Chapter Text
Dazai is not a violent person. That’s what he introduces his detective methods as, as the person he is and what he tells himself in the mirror. ‘Does it help you sleep at night, telling yourself over and over, convincing yourself you’re not actually a twisted piece of shit,’ Chuuya had told him, when Dazai got too worked up and shot a slightly guilty child. He’d had no response. No, he had had multiple. He still remembered the snarky, cutting remarks that rang in his mind, sharper than knives, words that would reduce anyone into puddles, shells of their former selves. But it was fun. Life was fun when he was with Chuuya. Life was worth living when Nakahara Chuuya was by his side.
And it was true. None of his humanitarian deeds were coming from a good, honest place. Not a single person he saved, did he care about. Only to a superficial extent. It was all about his promise, to Odasaku and himself. And it did put him in a better headspace, a more healthy environment. He thrived. He thrived off attention, of life, of people- alive or dead, it didn’t matter as long as he benefitted somehow. People called it heartlessness, he called it self sufficiency . He was in the light, and he was saving people. It’s what Odasaku wanted. Per se, he wanted it.
He did care. Enough. The idea of caring itself was a confusing one that he wasn’t eager to philosophize about. Part of him feels a mild version of guilt; or how he thinks guilt should feel. Emotions were and always would be difficult. It would be pointless to voice it, because in this society it was filled with overdramatic, selfish people. If Dazai said, ‘my entire life has been filled with no colour. I have never felt any strong emotion.’ Only Odasaku would truly understand what he was saying. He’d learnt one important lesson; that age does not determine viscosity, or how grey someone’s life is. He’d seen children kill dozens with no regret, no specific reasons; he’d seen drug dealers save a passerby or a child, he’d seen it all. Yet, most people would brush it off. To fit in, he does the same.
To fit in is the only thing he has ever wanted. But it was difficult to explain to a group of outcasts that he was ultimately the mega-outcast. The outcasted of the outcast. Outcast final boss.
The only time he had felt true, real guilt is when Odasaku was in his arms, bleeding away; that was the most human moment in his life. The inability to prevent anything. The hopelessness. That was the emotion he’d been trying to recreate, to find- once it was in his hands, he’s wanted everything for it to go away. There’s a confusing aspect to this ‘light’ thing; where does light turn dark, and where does he stop? Morals have never been so convicted on him before; it was difficult to grasp. He was jealous, how easy it was for some to choose between black and white. Life had always been a shade of grey, or dark completely. In his eyes, people like Chuuya and Kunikida were in the light. It didn’t matter where they were working. It mattered who they were . Proven by Odasaku and Mori.
Dazai taps his pen on his knee, zoning out and staring straight through a window. Several buildings he remembers hiding with Chuuya in passes by. The agency was incredibly different from the mafia. Well, that was obvious . They didn’t go around creating illegal drug rings; but the point was, the way of life was so stark. When he’d first arrived, still confused about light and dark, he’d almost murdered someone who he thought deserved it. And again. And again, he kept making that mistake. It was difficult to explain yourself, when a gun was pointed to a sobbing man on the ground who was under your foot and you were a new recruit with seemingly unstable powers.
In the mafia, there had been no consequences for higher ranking officials like him and Chuuya. You accidentally killed a witness? Whatever , take this six figure assassination mission in Tibet. You want a break ? Alright, make sure it’s a week in Slovenia under a disguise and not anywhere near Europe, because we’re setting up a ploy to destroy the minister of some small town. Killing was encouraged . Torture was the norm . Suicide was common. In his eyes, at least. In the agency, it was more like; mediocre pay but a place to stay for free, and good company. Or he considered it good company because of Ranpo, who was fascinating, and Kunikida, who was incredibly fun to annoy. That was most likely because he reminded him of a Chuuya with strong ties to the ‘light’ though. Ranpo had most definitely figured out his true identity, but he’d kept silent.
