Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Atsushi dislikes a fair day. 

Looking up from the second-floor corridor of the dormitory, Atsushi glared at the sky. Thin clouds roll here and there, other than that, it's as blue and bright as it can get. In all honesty, there's nothing wrong about the weather today. In fact, Atsushi is relieved the sun returned after raining in Yokohama for the past week. He can finally do laundry, enter the agency building without worrying about leaving mud stains the carpet, and focus on his job with no temptations to slack off and nap.

A fair day is a nice day, Atsushi believes so. His problem is that today seems a little too nice than normal. A little too tame. A little too peaceful. The wind is neither weak nor strong. It sifts through Atsushi's hair easily and rustles leaves in a gentle manner. Regardless of summer crawling in, he doesn't feel hot nor sweaty. At least, not today. 

Atsushi extends his arms to stretch. The neighbourhood is silent, too. Usually, a married couple nearby can be heard arguing before going to work. If not them, it's a toddler wailing and begging not to attend school. Though there are moments where mornings are quiet, Atsushi couldn't help the apprehension stirring in his gut. 

Trouble often follows good fortune. 

The quote came from a book in the orphanage's library. Back then, he read the words over and over, not understanding what it meant. Now, being older and wiser, with a brow twitching at how perfect the whole situation is, Atsushi wonders what the day has in store for him later. 

"Why do you stretch for so long?" 

Atsushi jolts and turns to see Kyouka standing outside the door. Once again, like every other morning, he's reminded how good the girl is at stealth. It's an experience Atsushi will never get used to, despite always standing outside their room to wait for her to finish preparing. He also always doesn't hear the door click! How does she do that? 

Kyouka hides something in one of her pockets, probably her key, and continues. "You're stuck in that position for a good minute. Are your arms sore? Shoulders? Perhaps your back?" 

"Sorry. I got lost in thought, but I'm good." Atsushi assures her with a wave of his hand. 

"Hm, is it because of the weather?" Kyouka's aware of Atsushi's predicament ever since she pointed out he's high-strung whenever the skies are clear. Atsushi slumps a bit. "Can you guess what bad luck will fall upon me today?" 

They fall into an even-paced walk downstairs and out of the dormitory premises. Atsushi kicks a few pebbles on the pavement to distract himself. "Mine is I have to pay a part of Dazai-san's tab in the café again."

"You can avoid the charge by not going there," Kyouka advises. "But… it's your turn to bring Ranpo-san his chocolate drink." 

Atsushi made an unintelligible noise. "I know."  

Kyouka didn't speak for a while. Atsushi took it as a sign she's sorting her thoughts before voicing them out. Puffing a short breath, he fixes his posture and diverts his gaze towards their path. If somehow, he has to pay whatever Dazai racked up for the nth time, he may not be able to buy the new ramen he’s been eyeing at the convenience store. That’s too bad. His tongue craves something other than the taste of cheap cup noodles and lunchables he always hoards.

“I…” Kyouka starts.

“Hm?” Atsushi glances at her through his periphery. Kyouka abruptly stops, eyes glued forward. Atsushi does the same. 

Several feet away is a huge yet skinny black dog looking straight at them. Teeth bared. Growling low and steady. In general, Atsushi isn't afraid of dogs. He pets the stray dogs he meets and occasionally gives them food, but looking at what's in front of him, Atsushi deems it's better if he stays put. His shoes became too heavy to lift, knees losing strength. Does this neighbourhood have always had stray dogs that large? No, it's not a stray. A red collar dons his neck. Why would a pet like that wander the streets unsupervised? Did it get lost? Did the owner leave the gate open? 

He grabbed Kyouka by her elbow and gulped. "Don't. Move." 

Atsushi bites down a squeak when Kyouka hides behind him. From his shoulder, she frowns. "I don't like dogs." 

"I don't like this one in particular." Atsushi whispers as he tracks the dog's movement. It's inching closer, ready to pounce any time. Slowly, he pushes Kyouka a step back. That seemed to anger the animal; its growls rose in volume. 

"Eek! G-Good doggie,"

In the back of his mind, Atsushi finds the whole thing ridiculous. They're ability users. He can turn into a tiger for god's sake. Kyouka was an assassin. But here they are, cowering in front of an aggressive dog, which they could easily evade had they tried to think of using their abilities. In Atsushi's defence, its appearance is uncanny. The eyes are pure black. If Atsushi concentrates, he can see the faint outline of ribs along its skin. And it's uncharacteristically long for a dog. Is it a different breed? A dachshund? Aren't dachshunds supposed to be small and have short legs? Because it's the exact opposite of the one in front of them. 

