Dark violet hair where one stray hair fell into his face with a pair of sharp purple eyes.
Kenji thought for a moment, putting a name to the face he knew he had seen before. “Oh! You must be the boss, aren't you? Why am I in this doctor's office? How did I get here?” Anybody else would be frozen in terror if they woke up like this, but Kenji was not just anybody after all.
For a fraction of a second, Mori Ōgai just stared at the boy, the nostalgia began to pulse in his veins. And then, a deep, genuine fascination sparked in his dark eyes. A slow, incredibly warm smile spread across his face as he matched the boy’s bright energy.
“Guilty as charged…” Mori chuckled and stood up, walking towards the boy and stopping just a few feet away, still smiling with just a hint of cold calculation, but not at all dishonest. Backing his sudden cheerful demeanor was a smooth and entirely disarming voice. “I am the Boss. But long before I ran this organization, I was an underground physician. You see, Kenji-kun, the hospitals in this city... they often turn away the desperate. They refuse to treat criminals, or the poor, or the misunderstood, leaving them to die in the streets.”
Mori turned away from him to look out the singular small window in the entire room. “I love this city, even its dark side, so I couldn't simply let them suffer. I treated the people society abandoned. I still like to keep my skills sharp... and I wanted to make sure our newest, most valued family member was in perfect health.”
Kenji stared at the Boss's back. It was a highly vulnerable position to show anyone, let alone a supposed enemy. To Kenji, that simple, unconscious display of trust was all the confirmation he needed. The Mafia wasn't just a syndicate of pure evil… it was exactly what Chūya had described, a place for people rejected by society, fierce guard dogs who simply hadn't found the light yet.
That realization brought Dazai to mind. Dazai was the second smartest person Kenji knew, and he had also been in the Port Mafia at around his age. More recently, Dazai said he had purposefully gotten himself arrested and locked in a high-security prison just to fight a Russian rat from the inside. It was a calculated plan to destroy his enemy by playing their game.
But Kenji didn't want to destroy anyone. If the Port Mafia was truly just a home for misunderstood people, then Kenji could use Dazai's strategy for something better. If he played the part, got close to them, and understood them from the inside, he could bring the light to them much faster. He would show them the warmth of the sun so they wouldn't have to be trapped in the dark anymore.
All he had to do was play the loyal, model Mafia member. He just had to wear the mask long enough to save them, or before the Agency would come back for him. And the best place to start his mission was right here, with his new boss.
“WOW! That was so kind of you to do! So, if I may ask, what will be my job here? In the Agency I was a detective but, the port mafia doesn't really solve cases so…” Kenji smiled, his eyes closing in enthusiasm.
Mori turned around, his smile widening into a fond and kind expression, clasping his gloved hands behind his back like a proud father. He knew that the best course of action is to let him feel like a hero.
Mori stepped away from the window, pulling a rolling stool over taking a seat right in front of him. His movements were slow, entirely unhurried, projecting an aura of absolute calm.
“Job?” Mori smiled fondly, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. “Kenji-kun, you just woke up. Let us worry about your employment tomorrow. Right now, I am simply your doctor.”
Mori stepped away from the window, his expression softening into an easy, approachable smile. “If you don't mind, Kenji-kun, could I please give you a brief check-up? I would just like to make sure our newest family member is perfectly healthy.”
“Oh! Sure!” Kenji agreed easily, shifting on the thin mattress.
Mori reached into his pocket and pulled out a small penlight. “Could you look at the wall behind me, please?”
Kenji nodded, fixing his bright gaze on the peeling gray paint.
“Good.” Mori hummed. He clicked the light on, gently checking the boy's pupils. The room was quiet for a long moment, save for the faint click of the penlight turning off. Mori picked up a clipboard from the counter, uncapping a pen and jotting down a few notes.
“I read in your file that your ability is tied to your hunger.” Mori said casually, not looking up from his writing. “Truly a fascinating ability. I will have to ensure our kitchens are well-stocked for you, so you never feel like you have to starve yourself for us. Do you have a favorite dish?”
“I love beef bowls!” Kenji beamed, swinging his legs slightly off the edge of the cold metal table. “The President used to treat me to them when I did a good job!”
Mori's pen paused for just a fraction of a second, before continuing its smooth scratching across the paper. “Beef bowls it is, then.”