Dazai’s running late. It wasn’t on purpose, but enemy agents got the jump on him because it’s not a very good day, and he was in a dilemma, if was difficult; besides the point. He shouldn’t make excuses anymore. His hand hovers over the knob. His prepared speech to irritate Kunikida is shoved to the back of his mind, and he turns the doorknob. It was too silent. Like a fly over a venus flytrap. Mori had made him learn every plant type in the dictionary. Ridiculous.
“What now?” Dazai doesn’t bother hiding the disinterest in his voice. There’s a moment of weakness where his heart skips. Mori sits in the middle of the room, sipping on a cup of tea while Yosano glares at the back of his head like it was going to do anything. Ranpo’s eyes are open and staring at him from his peripheral vision; Dazai bites back a sigh. Monday and he was already pulling up with this shit. Chuuya, hell Akutagawa would’ve been welcomed with warm, open arms. What was this asshole doing here?
“What do you want?”
“A private conversation with you.”
“What could you want with a low ranking ex member of the mafia?” A warning not to expose his identity. Dense Mori ignores it.
“The fact you can say ‘ex mafia’ is already a privilege. Come into Fukuzawa’s office with me, Osamu.” Dazai’s fingers twitch.
“Unless Chuuya died or you are, I’m not stepping into a room with you.” Mori smiles, too many teeth showing to be an actual grin. Dazai marches over to the office, teeth clenched. If the lord had any mercy- the door shuts. He feels betrayed.
.
“-I’m dying.” Dazai doesn’t react.
“Oh, are you. How?”
“Dying to use Yosano. I really need her, Osamu. I do. An important figure in the business has been gravely injured. But you won’t allow that.”
“One day, I hope all your karma bites you back. At least you’re self aware.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We both have blood on our hands. If I were here to remind you of your deeds, we’d be halfway in the grave,” Mori cheers, and Dazai’s small smile disintegrates. “I’m here to ask you a favour.” He says it matter-of-factly, and Dazai focuses on his own breathing.
The moment Mori stepped in, he knew, and he still didn’t say anything. Some part of him had wished for change, and here it was. Yet nothing has changed. He was still the boy with bandages, the demon prodigy. A liar, always and forever. Am actor amongst actors. A promise is a promise. But sometimes, he’s already made a promise, a long time ago. Many many years ago, talked down off a building by someone who saw ‘potential’.
He couldn’t decline this. It was to save Yosano. If Mori said it, he would do it. This was no bluff. Dazai knew bluffs. He knew them better than anyone. And Mori was not a bluffé. Never has, and never will be. If he came here to tell Dazai, it was to avoid conflict with the ADA. Something he needed Yosano for, he could do better. This was a bargaining chip. A ‘I need you, you need me not to do this’ situation.
Save people. Dark or light, save people.
Dazai opens his mouth. His tongue swells from biting it. He feels it’s accurate to his response.
“What mission is it?” He already feels regret.
.
Dazai stares at the wall for several minutes after Mori leaves. There’s that feeling of hopelessness again. Mori had always made him feel more human. Reminded him of his mortality. For that he was grateful. But god, did he wish Mori was dead. He practices his script in his mind several times. An actor. He takes in a deep breath. His hand hovers over the knob.
“I have to leave for a bit,” He starts. Dramaturgically, it begins.
.
“-So that’s why he was here? For a favour?”
“He needs my ability to defeat an enemy. As you know, mine is quite unique.” He felt like an actor in the world of light;a cave in a city. Out of place. If you asked him two years ago if he’d be helping save lives instead of destroying them, he’d laugh in your face. But it was true. He was helping people. Helping one person he cared about.
“Did you accept?” Kunikida’s voice felt like radio static. Loud. It felt off without Chuuya. Dazai missed him. He’d grown so used to him it felt like fighting without an attack plan. The ultimate defense without an attacker. Truly useless in all the sense. He still found himself looking to his side, missing- (how embarrassing.) the comfort of Chuuya and hyper-focusing on the silence of his missions.