The tiger in him hissed. 

"Scare it away, Atsushi-kun." Kyouka suggests with a light shove on his back. Atsushi held his ground and winced. The hairs on his back stand alert as the dog zeroes its attention on him. It's salivating. "H-How?" 

The tiger's scared— no, she's cautious. Why is she worried? 

"Transform." she says, as if it's that simple. 

Atsushi didn't have the chance to doubt if he's able to. The dog jumps high from its spot with its jaw open, and moves without preamble. 

Even with the speed granted by the tiger, the dog almost grazed Atsushi's back as he dodged. He can feel the air cutting on his nape as he carries Kyouka in his arms and runs as fast as he can. He didn't look back to check if it was behind them, because he's certain it's not. He doesn't hear any barking. Still, there's this sensation Atsushi can't shake off that adds to the dread lurking inside his stomach. It creeps up his shoulders, to his elbows, and hands. It snakes down his legs to his feet. The image of the inside of the dog's mouth, all red and reeking of death, had Atsushi gasping. He holds Kyouka closer. 

"We're safe, Atsushi-kun. You can slow down." 

No. They're not far enough. Atsushi can't do that. Because the second they rounded a corner, he heard it. 

An ear-splitting, eerie howl. 

Once again, Atsushi has proven that a fair day means it's going to be awful for him. They arrived at the agency in record time. His cheeks burn once he realised he's yet to let go of Kyouka as they entered the elevator. He didn't mean to carry her all the way. He didn't know why he still did. Beads of sweat form on his temple, and Atsushi wipes them using the back of his hand. When he retracts, he's surprised to find it trembling. 

"You felt it too," 

Atsushi regards Kyouka, who's standing properly in the middle. Atsushi takes note of her lip quivering despite her calm demeanour. Sighing, he leans against the wall, heart rate beating back to normal. "What is that?" 

"It's not a dog," 

"That much, I can tell." Atsushi thumps his head against the cold metal. "Back there, the tiger was… how should I put this… she's wary." 

Kyouka declares. "Demon Snow was on edge, too." 

"I can't describe the feeling. I-I'm not completely scared, but I… I…" Atsushi gives up with a deep breath. The whole set up was too sudden, too early in the morning for Atsushi to digest it properly. 

The elevator creaks gently as it opens. Atsushi allows Kyouka to step out first into the hall. "Do you think it has something to do with the Port Mafia?" 

It's plausible. They have been entangled with the organisation for the past while. And they did want Atsushi. But as Kyouka gives a disapproving shake, Atsushi doesn't have any more clue to explain what happened. 

"Similar to mine and… Akutagawa, an ability like that is placed on the frontlines. If they have someone who wields such, I think everybody would've known. But… I don't," she reckons. The underlying implication slithers around them: it's not Port Mafia's doing. 

With their past engagements with their members, the Agency had grown familiar with all of their abilities. The theory isn't far-fetched. 

Atsushi nibbles his bottom lip. "Dazai-san might have an idea, he always does." 

However, he's not keen on asking for his senior's insights. Apart from the guilt of having to trouble Dazai on matters he's not concerned of, Dazai has three cases piled on his table as of now. He doesn't want to burden him further. Besides, the moment Dazai is involved, he's in for a wild ride. Atsushi is yet to move on from his last mission where Dazai paired him up with—

Why am I thinking of him?  

Atsushi squawks a mechanical laugh. "B-But he's busy, haha! Very busy…"

That's so random.  

After recovering from his lapse, he resumes. "And I doubt Ranpo-san would be willing to give us an answer if we asked…" 

Kyouka blinks. "I'm his escort on his trip to Kawasaki this afternoon. I can try and bribe him." 

"I'll ask Kunikida-san too if he knows anything. The whole situation got on my nerves." 

Atsushi recalls the words she said before. "It could be an ability, huh?" The thought never crossed his mind. 

Kyouka hunches her shoulders to her ears, making her smaller than she already was. "Well, what else would it be?"

Looking at her shy frame, Atsushi brings a hand to pat her head. "That's great reasoning, Kyouka-chan. It seems tagging along with Ranpo-san has taught you a lesson or two." 

"Fifty, to be exact." Kyouka responds with renewed confidence. 

"Really?" Atsushi smiles, stopping in front of the office. "Care to tell me one?" 

Kyouka lifts her index finger. "When eating sweets, pairing them with nuts or fruits can help prevent a sugar spike." 

Of course, Ranpo-san would teach her that. Atsushi just smiles and opens the door. 

"ATSUSHI-KUUUNNN!!!" 