He set the clipboard down and reached for a blood pressure cuff, gently wrapping the dark fabric around Kenji's upper arm. “I also read that you are a farmer. What kind of animals do you take care of?”
“Oh, mostly cows!” Kenji answered, watching with genuine curiosity as Mori pumped the little rubber bulb. The cuff tightened around his bicep, a firm, squeezing pressure. “And we grow rice and potatoes, too. It’s hard work, but everyone in the village helps out!”
“I see…” Mori smiled warmly, a nostalgic softness entering his dark eyes as he watched the gauge slowly deflate. “I remember when I was young and still studying medicine... I went to do my residency in a small, rural village much like yours.”
Mori unwrapped the cuff, setting it aside, and leaned back in his stool.
“I didn't just take care of people. Since there were no veterinarians for miles, I was often called out to treat cows, pigs, and sheep, too. I rarely had a human patient below the age of fifty.”
Kenji’s eyes lit up. The sterile, terrifying Boss of the Port Mafia suddenly just looked like the nice, tired old doctor from back home. “Really? You took care of the cows too?”
“I certainly tried.” Mori laughed softly. He reached into his coat and pulled out a silver stethoscope. “I am going to check your breathing now.”
Kenji didn't even notice the linguistic shift from asking to stating. He simply sat up a bit straighter, completely disarmed by the slow, comfortable pace of the conversation as Mori stepped into his personal space.
Mori placed the earpieces in his ears and pressed the cold chest piece against Kenji's shirt. “I will need you to take a deep breath for me.”
Kenji inhaled deeply.
The room fell into a heavy, clinical silence. It dragged on for ten, perhaps fifteen seconds. Mori closed his eyes, the only sound in the room being the low, electrical hum of the lights as he carefully listened to the steady, strong rhythm of the boy's heart. He wasn't rushing. He was letting the sheer boredom of a medical exam put Kenji's defensive instincts entirely to sleep.
After a long moment, Mori pulled the earpieces out, draping them loosely around his neck. “You can breathe out now.”
Kenji exhaled, the tension melting off his shoulders at the gentle instruction.
“So tell me…” Mori murmured, turning his back to Kenji to wash his hands at the small steel sink in the corner. The sound of running water filled the quiet room. “When a village doesn't have a local doctor... What does a good farmer like you do when a calf gets terribly sick?”
“Oh…” Kenji’s voice grew a little quieter. It was a sad reality of farm life. “You have to cull the calf. So the sickness doesn't spread, and the rest of the herd survives.”
“I see.” Mori turned off the tap, drying his hands slowly on a paper towel. “That is very responsible.”
Silence settled over the room again. It was a comfortable, safe silence. The check-up was seemingly over. Mori tossed the paper towel into the bin and picked his clipboard back up, seemingly just finishing his paperwork.
“This conversation is bringing so many memories to the surface.” Mori mused gently, his back still half-turned to the boy as he wrote. “Especially of your President. Your farm analogy actually reminds me quite a bit of him.”
Mori finally turned around, leaving the clipboard on the counter. He walked slowly back to the exam table, offering Kenji an affectionate, almost pitying smile.
“I remember the day I made the deal with him as clear as day. A simple transfer. One Agency member in exchange for our help.” Mori reached out, gently taking Kenji's wrist between his gloved fingers to take his pulse. He tilted his head, his tone dropping its conversational warmth to become something quiet and absolute. “Look forward.”
Kenji snapped to attention, his eyes locking onto the peeling paint behind Mori without a single thought of defiance. His body was entirely subservient to the Boss's authority now, completely bypassing his conscious mind.
“I remember you were in the room when Doctor Yosano and the Tanizaki boy practically threw themselves at me to take them instead.” Mori continued, his voice as smooth as glass, his thumb resting perfectly over the steady beat in Kenji's wrist. “It was a beautiful display of loyalty. But, I suppose it was mainly so I wouldn't take their respective partners instead of them. Yosano protecting Ranpo, Tanizaki protecting his sister…”
Mori paused, his violet eyes locking onto Kenji's with a look of genuine, innocent curiosity.
“But it made me wonder. Say, Kenji-kun... did you have a partner in the Agency? A best friend who would burn the world down for you? Or were you just... a great friend to everyone?”
