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Something - no, everything was wrong.
The problem was that Madoka doesn't know what.
On the surface, everything was the same as before. She was everywhere and nowhere at once, fighting the endless battle against witches, snuffing them out before their curses could bloom into existence. She cleansed the soul gems of magical girls and took them as the Law of Cycles. She laughed at Sayaka's jokes and answered Bebe's questions.
It was the same. And yet it wasn't.
There was something distorted. Something that had shifted out of place. Cherry blossoms unfurled in the dead of winter. Laughter drifted from the deepest of shadows. A piece of the puzzle, once there, was now gone in a blink of an eye.
No, that wasn't it. It felt more like . . .
It felt more like there was something - or someone - new. Out of sight. Out of reach. A game of hide and seek with a new, unknown player.
It was not only Madoka that felt it.
She could hear it in Sayaka's voice when she laughed, too strained to be considered genuine. She could see it in Bebe's eyes when she spoke, wary and frightened. And most of all, Madoka could feel it creeping deep beneath her skin, thrumming intensely through her veins. The feeling of wrongness sang to her. A new melody woven into the fabric of the universe.
On an impulse, Madoka checked on Mitakihara city. Homura was perched atop her usual crane, Kyuubey curled around her shoulder, red ribbon dancing in the breeze. Mami patrolled her territory with her usual focus and precision, wraiths bowing before her attacks. And Kyoko was quite literally raiding a local convenience store, stuffing any junk food she saw into a plastic bag.
In other words, everything was normal. Unchanged.
It didn't ease her worries. If anything, it made it worse.
If there wasn't anything strange happening in Mitakihara, then where was it?
She swept through the cities silently. Down the alleyways, along the main roads, ethereal hand brushing against buildings. Not here, nor there. No, that didn't feel quite right either.
Then the answer struck her, so hard and sudden that she nearly gasped. Madoka closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was hovering over the skyline of a certain city. The Ferris wheel gleamed bright against the night sky. The sea lapped gently against the port, turned silver by the moonlight. The five towers stood amid the fervent light, greedily reaching up to claim the stars.
Yokohama, she had to admit, was truly beautiful.
"The source of all this . . ." Madoka said aloud to herself. Yes, that feeling was now seeping deep into her very bones. She could hear the whispers more clearly than ever now. Their song echoed in her mind.
Something has happened to this world, they croon to her. Delighted in their mischief. Something has changed. It's wrong, isn't it? So, so, wrong -
Madoka shook her head, hard. She forced herself to tune out the voices and drifted close to the city. Something in her gut pulled her close to one of the central buildings, and Madoka found herself drifting past the dark windows, trying to peer through the glass.
Yokohama was a strange city, she knew. Back when she was a human, she heard the rumors that Yokohama was unsafe. That it was a breeding ground for gangs and violence. Her mother had taken a business trip here once, and she arrived home swearing that she'll never set foot in that damn city again. It made Madoka laugh, then. Now she wondered if her mother had a point.
As the Law of Cycles, she only knew one clear fact. Almost unbelievable in its nature.
There were no magical girls in Yokohama.
Theories whirled in her mind as she passed room after empty room. The only people occupying the building were guards in formal suits standing stoically in front of doors and hallways. Nothing that set off any more alarm bells.
But it didn't take long for her to find something that did make her pause. She pressed a hand to the window, tilting her head in thoughtfulness. There, seated at a desk, was a man with bandages wrapped around his eye, his desk swamped in what seems to be paperwork. Occasionally, the man would glance up, as if in consideration of something, before looking back down again. A show of productivity, with the moon and stars as his only witness. As well as an unseen goddess, but he doesn't know that.
The whispers were more of a dull chattering now. The song now entered its chorus as her stomach dropped in confirmation. She gazed at the young man, his actions as hollow as his uncovered eye. The carpet in the room looked like spilled blood.
"Who are you?" Madoka said to the person on the other side of the glass. He could not hear her, but then again, she didn’t expect him to. It was mostly to herself, in confusion and quiet unease. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the glass, unwilling to let herself inside. Even now she could feel the coolness of window panes kissing against her skin. A barrier separating her from the truth.
