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“Close the door.”
“Yes, sir!”
The lock clicked and Dazai stood in a dimly lit cell, his unbandaged eye taking in the prisoner in front of him. She was slumped over, clearly in pain, but making no noise. Her hands were limp and tied behind her back, with her legs strapped to the chair itself.
“So,” Dazai started, moving to walk around the prisoner, “you’re the infiltrator?”
Raising her head, she looked Dazai straight in the eye. Choppy black hair curled softly around her dark, burning eyes. A multicolored bruise was stamped onto her right eye, trailing down her cheek to the cut on her jaw. She raised her head a bit, and spit blood straight onto Dazai’s freshly cleaned white shirt. “Yes.”
“You’ve caused a lot of trouble for us. The torture unit even had to come and bother me to get you to talk. Care to tell me what you’ve done?”
The prisoner stayed silent, gaze unmoving from Dazai’s open eye.
“You sure have some steel, I’ll give you that. Why don’t I explain what mess you’ve made around here? Let’s see…” Dazai tapped his chin. “Oh, yes! You planted yourself into the information department, waited patiently until you had access to the data you wanted, and tried to leave. But no one escapes the Port Mafia that easily, my dear.” The executive squatted down, face level with his captive. “We even have evidence that you sent the information to your organization, is that true?”
“I’m not telling you anything. ”
“Aw, we could’ve finished this so easily. See, we know you have information on us, and since we don’t know what it is, you have to tell us. We need to know what kind of dirt you managed to scrape up on our impeccably clean mafia record.” Dazai laughed to himself. “And we need to know who your organization is, and where they are. You see, we can’t have just anyone knowing mafia secrets.”
Dazai slowly pushed his hand across his hip, revealing a gun behind his trench coat. “Unfortunately I can’t use this pretty little thing on you, because we can’t kill you just yet. But… I can go and search all across Japan, and whittle down every single organization until your friends can’t use that precious information you gave them.”
“I’ll bite my own tongue off before I tell you anything, then you’ll have to kill me, you murderer .”
“Oh!” Dazai clapped his hands. “A little fiesty, exactly what I look for in a good torture session. Please, do tell me your name. I’d like to know who I’m working with here.”
“I’m not telling you my name, but if you have to call me something… how about Fukushū?”
“Revenge? What a fitting name. So you’re targeting the mafia for something they did against you, or someone close to you… that’s a useful hint.”
“It’s no hint,” the prisoner growled, “when the mafia’s done wrong against everyone in this city.”
“Very well then, Fukushū. I guess it’s time to get on with the real show.” Dazai slowly pulled a thick knife from within his trench coat. “You should know, no one’s ever not confessed when I’m the one in the room with them.”
“Try me.” She sat up straight, ignoring the blood soaking through her clothes from previous torture methods. Dazai moved to tap the tip of the knife against her throat, scraping her skin, and drawing a single drop of blood.
A brilliant flash of light filled the room, along with the screams of pain from both the occupants.
“Fumiko? Sweetheart? Are you alright?” A blurry face came into view as Fumiko blinked her eyes open. She shot up from the floor she was lying on, frantically looking around her.
“Where am I? What-” Her thoughts stopped as she saw, clearly, the person who had awoken her. “Yoshimatsu? Yoshimatsu! How- what… oh, Yoshimatsu!” Fumiko brought herself to kneel, draping her arms around the man in a hug. “I thought… I thought the mafia had killed you… oh, Yoshimatsu…”
“What are you talking about? Are you sure you’re alright, Fumiko?” The man, Yoshimatsu, pulled himself away from the hug to get a good look at Fumiko.
“I was just… just in a holding cell, I had gone to the mafia to try and get revenge for your death, but I got caught… but now you’re here! Everything’s fine! Everything’s… ok?” Fumiko trailed off, as she took a look around the room she was in. “This… isn’t our apartment… what are you wearing?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took in all the old-fashioned things around her. She realized not only was Yoshimatsu wearing an old, traditional kimono, but she was as well. “What…?”
Suddenly, a baby’s cry came from a nearby room. The worried Yoshimatsu took Fumiko’s hands in his. “Let me go take care of her really quickly. You just stay here, and we’ll figure out what happened to you, ok?” He left a soft kiss on her forehead and left for the other room.
Fumiko sat in stunned silence for a bit, before she collected herself enough to go follow Yoshimatsu. She watched quietly from the doorway as he picked up a small bundle of blankets from a crib. “A baby?” She whispered to herself. “This isn’t right, something’s wrong…” She unconsciously moved over what seemed like the front door, and upon opening it, found herself looking over 20th century Tokyo, not 21st century Yokohama.