Underneath Mori's thumb, Kenji's steady pulse gave a sudden, violent flutter.
Mori didn't sound angry. He didn't sound accusatory. He just sounded genuinely curious. But the simple question snagged on something deep in Kenji's chest. Atsushi had Kyouka, Dazai had Kunikida, Ranpo had Yosano. The duos were all intertwined together, anchoring each other to the Agency. But there was always a connection stronger than the others. Except for him.
Kenji was everyone’s friend. He was helpful. He was the one who cheerfully bought the snacks and moved the heavy desks. But when the President had to separate one calf for the sake of the herd... nobody had stepped in front of him.
It was just a tiny sting. The very first hairline fracture in his unshakeable optimism.
But Kenji was resilient, and he refused to let the cold of the room win. If he was going to execute his strategy, if he was going to bring the light to the Mafia from the inside, he couldn't let a little thing like that upset him. He was doing this for them, after all. And the Agency surely had a very good reason for how they acted, right?
His bright smile faltered for only a fraction of a second, dimming just slightly, before he forced it back into place. He turned his head to beam up at the Boss.
“I was friends with everyone!” Kenji declared, his voice stubbornly cheerful. “I am glad to make more friends in the Mafia now.”
Mori’s eyes sparked with quiet delight. He felt the erratic spike against his thumb, and he saw that microscopic falter in the boy's sunny armor. It was exactly what he was looking for.
“That is a wonderfully brave way to look at it…” Mori said softly. He finally released Kenji's wrist, moving his hand up to place a warm, grounding weight on the boy's shoulder instead. “But it is a lonely thing, being a friend to all but a partner to none. Here in the Port Mafia, we operate differently. No one stands alone.”
Mori’s thumb brushed lightly against Kenji's collarbone.
“I am assigning you to Executive Nakahara. He will be your partner from now on. I want you to learn from him, and I want you to protect him.” Mori whispered, a dark, heavy promise weaving into his velvet voice. “Because I promise you, Kenji-kun... Chūya is a man who needs a partner just as much as you do.”
Kenji’s eyes went wide, the lingering ache in his chest instantly paved over by a sudden, overwhelming surge of purpose. A partner. Someone who actually needed him, specifically.
“Oh, wow! A true partner?” Kenji beamed, the wattage of his smile returning in full, blinding force. “And I won't just be paired up with whoever needs an extra set of hands for the afternoon? That sounds really good!”
The thought of his new partner made Kenji’s chest bubble with genuine excitement. He remembered the fancy-hat guy from the diner, who had actually listened to him and who had looked so fiercely protective when speaking about his own friends. If that was who he was supposed to protect, Kenji was more than happy to do it.
“He was really nice to me, and he treated me to really good food!" Kenji nodded eagerly, his legs kicking slightly against the exam table as he practically vibrated with his new mission. "I'll be the best partner ever! I'll do my absolute best to protect him, Boss!”
Mori Ōgai stared down at the boy.
Kenji was shining like a miniature sun in the middle of the bleak, sterile infirmary, completely vibrating with the desperate, pure-hearted desire to be useful. To anyone else, it would be a heartwarming display of uncorrupted innocence.
To Mori, it was the beautiful, mechanical click of a loaded gun.
“I have absolute faith that you will, Kenji-kun.” Mori murmured, his voice dripping with a saccharine, suffocating warmth. He reached out, resting his gloved hand heavily on top of Kenji's golden hair, giving it a slow, paternal pat, similar to when he is touching Elise's hair.
He didn't need to break the boy's mind with torture, and he didn't need to drag him into a dark basement. The Armed Detective Agency had unknowingly handed Mori the sharpest blade in Yokohama, completely failing to realize one simple truth: a blade does not care whose hand is holding the hilt. It only cares about what it is told to protect. Kenji was a protector by his very nature; Mori simply had to dictate who he was protecting.
Mori’s smile widened, stretching into something cold, victorious, and utterly devoid of light. The boy thought he was going to cleanse the Mafia from the inside. But looking at the fierce, misguided loyalty already burning in Kenji's eyes, Mori knew the truth.
The sun wasn't going to cleanse the Port Mafia. The Port Mafia was going to teach the sun how to burn.