"What . . . did you do?"
Something was watching him, Dazai could tell.
Perhaps it would be better to call that something a someone, he mused to himself. If he bothered enough to try, he could hear the faintest sound of a girl's voice, or catch a glimpse of white hair fluttering around the corner. At least, it certainly wasn't Atsushi. He wouldn't be so careless to let his hair grow out to be that long.
There were two of them. Girls, around Kyouka’s age. One younger than the other. He could feel their eyes on him as he negotiated with rival gangs. As he oversaw new trade deals. As he listened to the Black Lizard give their reports on gangs infringing on Port Mafia territory.
They clung to him, mere shadows flitting against the walls. Inaudible words murmured in large, deathly silent rooms. No one else sensed anything off - even Chuuya, who was very sensitive about these kinds of things, didn't seem to notice.
Still, it was obvious what they were doing. They were tailing him. For what, Dazai didn't figure out quite yet. Though he had his guesses.
After perhaps two days of this, Dazai decided to show his hand.
The night was young, the moon a bare sliver in the sky. Dazai inspected the usual goods smuggled into the country, feigning an expression of interest. The men around him watched barely concealed nervousness, breathing harsh and soft. Chuuya, playing as bodyguard, narrowed his eyes but didn't dare to scoff at him. He wouldn't undermine the boss in front of his subordinates. On other occasions, Dazai would use this to his full advantage, but he was far too interested in his two shadows to properly piss Chuuya off.
Dazai straightened up abruptly. His men snapped to attention. The two figures were still on the warehouse walls. Waiting for what he might say.
"Everything looks fine here!" He chirped. "Just let Chuuya-kun take care of all the details, and that'll be it for the night!"
Chuuya glared at him underneath the brim of his hat. "Yes, boss," he said through gritted teeth.
Dazai smiled at him before turning away, not even trying to hide his glee as he called, "Have fun, Chuuya!"
Fierce mutterings of "I'll kill that bastard someday" followed him out into the cool night, and along with it his two shadows. It had rained prior in the day, and the lingering wetness stuck to his skin, his bandages becoming damp in the misty haze. Dazai didn't look back as he made his way through the winding alleyway, humming to himself as he did so. The scent of sea salt laid thick on his tongue. In the distance, he could hear the crack of a gun and what seemed to be a tiger's roar. And behind him were the light footsteps of two people who did not belong in the night, in the Mafia's territory. He casually pulled out his phone, fingers flying across the screen before pocketing it.
Dazai turned a corner and slowed to a halt in a more open area, where he could note all the vantage points. "If you two want to come out, now will be a good time," Dazai said lightly. "It's in poor taste to stay hidden for this long and leave someone all alone like this."
A flap of a white cape. A drop of water sent the puddle before him into ripples. A girlish giggle echoed in the air.
Dazai closed his eyes and opened them again. A long, drawn-out blink. There were now two girls standing in front of him, wearing outfits that reminded him of the ones that Mori made Elise wear. Too strange, too frilly for everyday use.
Mere children playing at dress-up. Though, judging by their stance, they would also be quite formidable in a fight.
Hm. Intriguing indeed.
"My, my," Dazai said, widening his eyes in mock surprise. "I didn't expect my two stalkers to be middle-school girls! I must decline your confession, though, seeing that you're a little too young for me - "
"We both know that is not true," the younger girl said. Despite her childish appearance, her words came out formal and confident. "We can see straight through your tricks, Dazai Osamu of the Port Mafia."
"Oh?" Dazai said. "It wounds me so that people think of me in that way."
The girl wrinkled her nose, suddenly a child again. "Why do you act that way?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"She means," the blue-haired girl said abruptly, "to cut the crap."
Dazai eyed her, amused. The straightforward type, it seems. Well, in that case, this shouldn't take so long.