Atsushi almost closed it again. Splayed on the floor as if making snow angels in winter was none other than his suicidal senior, Dazai. 

"Good morning, Dazai-san. Please move." 

Across the room, Atsushi finds Kunikida rubbing the bridge of his nose that pushes his glasses up. The rest of the team goes on with their business, not paying heed to the literal adult throwing tantrums like a child. 

"Oi, get up and stop embarrassing yourself." Kunikida shoots a crumpled paper at Dazai, to which the latter effortlessly catches and throws it in the trash. 

Dazai cranes his neck to him. "Give it to me first!" 

"I told you, that won't be allowed!"

"I can do it faster!" 

"We both know that's not the point!" 

Atsushi's sure their bicker would last a good minute, so he signals Kyouka to skirt around Dazai. The paperworks they need to finish must be submitted by the end of the week. They can't afford to waste time. As Atsushi sat on his desk, Dazai called again. 

"ATSUSHIII-KUUNN!"

Atsushi doesn't spare him a glance. He opens his laptop and starts working on a document. "Yes?" 

"Tell Kunikida-kun to give it to me!" 

"Give what to you?" he absentmindedly asks. 

"Don't mind him, Atsushi. Focus on your tasks, lest you fall behind schedule." Kunikida advises as he takes a seat. 

Dazai huffs. "Kunikida-kun, I will recite your ideal honeymoon for everyone to hear and I will not omit any details. Hand it over already!" 

Ideal honeymoon?  

"Why you—!" Kunikida stands once more, face seething red. " Why do you even know that?" 

"I have my ways." Dazai grins. 

"Stop invading other people's privacy!" 

When they're yelling each other's head off like this, Atsushi wishes he had the mastery of turning a deaf ear like everybody else. He watches Tanizaki and Kenji leave, walking around Dazai-san amidst a conversation. As if it's normal to see a coworker on his back on the floor. Well, if it's Dazai-san, Atsushi supposes it's normal— the most normal if all things are considered. 

Atsushi pushes against his office chair lightly and swivels to Kunikida. "What's the matter?"

"It's rude to turn your back on your senior, you know. I'm telling the President, Atsushi-kun." He hears Dazai pout. Atsushi sends him a perplexed look. He's only angled roughly fifteen degrees away from him! 

Kunikida kneads his nape and exhales a large, strained breath. "The military police forwarded a case about investigating a notorious ability user recently sighted in the city. Records failed to provide their identity and ability, just that they're extremely dangerous." 

"He won't let me handle it!" Dazai whines. 

Atsushi furrows his brows. "That's because you have three heavy cases listed under your name." 

Out of all of them, Dazai's ability is the best option, if not the only. Regardless, the President is strict on the amount of cases a member can have. They can take up to five if the cases are low-priority and aren't time-sensitive. For complex cases, they can tackle up to three, although it's highly discouraged. Dazai-san cannot be discouraged.

"If he settles his pending tasks and if doesn't insist he'll do it by himself, then I'll let him." Kunikida barks. "With little to no information, it's too risky for it to be a one-person job."

Dazai has exceptional skills and holds knowledge no one in the room has (maybe except for Ranpo-san). Atsushi deeply admires his performance and intellect during missions— when he predicts the enemy's move and constructs efficient countermeasures— but Kunikida's right. Atsushi sets his chair straight and leans at the table to see Dazai, who still hasn't gotten up from the floor. "Dazai-san," 

He didn't ask his question. He didn't need to. Like a dead rising from their grave, Dazai sits up with a cheeky smile. "A little birdie told me the user is a beautiful British woman. If it's just the two of us, I can treat her to dinner and invite her to commit double suicide afterwards. Hopefully, she agrees—" 

Atsushi foresaw Kunikida snagging Dazai up by his collar and shaking him violently. 

"You bastard— this is serious! The military police see the presence of this user in Yokohama as a Level A threat! We have no—" Kunikida abruptly stops his assault. "—did you say the user's a British woman?" 

"Did I? I can't remember, sorry." Dazai chuckles. "But if you surrender the case to me, I might."

Kunikida drags him closer, his features hardening with suspicion. "What exactly do you know about the case, Dazai?" 

Atsushi half-expected it would be one of those moments where Dazai turns serious. Where his eyes would plunge in the shadows and the air around him drops. Where Atsushi would catch a glimpse of what he's like in the past— as a former Port Mafia executive— if he's quick enough. A reminder of what he's capable of. 

Instead, Dazai sticks his tongue out. "I'm not telling you. Bleh." 

Their squabble continues in the background as Atsushi lets out a resigned sigh. They are full grown adults. They can figure it out on their own. 