“ Why ?” Kunikida presses. He hasn’t figured it out yet. If you told him now, maybe, just maybe you’ll save one relationship- No. If you asked any underlings how the demon prodigy acted before he left, they’d say merciless. Cruel, not a single speck of soul left in that shell.
Barely human. No longer human, ‘if the boy even was capable of that from the start.’ Born broken. ‘Terrifying. The most heartless person I’ve met.’ ‘Fake. A liar, and the best strategist.’ ‘Dazai, Dazai was a special case.’ ‘A cold blooded murderer with no tact for human life and a penchant for death.’ And on, and on.
If you asked Chuuya or Odasaku, Dazai guranteed that the response would be something along the lines of: ‘Don’t ask me about that cheeky fucker,’ or ‘Dazai is a troubled child with a even more troublesome situation. But it’s not for me to say. I think he’s wonderful,’ respectively. And both were the truest of them all. Or at least, he convinces himself they are. They all liked to believe they were more human than the other person.
But Dazai doesn’t live in that world. He lives in reality, where everything negative about him is the absolute truth. Liar. He lies. For a moment, Ranpo’s eyes are open, staring dead into his soul. Then he looks away.
“Well, my dear Kunikida, he was very persuasive!”
.
Life does not matter as much compared to the people who live it. The car bumps over a bumper thingy; Dazai didn’t care enough to find the actual words; as he sits in silence in the large limo. It was flashy. He thinks about Yosano. Her warning.
‘I don’t know who you were in the mafia, but be careful. Mori isn’t kind.’ And oh, how he knew. How he knew the feeling of desperation, the claw marks on his body, the chill and the sheer cruelty no human should ever possess; the transferring of a process, a process making him no longer human. No bluffs. Even if it felt like he wouldn’t take Yosano, she had been his- no, his second favourite. Dazai has and always will be Mori’s favourite toy.
‘ Thank you, Yosano.’ For reminding him of his goals. To save her. One person was enough.
.
Chuuya averts his gaze when he sits down at the executive table, only two spots filled. Mori couldn’t be bothered to bring them to his office, he supposed. It’s only been a while seen their reunion, most certainly nothing compared to seven years.
“Osamu, it’s so wonderful to have you here. Even though your clothing is… uncanny, I’ll explain to you two what you’re here for. It’s very fun, don’t worry!” Dazai narrows his eyes. Mori had always brought out a more impatient side to him. A weaker side. He shakes his head slightly. That sort of thinking wasn’t going to bring him anywhere.
“Boss, how long will this mission be?”
“It’s an infiltration mission that’ll last a year at most.”
“Tell me what it is.” Mori sighs, interlocking his fingers.
“Osamu, Osamu, so impatient. The mission is a infiltration into the hero academy in Mustafa. You’ll be aged down specially by yours truly,” Mori places a hand on his chest, and Dazai holds back a gag; “And you’ll stay fifteen until the mission ends.”
“…Is this a sick joke?”
“Not at all, Nakahara.” How unfair. He wanted to be called by his last name too.
“Alright. Any other things?”
“ Oh yes, your mission objective is to kill every single hero in the entirety of Mustafa. Now go along, get ready! We start in a week.”
.
“…Just to be clear, I’m not very happy to be here.” I’d rather be working in the mafia, Chuuya thinks. Dazai looked… healthy. Or the nearest thing to healthy Dazai could humanly be. Like maxing out his malnutrition stats. But there was life in his eyes, purpose- overall in a good place. He wonders, if they met as the people they were now, would they be…
No. He cuts off that line of thinking. That was too hopeful. Dazai was free, in the light now. that was wishful thinking, selfish to ever think to drag him back down.