"Is that so," he said. He tilted his head and smirked at them, something that didn’t quite reach his exposed eye. A brief, frightened look passed over the younger girl's face, and she scurried to hide behind her companion. She peeked out apprehensively, clutching the white cape between her fingers.
"Tonight might not be so boring after all," Dazai said. Light. Speculative. As if he was commenting on the weather. "This is the first time I see assassins be this polite, however."
The blue-haired girl raised an eyebrow. "Assassins? Really? I mean, I know that you're the boss of the mafia and everything, but that being your first guess is still kind of sad."
"Call it an occupational hazard,” Dazai said.
“Well, at any rate, we just want to ask some questions, not murder you,” the blue-haired girl said. She crossed her arms, a nonchalant but confrontational sort of gesture. Something about her gaze reminded him all too strongly of Chuuya. “What the hell did you do anyways?”
“Concerning tonight? I left my annoying subordinate to take care of some reports. That’s all.”
“Not that,” she said. "I mean, what did you do to the universe, Dazai Osamu?”
A flurry of shadows passed underneath the pools of water. Dazai was all of a sudden painfully aware of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Odasaku, if you were here, what would you do?
Of course, Odasaku wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. He was far too good, far too sensible for that.
As it were, Dazai was neither good nor sensible.
"Oh?" He said through numb lips. "Am I found out already?"
This time, it was the younger girl who spoke up, her tasseled hat swinging as she poked her head out. "Everything's now out of balance. Can't you feel it? Whatever you did, it unraveled some of the universe's fabric. It’s not what you did that threw the universe off, but rather the fact you coexist with this new situation. Another world in the same universe. If you don’t fix it, then who knows what might happen to this universe?”
Dazai stared at them, mind whirling.
The universe -
Balance -
The Book -
Unraveled -
Odasaku -
Your mind dances -
"You aren't ability users."
Something like a dam broke in his chest. And yet when he continued, his voice came out steady and cold and detached. Unfeeling.
"No, ability users in Yokohama, or any other people on this earth, will not know that they are living in another universe. That's because this world is all they ever knew, and would not feel anything is wrong here. In other words, you must be something higher than ability users, more powerful than the existence of this universe. So, what exactly are you? Angels, perhaps?"
The younger girl finally let go of her companion’s white cape, twirling into the open. “We’re not angels, exactly,” she said. “Just secretaries to someone very important. And she’s really concerned about what you created.”
“There’s the same feeling around Kyouka Izumi and Atsushi Nakajima,” the blue-haired girl added. “They’re not in the place that they’re supposed to be. But that’s just a part of a larger issue. They’re not the ones the universe is centered on. It’s like they’ve been pulled in, or something. So, it’s simple.”
She held up two fingers. “First, we want to know what you did to make the universe be pulled off-centered. And second, we want you to fix it.”
“Unfortunately, I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“It’s very important that you understand this, Angel-san,” Dazai said lowly. “This universe is exactly the way it should be. Nothing is going to change.”
Not for the time being, he thought to himself. But before then, everything will be the same. His plans will be carried out. No matter what.
The younger girl stopped her spinning. The blue-haired girl sighed. “That’s what I thought you were gonna say.”
Something in her tone shifted. It was instinct for Dazai to pull his gun out and aim it squarely at the girl’s forehead, finger tightening on the trigger.
A shot rang out. A glint of silver flashed in the moonlight. His gun went flying out of his hand, the bullet lost to the sky. Another fraction of a second later, and a blade was pressed gently against his skin. A sword, he registered, that appeared out of thin air. The younger girl somehow manifested what seems to be a trumpet, clutching it close against her chest.
“That’s a bad habit for you mafia members,” the blue-haired girl said mildly. “You know, you can’t go around shooting people like that.”
Dazai smiled down at her. “Perhaps you have a point. We do need to change things up now and then. How do you feel about tiger claws?”
Motion stirred from above. Dazai took a step back as a white tiger crashed into the alleyway. The girl’s eyes widened as she threw herself backwards, barely missing Atsushi’s attack. Kyouka emerged from the shadows, Demon Snow advancing on the younger girl.