Dazai opened his eyes, looking straight up in the sky on his back. He pushed himself up, and noticed his bare arms. Putting a hand to his face, he realized all his bandages were gone. No longer was he dressed in his mafia suit, but a worn yukata. He blinked hard. This was definitely not where he was supposed to be.
Looking around him, Dazai gathered that this wasn’t when he was supposed to be, either. In some freak accident - an ability? - he had been transported to somewhere around the 1930’s.
Hoping up onto his feet, Dazai shook himself, trying to reorientate his mind. He wasn’t as shocked as he probably should be. Somehow, he felt right at home, without even knowing where he was. It was an odd mix of nostalgia and deja vu.
With no clue what to do, Dazai decided to start walking, and see where it would take him.
“Yoshimatsu… what year is it?” Fumiko tried to gather herself enough to get a slight grip on the reality she was living.
Yoshimatsu, although confused by the question, answered, “1935. Are you positive you didn’t hit your head?”
“19-!” Fumiko shook her head violently and sighed. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. I think something happened with my ability, and for some reason, I got sent back in time by almost a century. But for some reason, you’re still here. And… we have a daughter?”
The man blinked. “Ability? The future? I don’t understand.” He allowed her to continue.
“Ok, so, here’s the gist. We got wrapped up in mafia business, and it ended in them kill- killing you. You’re dead. Supposed to be. I,” Fumiko took a deep breath, “I saw it happen. And so I tried to get revenge. I snuck my way into the information bureau, and got enough of what I wanted to be able to hurt the mafia, really bad. But I got caught trying to leave. I was getting tortured,” with this, Yoshimatsu’s eyes went wide, “but I wouldn't let them break me. So they brought in their executive to try and deal with me. I guess something happened, maybe my ability acted up? Anyhow, it transported me back. To 1935. And you’re alive.”
Yoshimatsu was silent for a few moments, taking everything in. “I think I’m starting to understand. You’re from the future. I don’t see how that’s possible, but… I believe you. I don’t know what you mean by ability, though.”
“Uh, I’m an ability user. I was born with the skill to be able to activate other’s abilities through touch. Oh. Oh, no. Dazai, he’s the executive with the canceling ability!” Fumiko jumped up, her hands pulling at her hair. “What was it called again… Singularity! Is that what happened?” At this point, Fumiko was pacing back and forth while talking to herself, a clueless Yoshimatsu watching from where he was sitting on the floor. “Maybe his ability interacted with mine… I mean, an ability that activates others versus one that cancels others… that’s definitely grounds for a singularity, right? But I have no idea how that would end up in me being put into the past… is Dazai here too?”
Yoshimatsu timidly spoke up. “Is there anything I can do to help? If I’m understanding correctly, you’ll need this Dazai to get back to the future. Do you think… If you went back, would my Fumiko come back here?”
Something clicked in Fumiko’s mind. “If you had another one of… me here, and I had one of you in the future… that, that means you’re still dead. Gone. I mean, not you , but the Yoshimatsu from the future.” Fumiko sank to the floor, where a familiar, yet completely foriegn arm came to wrap around her shoulders.
“We might not be the same people to each other, but you’re still Fumiko. I still love you, and I’m willing to help you find your way back home. If it’s any consolation, know that while the Yoshimatsu of the future is gone, I’m still here. I’ll never forget you. Now, I work with a Tokyo newspaper, I can put out ads looking for Dazai, if you think that can help you.” Yoshimatsu gave Fumiko a reassuring smile.
She nodded shakily. “Yeah, I think that could help. Thank you, Yoshimatsu.” For the first time, Fumiko glanced down at her hand, and noticed the wedding ring around her finger. “You deserve your wife back. If you’d put out the ad to look for Dazai, Dazai Osamu, then I’ll do my best to find him from there.”
Humming in agreement, Yoshimatsu got up and pulled out an extra futon, laying it down for Fumiko. “For now, get some rest. I’ll make sure the ad gets set up tomorrow. Sleep well, Fumiko.”
Multiple newspapers were being thrown in Dazai’s face. It had been two days and he hadn’t been able to find a place to let him stay rent-free. His yukata was devoid of pockets, meaning he had no cash on him. Relying on charm and confidence alone only got him so far; a few plates of food from street vendors and a secluded alleyway to sleep in.
Trying another hole in the wall bed and breakfast resulted in a stack of crumbled newspaper and old butcher paper at his feet. Dejectedly, Dazai grabbed the only recent-looking newspaper, scanning the contents for any more establishments he could try. His eyes widened seeing a column with his name in bold.
It read: If you find a man by the name of Dazai Osamu, contact Yoshimatsu Enchi at the Tokyo Nichi Nichi Shimbun office.
Dazai glanced up at the street signs above him. The address listed for the newspaper office was close to where he was now. Besides the obvious fact that his name was stated in a newspaper almost a century back in time, one other thing stood out to him. The name Yoshimatsu Enchi.