It was messing with his mind, the whole aged down thing. Dazai looked like his fifteen self, but he was so different from the Dazai he remembered- the Dazai who would’ve scoffed at the small apartment they shared now gladly compliments the wooden tiles, mahogany in shade and laminated. Fifteen Dazai would’ve forced him down with a solid, thought out plan, with destruction and a blatant lack of care; Dazai sits him down after a bickering dinner, and explains a loose plan that allows him to build on Dazai’s- it’s so… it’s like he’s re-learning the type of person Dazai has become. He doesn’t think he himself’s changed a lot. Must be disappointing. It’s a trip, seeing himself in the mirror at his lowest stage of life. He already misses Yokohama.
Then Mori sends them to the school.
The school isn’t open yet. Trap, trap. Mori didn’t tell them something. Chuuya watched Dazai’s jaw clench as Mori tells them the true circumstances of their situation.
“Right, both of you will be cut off from anywhere outside of Mustafa for the entire mission to avoid detection. Kill everyone. That is what the man wants.”
Chuuya nearly quits on the spot.
.
(“You will be together in the mission, with one living accommodation to save fees.” There’s definitely a catch.
“Both of you will attend the hero academy while moonlighting as villains for the league of villains.” Even Mori smiles a bit with the name. Dazai crosses his arms, and bandages whip against his coat.
“And you’re paying,” Dazai threatens.)
.
Mori is a scammer. Dazai nearly lets out involatile curses the moment they hit the mahogany of their entrance. There’s something off in the air. Too much power. Too many abilities. Weak ones, but a majority. Its stark from the occasional ability user in Yokohama. Its like eating strawberries, then going to a strawberry buffet. Strawberry overload. The reasonable conclusion is to ensure they don’t slack and finish their mission, Mori’s created this sick area for them to kill everyone and leave. He should’ve known.
Dazai immediately storms off to the bathroom, leaving Chuuya to curse out Mori on his own.
Dazai stares at the scars on his arms. He doesn’t like pain. There’s two, long healed gashes. To release No Longer Human from his body. When he was younger, he’d been desperate to get this muted feeling out he’d simply cut neat, surgical lines for the power to escape.
Obviously, did not work. Was painful as hell , not reccomended.
Mori had saved him- then experimented and tortured him. So it balanced out. Law and order, that spiel. He owed him nothing. But he had had nothing else. Until Oda, until Chuuya, and he believed in life again.
Then Oda died, and his soul followed.
It was difficult seeing himself at fifteen again. Like he was just getting ready to meet up with Odasaku and Ango at Lupin. Like nothing had happened.That was the trippy thing about time travel. It feels like nothing happened; like nothing caused all this suffering. He thinks that’s the reason why he hates Back to the Future, and any time travel movie. Dazai grips his toothbrush and stomps off to bed. He catches Chuuya scrolling on his phone on the couch.
“You need sleep,” He says, kindly. “Maybe then you’ll finally grow.” Chuuya cracks his head towards him, and Dazai runs into his room before he gets tackled by Chuuya.
.
“Are we ever going to talk about how Mori duped us?”
“Aren’t you the loyal executive? Shouldn’t you know his true intentions?”
“I’ll say this one Dazai, for all intents and purposes, you’re more interesting to him than me.” Dazai’s eye twitches.
“I know. So generous, to be in Mori’s favour.”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Chuuya sighs, wholeheartedly finished with the conversation. Dazai waves his hand in the air to get rid of the negative energy.
Dazai hums beside Chuuya as the hero Present Mic announces the rules. Based on past data, it should be safe to kill just enough robots and save a few people to get into the academy. Of course, Chuuya’s going to take the spotlight. Dazai worked better when his attention was diverted.
Rescue points would be Dazai’s strong point. An opportunity to watch how many points these budding heroes get! A black and white worldview. Something he- and Chuuya, never had. He’s almost jealous.
“You really don’t care that Mori fucked with you? You’re just gonna go with the plan.”
“Yup. Its Mori, Chuuya. Its annoying, but expected. I still would’ve liked some contacts.” Chuuya nods, then frowns at his coat.
“Are you sure you wanna be wearing that?” Chuuya points to the bandage over his arms, and he nods.