The blue-haired girl somehow pulled several more swords out of her cape and launched them at Atsushi. “Bebe!” She shouted.
The younger girl gasped as she dodged another onslaught of blows from Demon Snow, stumbling into a puddle. She brought the trumpet to her lips and blew, an inordinate amount of bubbles emerging, filling the area within seconds. Of course, it took even less time for Atsushi and Demon Snow to clear the alleyway out with their claws and swords, but one heartbeat was long enough.
They were gone.
A voice echoed in the air. Atsushi and Kyouka froze, warily anticipating another attack. Dazai waited.
“I would rethink this if I were you,” the voice said. “There could be far greater consequences than you might imagine. Whatever it is, ask yourself if it’s really worth it. Just so you won’t have any regrets later.”
The words danced in the breeze and faded away. Atsushi reverted to his human form, crumbling onto his knees. Kyouka ran towards him, Demon Snow disappearing with a flare of purple light. Dazai watched as she muttered something to Atsushi as she helped him up. A subordinate’s concern for her superior.
In another life, it would have never ended up this way.
“That was very good timing, Atsushi-kun, Kyouka-chan,” Dazai said, cheery. “We should do that more often!”
“Dazai-san,” Atsushi said, panting. “The message you sent me didn’t come through in time; I’m sorry for coming so late - ”
Dazai waved a dismissive hand. “No, you’ve done well today. When you get back to headquarters, turn your reports about the negotiations in to ane-san, and Gin will give you details for your next mission. After that, if there aren’t more mercenaries ready to assassinate me, then you should be free for a few hours. Of course, if they do manage to succeed, then who knows how much free time you’d get?”
“Dazai-san, you really shouldn’t joke about those kinds of things,” Atsushi said weakly.
“Don’t question the boss’s decisions, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai sang, turning away.
Kyouka spoke, succinct and cool. “Dazai-san, who were the people targeting you?”
Dazai paused and glanced over his shoulder. At the mere children who did not understand anything of the truth. The mask was a part of him, and always will be. Nevertheless, it was hard to keep the bitterness from rising, harder still to keep the weariness at bay.
“That,” he said, “is for me to worry about.”
Atsushi opened his mouth as if to protest, but Dazai was already walking off. Further into the cramped alley, and deeper into the darkness.
It wasn’t until much later that Dazai remembered. He put down his pen and stared out into the waning night, the barest hint of morning’s warm light washing over the city.
“Yes,” he said aloud, to no one in particular. “Yes, it is.”
Madoka was quiet as Sayaka detailed their ‘meeting’ with Dazai Osamu. She listened without her usual smile, a pensive crease between her eyes.
“So that’s about it,” Sayaka said. “Anyways, after that little stunt, me and Bebe went digging for some rumors we’ve heard. Turns out that there’s a thing called the Book in Yokohama that can manipulate the fabric of the universe, although it’s well hidden. Crazy, huh?”
She threw herself onto the sofa, sinking deep into the cushions. Being a goddess of hope does have its perks, she reflected. Although not in these types of circumstances.
“It’s really strange,” Madoka finally said. She traced a gloved hand on the table, frowning as she did so. “When I first became the Law of Cycles, I was aware that something in the universe was more powerful than it should be, and now . . .”
“Ability users are super strong,” Sayaka said. “It wouldn’t be surprising that they manage to create a book that can literally create another world within this universe. Still, we don’t know where it’s kept, and I doubt that Dazai Osamu would be happy to give us that information.”
Madoka exhaled. “I think he cared about something. He cared so much that he managed to find the Book and change everything, at least in his world.”
Sayaka peered over at her. “He doesn’t strike me as the guy who would care too deeply about anything. Besides, you know, suicide and stuff.”
Madoka shook her head. Empathetic. Sure. “No. Those are the people who care the most.”
It was hard, then, not to think of Homura. It was obvious that Madoka had thought of the same thing, for she folded her hands together, her expression gentle. A goddess in prayer. “Do you have any idea of what he changed, Madoka?” Sayaka asked.