"Atsushi-kun."  

Atsushi perks up at the call of his name. By the window, Ranpo-san has his body squished lazily on his chair, hands in the process of opening a chocolate bar. As usual, mountains of sweets fill his table.  

"Ranpo-san. What would you like for today?" 

As much as Atsushi wants to buy Ranpo-san's drink before going to the office, Ranpo-san's order varies each time depending on his mood. Atsushi could text him beforehand to ask what he would fancy, but after a couple dozen texts and no reply, he took it as a sign to just ask in person. 

"Hot milk chocolate, large." 

Atsushi nods. "Got it. I'll bring it to you shortly,"

The downstairs café is a twenty-four hour haven where agency members grab something to eat (if they're too busy to cook in the communal kitchen). Whether it be for breakfast, lunch, or dinner— all are available here. This is also where Dazai-san hides when he wants to avoid doing paperwork. 

The bell dings as Atsushi pushes the door open. In the morning, the place serves a good number of office workers who didn't eat before enslaving themselves to their jobs. Some dine in and enjoy the food. Others take out large cups of coffee. The whole picture depicts the two general behaviours observed in the corporate world. 

Atsushi steps in, finding a man in a suit huddled against a corner booth, murmuring to himself as he nibbles a waffle. 

Well, that's three. 

"Atsushi-kun!" 

Atsushi beams at Yume. The waitress is holding a tray on one hand while she distributes a table's worth of orders with grace. 

"Good morning." Atsushi bows upon approach. 

Yume tucks the now empty tray in her elbow and grins. "Are you here for Dazai-san's tabs?" 

"No, sorry." Atsushi chuckles nervously, hoping he doesn't offend her. While Yume agrees whenever he declines, Atsushi's still nervous that she will eventually coax him into paying. 

Yume waves her hand. "Hush! No need to apologise. Dazai-san should handle it himself, anyway. I'm surprised you willingly cover his bills half of the time." 

Both of them ease their path to the counter. The cashier, Hana, spares them a look while she scribbles on a piece of paper. "Atsushi-kun, great timing. Could you run an errand for us, please?" 

Atsushi catches what she wrote. It's a small list of ingredients. In theory, he could swing by the nearest convenience store, take what's needed, and go back as if he never left. Still… 

"Uhm— well, I'm supposed to be working… I just came here for Ranpo-san's drink… a large hot milk chocolate…?" he twiddles the longer bit of his bangs. He doesn't want Kunikida to give him a lecture about slacking off. Again. Though if he looks at it in perspective, he's not slacking off. He's helping a client who sought him for help. 

But his reports… 

"Tell you what, you go and buy these and the drink will be on us." Hana slides the paper to him, batting her eyelashes. "Please? Pretty please? Just this once. Our restock wouldn't arrive until noon," 

This is one of those instances where Atsushi couldn't bring himself to say no. 

And so, he stands in front of a corner store, blocks and blocks far from the agency building. Given his luck today, he's not surprised that the ones nearby happened to run out of specific items— items that Atsushi has to buy. What he’s surprised of is that he managed to walk from point a to point nth out of sheer spite for no one in particular. (The “no one in particular” is him. He eventually realises it’s better to hitch a ride, but he’s too deep in his temper to withdraw)

Pushing the door open, Atsushi is quick to grab a basket and examine each shelf with enhanced vision. His feet step with the pressure of knowing his paperwork remains idle until he returns. Thank god, they have what he's looking for. If they didn't, Atsushi will suspect some higher being is ruining his day on purpose. 

"Cream… cream…" he mutters as he drifts to another aisle. As if the pearly gates opened from above, his eyes immediately locked on the only one left along the rack. 

Maybe this day isn’t so bad, after all.

He reaches out, mentally crossing the last one on the list. He could take a bus to get back to the agency. Is it faster if he jumps from roof to roof? That would look weird on a random civilian. But nothing is ever not weird in this city, anyway, so why does he care? Ranpo-san’s drink must be ready by now, did Yume deliver it to the office? Atsushi hopes she enlightens Kunikida about his temporary absence.

His finger wraps around the carton, and blinding pain suddenly shots up in his wrist.

Atsushi might’ve screamed. He’s not too sure. His eyelids grinded shut as he clutched the cream, yanking it away to pry whatever’s biting his arm. The wild gesture caused the other products to fall with a crash as he stumbled a few paces back and leaned on the shelf. 

When he opens his eyes, blood stains the previously shining white surface. The dark hue drips past the layers of merchandise onto the floor. His wrist is hot. It throbs. And it hurts. Somewhere around him, people yelled in panic and fled from the scene. 