It was the name of a man he had killed only a month prior.
“Fumiko! Come quick! A man claiming he’s Dazai Osamu showed up at the office!” Yoshimatsu flung open the door of the apartment, startling Fumiko, who was busy entertaining the baby. “I’ll get the neighbor to look after her,” Yoshimatsu gestured at the laughing child, “but get to the office, quick. I gave you the address already, didn’t I?”
Fumiko nodded harshly, rushing out the door and onto the streets of Tokyo. Spotting the correct road sign, she made her way through the city to the small, quaint office of the Tokyo newspaper. A secretary greeted her kindly and offered to take her back to the man waiting for her, as the secretary had been made aware of the situation from Yoshimatsu.
Sitting in a small conference room was a man with short dark hair, wearing a torn, faded-green yukata. He looked nothing like the young, grinning, bandaged covered mafia executive Fumiko remembered, but there was a strange feeling of familiarity when he looked at her.
He smiled. “Good to see you again, Fukushū. Didn’t expect to see you here, though, of all places.”
The woman looked nothing like the one he had held at knifepoint just days before. Her black hair was no longer cut short at her jaw, but it was long, tied up in a traditional bun atop her head. Her face showed a bit more age, but it still held the same determination and spite that Dazai had attempted to carve out of her. Dazai didn’t know how he recognized her, but there was no doubt she was the same infiltrator.
“So, Fukushū, first you steal mafia secrets, then try and run away to the past with them… I didn’t realize I was working with a time-traveller. Impressive.” Dazai folded his arms calmly, tilting his head up at the woman.
Her expression changed from anger to confusion. “You… you didn’t do this?” Without warning, the woman grasped the collar of Dazai’s yukata, bringing their faces closer. Dazai remained collected, slightly raising his eyebrows. “Tell me you know how to get back! You must know! I need to get back! Tell me!”
Dazai’s chuckle echoed throughout the room, setting the woman off guard. She loosened her grip on his yukata, stepping back. “What do you need to get back for? So the mafia can continue to torture you? So your imaginary friends in your fake little organization can have their leader back? So you can go back to bury Enchi’s corpse?”
Catching her wrist before she could punch him, Dazai quietly explained further, poison seeping into his voice the longer he spoke. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. You’ve never had any organization backing you up. You’re just a scared, lonely mutt trying to take what little revenge you can grasp at.” The woman flinched as Dazai spat, his grip tightening around her wrist. “You got so worked up in the death of your poor, lovely boyfriend - or husband, perhaps? - that you couldn’t help but lash out against the almighty Port Mafia. Once I saw that Yoshimatsu Enchi was looking for me, here in this time, I knew you were tied to it. He exists both here and in our world. Maybe, maybe we existed here, as well. Maybe this you has a good life here, with this time’s Enchi. But your Enchi, oh, he’s gone.”
This sent the woman into a breakdown. She fell to the floor, her hand slipping out from Dazai’s hold, her sobs being choked back as she tried to speak. Seconds passed as Dazai looked down at her from above, a small smirk playing across his face as he watched her struggle.
“You… you’re the one who killed him.” She looked up at Dazai, tears staining her cheeks, before her mouth opened once again, curling into a snarl. She launched herself upwards, her fingers wrapping around his neck. “You killed him!” she screamed, digging her fingernails into his skin. “You killed him! He did nothing wrong! We were going to leave Yokohama and all its tragedies behind! We would have had a child! I would have had my daughter!”
Her voice faded, replaced by a hoarse scream, and her grip around Dazai’s neck deepened, causing her fingernails to cut through his skin. Blood spurted out, spiralling down her fingers all the way to her elbows, splattering onto the floor. A miraculous burst of light shot from somewhere inside the room, and both Dazai and the woman screamed, the light causing immense pain.
Fumiko groggily glanced up from her seat position, her bound hands trying to pull away from behind her. A warm stream of blood dripped from a puncture on her neck, mixing with her bloodstained clothing. Strands of hair covered her vision, but she could make out a man holding a hand to his head, his unbandaged eye squeezed shut, as if blocking out a headache.
The man, Dazai Osamu, pulled back his hand, blinking away his pain. With one look at Fumiko, a soft smile formed on his face. “Ah, Fukushū. Seems… seems we’re back.”
Without another thought, he swiftly stuck his arm deep into his trenchcoat, taking hold of his gun. No hesitation faltered him as he took aim at Fumiko’s forehead, and a gunshot rang just as her eyes widened in realization.
Turning on his heel, Dazai quietly exited the prison cell. A number of guards looked at him in curiosity.
“Did… did everything go well, sir?”
Dazai laughed. “Everything’s taken care of. No need to worry. She was just a stray dog, it seems.”