“Kind of,” Madoka replied. She pressed her lips together. “I’ve told you I felt something new in the universe, right? Like a new thread that has been woven in. I think he brought something or someone back, and that’s why it’s there.”
“Well, what are you gonna do about it?” Sayaka said, sitting up.
Madoka turned her head towards the outside of the small room, the universe laid out before her. It was a while before she spoke again.
“For now, let’s just wait and see what happens.”
The play has been written. The performers have been cast. The rehearsals have gone without a single problem in sight. The final performance has ended.
The curtain was, at last, dropping.
Dazai closed his eyes, shutting out the shocked faces of Atsushi Nakajima and Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. It was so, so easy, what he had to do next.
He let himself fall.
Death was waiting below, reaching up with outstretched arms.
A long sought-after dream was finally fulfilled.
Dazai did not have any expectations of what death looks like. Or rather, what happens after. All he wanted, all he knew, was the blissful release of what he had done. His crimes, steeped darkness and writ in blood.
For you, Odasaku -
I would commit the worst of sins.
Yes. He would burn in hell for this. Provided there was one.
This, Dazai thought, was not hell.
He had felt the impact of the ground. Jarring. Painful, for a brief second. And then he was here, in a large apartment building, seated at a glass coffee table. Out of habit, Dazai observed the exits, the possible weapons in the room, all before his head stopped aching.
It took a moment for him to realize that the bandages over his left eye had disappeared. The red scarf, the black suit - it was all gone. His throat constricted as he took in his new outfit. Tan trench coat, a blue bolo-tie, pants that he got on sale after he vanished from the mafia.
Memories of another life.
“Hi, Dazai-san.”
He looked across the coffee table. A girl in a school uniform smiled at him. Sweet. Unsuspecting. She picked up a teapot that appeared and began to pour him some tea.
He could have constructed a plan to draw answers out of this girl. He could have started to ask mild questions that would have given him every piece of information he needed. As the Demon Prodigy, he would be expected to do nothing less.
It should have been simple.
But Dazai was so, so tired.
He has done all that he could. He has achieved everything he desired. So he merely accepted the tea that the girl slid over to him, curling his fingers around the porcelain cup.
“I never introduced myself properly,” the girl said, dropping a cube of sugar into her cup. “Call me Madoka.”
“Madoka,” Dazai repeated. He took a sip of his tea, savoring the bitterness of it. “So, where exactly are we, Madoka-chan?”
The girl considered the question. “It’s a little hard to explain, but I guess you can call this the in-between area.”
“Do you know what’s after this, Madoka-chan?”
“After?” Madoka said. “No. At least, not for you.”
“I see,” Dazai murmured. “So, tell, me, Goddess-chan, why did you feel the need to pull me here?”
Madoka’s eyes began to glow a brighter, more fervent shade of gold. She laughed, a slightly guilty sound. “Sayaka’s right. You are really smart. I just wanted to ask you some questions, because you didn’t answer any of them when my friends asked. I guess I thought that after all you’ve done, you would want to tell someone why you went to all those lengths to keep your world intact.”
Dazai sighed. There was now a lightness in his chest that wasn’t there before. A burden off his shoulders.
“Well, there isn’t any reason I shouldn’t tell you,” Dazai said. His expression softened into something more relaxed. More wistful. “I had a friend, you see. He wanted to become a writer. In another world, he died before he could ever reach that goal. I’m a very selfish man, Madoka-chan. I couldn’t stand to see his life end like that. So I found the Book, and I wrote another world where Odasaku could live. When it didn’t work, I tried again. Again, and again, and again. Who needed to die in order for him to live? Who needed to be in the Port Mafia, in the Armed Detective Agency, in order for my plans to succeed?”
“It was trial and error, Madoka-chan.” Dazai traced a finger around the rim of his cup. “It took a long time, but in this universe, in this world, Odasaku is free. Free to adopt orphans and write his book by the seaside.”
