Chapter Text
Yokohama, Armed Detective Agency
Before everyone in the room lay a letter in a crimson red envelope. An uncomfortable silence filled the air; not even the buzz of a fly or the creak of a chair could be heard.
Only a deathly silence.
The letter seemed to be watching them all, especially a man with brown hair. They all looked at the letter with tension and unease until a cough broke the silence.
“I’ll read the letter if no one objects.”
No one refused or raised objections. Fukuzawa examined the letter in his hands. It was elegant, with an almost shining gold seal, and the handwriting was legible. As he opened it, he looked at the page, though the handwriting was entirely different from what he was used to seeing.
“The person who wrote this letter wasn’t Mori; of that, I’m certain.”
‘Armed Detective Agency.
Given the recent events, we would like to invite the President of the Agency along with two other guests to hold a peace meeting between both organizations for the sake of Yokohama.
This meeting will take place two hours after you have read this letter. I have eyes everywhere, Fukuzawa-sama; nothing escapes my watch.
I apologize for the urgency of this meeting, but due to recent events in the Port Mafia and in Yokohama…’
“We need peace between both leaders…”
Fukuzawa looked at the faces of each of his members, placed the letter back in the elegant envelope, and then set it on the table. Everyone followed the movement of his hands as if the letter had been a death sentence for the Agency.
Which, indeed, it felt like.
Yosano was the next to break the silence, picking up the letter and reading it over, as if, at any moment, the content of the letter would change to what the true head of the Port Mafia would say.
“This doesn’t make sense. Why would the Port Mafia seek a peace treaty between both organizations? And what does he mean by ‘the recent events in the Port Mafia’? It’s simply…”
“It wasn’t Mori.”
The woman with violet hair looked at the brunette; she already knew that, but if it wasn’t Mori, then who would write a letter under his name? A chill ran through her as she pieced things together, staring intently at Dazai.
“Don’t tell me…”
“There’s a new boss in the Port Mafia who wants to formally introduce himself to us.”
Fukuzawa rose from his seat, straightening his slightly wrinkled clothes. The other members stood up automatically, awaiting instructions.
“Kunikida, Dazai,” the two addressed lifted their heads and listened attentively. “Prepare yourselves. In two hours, we have a meeting. The rest of you, stay on guard in case this is an attempt to catch us off guard.”
“Yes, President.”
---
Port Mafia Building, Yokohama
Dazai didn’t know how to feel about the possibility that Mori Ougai might be dead. He was… surprisingly calm about the situation, deliberately ignoring the voice in his head screaming that something strange lay beyond those doors.
Despite his calm, something kept him from feeling at ease. That annoying little voice in his head was screaming at him to turn around and walk away from the large oak doors.
Today had been far too quiet for his liking; there were always some sounds—the cries of people walking down the street, the late students, or the car horns of drivers who didn’t know the meaning of patience.
He looked at the oak doors, vividly recalling the many times he had waited for permission to enter and receive his orders. But, surprisingly, there was no mocking “Come in.”
The door opened by itself, revealing the office with its large windows and the old desk of the former boss. There had been some renovations, a clear example being the large bookshelf filled with books of all kinds, along with a few plants scattered here and there.
He had expected to hear some idiot shouting orders, but he was genuinely surprised to find an eerie silence and a familiar head of orange hair.
What the hell…?
“Welcome, I wanted to formally introduce myself as the new boss of the Port Mafia.”
Chuuya??
---
The three guests looked at the new person occupying the desk chair. Fukuzawa gave a slight bow, while Kunikida and Dazai gave almost a full bow.
“Thank you very much for the invitation…”
“Nakahara.”
“Nakahara-san, though our organization has quite a few doubts about how this peace treaty between both organizations will proceed.”
Chuuya smiled, looking rather… relaxed for the situation. In fact, he looked different. The most noticeable change was the new scar crossing his face—thin but visible, like the cut of a scalpel.
Another thing recently noted was that the orange-haired man’s heterochromia had completely changed; it was now the most striking feature on his face (after the scars). His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Kunikida.
“We apologize that our colleague cannot keep his eyes to himself, Nakahara-san.”
Chuuya chuckled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Oh… don’t worry, Kunikida-san, I know Dazai well. I know how to put him in his place.”
Kunikida stared in shock, looking between Dazai, Chuuya, and his boss. The brunette could only shiver with fear; he could recognize that look anywhere.
The look of a madman.
“Now… why don’t you take a seat so we can discuss the new treaty? Does that sound good?”
Chuuya’s smile widened, revealing small fangs, a hint of madness gleaming in those mismatched eyes, as chairs floated in front of the desk, finally arranging themselves.
Dazai hadn’t even spoken yet, and he already wanted to leave.
---
Kunikida didn’t know how to feel about it, especially because Dazai seemed tense—a little, but enough to make Kunikida uneasy as well.
He looked at the new mafia boss. He seemed decent; his hair was the most noticeable feature. He was calm and spoke to the President with respect, without any mocking or dismissive tone.
Kunikida looked at his notebook, jotting down a few terms or deals Nakahara mentioned, ones he had a few questions about. He glanced at Dazai, who was watching the orange-haired man with suspicion, and gave him a slight nudge in the ribs.
“Stop looking at him like he killed someone you loved right in front of you.”
Dazai looked at him, annoyed. “Maybe he did.”
Kunikida was about to ask what he meant by that, but Nakahara’s voice cut in.
“You two seem quite entertained since you’re not paying attention or taking notes on what’s being discussed between both bosses.” His tone was harsh, leaving no room for a reply, though a certain brunette had something else to say.
“Why don’t you drop this act? Chuuya knows that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll always be a loser.” Dazai stared intently at Chuuya.
Both halves of Double Black stared at each other intensely, a murderous silence filling the room until Nakahara’s soft, charming laugh cut through the tension.
“Oh... Dazai, and what act am I putting on, according to you? Enlighten me, please.”
“What happened to Mori?”
The sweet smile faded from Nakahara’s face; he raised an eyebrow, and his eyes darkened. Dazai swallowed hard; he recognized that look—it was the same look he’d had at fifteen.
“Fukuzawa-san, I apologize for mentioning this rule so late, but in the Port Mafia, the name of... that man can no longer be spoken.”
“That’s understandable, Nakahara-san. We won’t make that mistak—”
“Why not? Are you hiding something, Nakahara?”
Chuuya stood up from his desk, though his arms remained on it, looking at Dazai with irritation, as if he were the annoying gum stuck to his leather boots.
“This meeting is over. The treaty will be respected, but I expect your employees to keep their noses out of matters that don’t concern them.”
Chuuya opened the door from where he stood, a clear invitation to leave his office. Fukuzawa stood, giving a slight bow of his head, and the blond followed, offering a quiet apology. The last guest, however, had no intention of leaving without answers, especially from his Chuuya.
When the doors closed, Dazai was about to speak when a knife, which he hadn’t anticipated, grazed his cheek.
“You’ve got some nerve coming to my office, into my organization, and demanding explanations from me as if I were just some dog.”
“All I know is that the Chuuya I know would never become a Boss.”
Chuuya laughed in his face, almost pleased to have an answer for that.
“Maybe that’s because I’m no longer the Chuuya that you know.”