“Good luck to everyone!” Present Mic starts the timer. Dazai doesn’t budge. Chuuya spins around on his feet, using his ability to kick around a few rocks.
“I’d love to wait around and chat, but attention is hounding us, Chuuya.” Dazai closes his eyes and smiles. Chuuya blocks an incoming robot.
“There you go! A rescue point. Your welcome. Have fun being in the spotlight. Don’t go overboard.” Chuuya stuff his hands into his pockets and kicks around a few robots. Three in a row combo! Dazai claps, and Chuuya huffs. Dazai takes out his gun and shoots. An Easy bot down. A Medium bot down. He debated taking on a Hard one, but he steps away. Time to be a saviour.
Dazai moves to the rubble, removing pieces of shrapnel and metal to reveal a few teenagers who were passed out. He sighs, and puts on his mittens. He carrie’s them to an area where robots are dismantled by Chuuya, and dramatically huffs. He dodges an icicle flying his way.
“Chuuya! Help me!” Chuuya doesn’t reply, slamming his head to head butt a robot.
“No.”
“Chuuya! You don’t even look interested!”
“In you?” Chuuya hits the robot harder, with what must be 12% of his ability. Ow. Dazai heaves the people onto his shoulder and tosses them onto a recovery area.
“Thank you, young man.” Dazai nods. It’s whatever. That green haired boy is the real star of the show.
Theres a few seconds left. The boy saves the gravity girl. What a show. What a show! For a moment, he’s filled with thanks for Mori- he has this chance to observe, to take notes, his favourite activity! A meaning, an objective in his life. The one good thing about his time in the mafia was the time with Chuuya, and here he was! Seven years later! No, Mori’s using him. He’s so gullible, Dazai reminds himself.
The huge robot does fall. Immediately, Dazai formulâtes a plan. “Chuuya!” He waves around his gun, and aims it at what he assumes is the integral core of the robot- Chuuya uses For the Tainted Sorrow to propell it inside, causing a massive dent. Dazai tuts. At least hold back slightly. No one was going to believe broccoli head over there did that. What convincing narrative was he supposed to come up with now? Some sort of elaborate lie about bumping his head into the core? He watches Midoriya place high on the scoreboard, followed shortly by Chuuya. Dazai smiles as he’s shown just above his counterparts. Wonderful. This would do nicely.
.
80% of the population in Mustafa has abilities. Dazai might as well be one of the ones without. He wishes he was the one without.
He sits at the desk, in the dead silence. He doesn’t like it. There’s a reason why he surrounds himself with noise. Ugh. Dazai covers his ears with his hair, and spots the flailing bandages. He stands up. Dirty bandages must be replaced. He places the finished paper on the woman’s desk and she raises an eyebrow.
“Are you sure?” Could people stop asking him that? He was sure. Dazai dignifies the question with a nod.
75% on a test must be enough for an elite school, right?
.
Dazai stretches, yawning in his pajamas. Which consisted of a wrinkled pale yellow button up and short shorts. Like a freak, Chuuya comments. Its incredibly reminiscent of their mafia days, hiding out in various hotels ranging from the Ritz to a shabby motel- there was an allure in being domestic with Chuuya, and Dazai watches while Chuuya pours himself a light chamomile tea.
“Are you going to share?” Dazai moans on the couch, tossing and turning. Chuuya floats over a cup of berry tea, not red- a light purple.
“Isn’t this blue pea tea?” Dazai sips on it, exclaiming in joy.
“Perfect! Chuuya, my dear tea artisan, would you make this for me tomorrow morning?” Chuuya doesn’t reply, the chamomile mug floating in silence in the air. Dazai grabs the mug. He takes a sip. It’s calming. He places both the mugs in the sink, passing by the bare walls. The only sense of life is the couch, where they both fall asleep every night. One pillow for each couch, covered by a dark navy throw blanket. Dazai slips on his green slippers and debates throwing a blanket on Chuuya. He doesn’t. He does turn off the light beside him, and stares into the ceiling.
What a mess.