Even if he isn’t by my side.
Madoka was silent. Contemplative of what she heard. She got to her feet and walked until she was just besides him, subdued but gentle. She knelt down, and before Dazai could react, wrapped her arms around him.
Dazai froze. It has been so long since someone has touched him, for no one dared to lay a hand on the Port Mafia’s boss. And yet this girl was hugging him, without fear, out of kindness and pity and -
“I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” she said, still not letting go. “It must’ve been really hard. You’ve spent so much time trying to protect someone, and no one was there to understand any of it. It must’ve been really lonely.”
It was.
But he has grown accustomed to it. The loneliness. The emptiness.
At least, that’s what he told himself, day after day, night after night.
“You sacrificed yourself for someone you care about. For the world where he could be happy. I think . . . I think I understand.”
Dazai never cried. Not even when Odasaku died. Even if he did, the hollowness in his chest will never truly wane. So he didn’t bother.
And yet this girl made him feel young. Vulnerable. A child on the verge of bursting into tears.
“I don’t know where you would end up after this,” Madoka said. “I can’t control your fate outside of this room. But still, rest for a little while. That’s the least I can do.”
He wanted to pull away. To leave with his dignity intact.
Dazai exhaled and dropped his head onto her shoulder. The embrace was far warmer than anything he had hoped for.
And so, the song dwindled to a close. Not with a dramatic flourish, but quietly, fading away with a melancholic last note. Bittersweet in nature.
Content with its end.
A man sat by the window in a house next to the ocean. A picture of efficiency. An author hard at work on his latest novel.
If writer’s block counted as being hard at work, that is.
Oda shook his head and crossed out another sentence. The words weren’t coming out right, no matter how hard he tried to rephrase it. He was vaguely aware of the loud crashing and shrieking outside of his room; probably another game that Akutagawa had thought up. At least it kept the kids entertained long enough for him to get some work done. The deadlines had been tighter than he thought.
He wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.
Oda stopped to take a break, surveying the scenery outside. The sea shimmered jewel-bright underneath the sun, the faintest breeze bringing the familiar scent of salt through the open window. It was a beautiful day, Oda thought. He glanced down at the manuscript and began to write again. This time the sentence came out alright. Not as bad as before, but still not what he was going for.
As he worked, a girl leaned over his shoulder, reading the paragraphs of neat kanji. Her lips formed inaudible words, and she nodded a few times as she scanned the haphazard piles of paper scattered on his desk.
“It’s good,” she said. Oda didn’t seem to notice, focusing on his draft with an almost single-minded determination. Of course, it would be impossible for him to see her in the first place.
Madoka straightened up, tilting her head towards the joyful shouts outside the room. She listened to the noise for a little bit, smiling as she did so. Reveling in the playful rowdiness that she couldn’t be a part of.
That was okay, though.
A world where Oda Sakunosuke could live and write a book was a world worth protecting. A world where his orphans could live without fear ought to be held close to the heart.
Every world that has things as precious as this should not be forgotten.
“Thank you, Odasaku-san,” she said. Louder, clearer than before. “For everything.”
Oda’s head shot up, his pen blotting the paper. He twisted around, and Madoka smiled at the touch of confusion that had entered his expression. Then she disappeared completely, off to fight another curse before it was born.
Oda considered the empty room for a second longer. “Odasaku, huh?” he said to himself. “No one has ever . . .”
He trailed off. He turned back to the desk and started from where he left off, once again lost in a world of his own making. The music of the children’s laughter echoed in his ears. The ocean continued its peaceful melody, lapping against the pier.
Soon, his children will tumble into the room, breathless and giddy, chattering about their newest game. He would have to stop and listen, because that’s what a father does. Then he would go out to train with Akutagawa, and stop to feed the cats in the park on his way home. It was inevitable that it would end up that way.
But for now, there was plenty of time for him to think. To write. To turn words over in his mind and form a story in its entirety.
And so, the story closes on a man who writes by the seaside. Comfortable and serene in its calmness.
At long last, the world rests.