He would, too, if the whole set up wasn't terribly familiar. 

Atsushi regains his bearings as the tiger patches up his wound. Assuming a proper stance, a dark tendril crackling with red energy greets him. On the other end of the aisle, Atsushi glared at its owner. 

"What the hell?" Atsushi snarls. 

The tendril retreats into Akutagawa's black jacket as he coughs into his palm. Even in casual clothing, he's as dark as ever. Atsushi vaguely imagines what his wardrobe looks like. 

"Man-tiger," Akutagawa rasps, stuffing both hands in his jacket's pockets.

Atsushi tightens his grasp on the basket and the cream. Should he run away? Can he run away? His items aren't even paid. He doubts the cashier would be thrilled to process his purchase when a hellhound incarnate is right there in the store with them. Wreaking havoc for god knows what reason. 

"Why are you here?" Atsushi demands. Was he followed? Is this the day Akutagawa decides to fight him until one is utterly defeated? Perhaps there's another goal he's unaware of? And he's doing it in jeans?  

Atsushi internally cringes at the last part. So what if he's in jeans? The jeans are nice. And black. 

Without his elaborate coat and jabot, the atmosphere isn't exactly as menacing as usual. 

And how is that a problem?  

"I could ask you the same. Why does the man-tiger roam in this part of the city?" Akutagawa tilts his head. 

So, it's not him he's after. 

"Well, what do you think?" Atsushi snaps. "Does it look like I came here to buy a pet horse?" 

Akutagawa levels his stare. "With how foolish you are, you might as well do it." 

"Haha, very funny." Atsushi says in a dull tone as he eyes the exit— just behind his opponent. He needs to get out. A fight is inevitable if he stays longer. He can already feel the air growing heavy between them as seconds pass. 

"I don't appreciate your sarcasm," 

"Good. I'm not asking you to." 

"Watch your words, man-tiger." Akutagawa warns as black coils breach his jacket in erratic waves. "Your perpetual arrogance is exhausting my patience," 

Atsushi knows better than to provoke the mafia's attack dog, lest he wants to be bitten. But he's been having an awful morning, he deserves to blow off some steam. Let his tongue run loose for a while. And to direct his insults at Akutagawa is a huge opportunity. 

He snorts. "I'm flattered you have enough for me to suck dry." 

"That's it!" 

Atsushi leaps backwards as several tendrils dives into the spot he's formerly on, piercing through the tiles. With his legs transformed, he hides behind the shelf to evade another assault. Tiers of products crash and spill, but Atsushi doesn't heed the damage and bolts to the door. 

"Man-tiger!" 

Atsushi hollers at the two tendrils that spear through his shoulder blades. His feet flail helplessly as Akutagawa lifts him off the ground. Additional wisps snake onto Atsushi's waist and ankles to suspend him in the air. Even under hot pain, he kept a firm clutch on the basket and cream. 

"You disgust me. You are capable of fighting, and yet you attempt to escape. Just like in every other occasion. What a weakling you are," 

"What do you want from me?!" Atsushi's voice was raw, watching Akutagawa step closer. 

Shallow breaths slip his ajar mouth. Every little movement strikes pain on where he's impaled. If he stills, he can feel them drilling deeper. Atsushi bares his teeth when he's angled down to face the mafioso. 

Akutagawa looks up at him. "Give me the cream,"

Huh? 

For a long time, their eyes remain locked onto one another. Akutagawa's entails no humour. Just two pools of ashen grey drowned in blatant indifference. Atsushi blinks. His lips quiver. He wants to laugh. He really does. The whole situation is so hilarious, so stupid it makes a complete turn that it becomes outright ridiculous and off-putting. 

"You want… the cream…?" Atsushi murmurs.

"Your eardrums aren't impaired. I'm guessing your failure to understand is due to your foolishness." 

"You want the cream." Atsushi repeats again.

"That is what I said, man-tiger," Akutagawa growls. "Must you be so redundant?" 

Atsushi's brow twitched. 

"You did all this… just for A CARTON OF HEAVY CREAM?!" he yelled, turning to the wrecked aisles. Up to the damaged ceiling. Back at Akutagawa. "You could've just said that!" 

"How was I supposed to when the last one's already in your possession!" was Akutagawa's retort. 

"So you thought it'd be better to just try and bite my hand off?!" 

"If my goal was to cut your hand clean, I would've done so." 

As if that's wonderful news for Atsushi. As if that's something he should be thankful for. He seethes . "How generous of you to spare my hand when Rashoumon is wedged inside me, bastard." 

"If you're complaining to have me remove it, I won't until you surrender." 

Atsushi thrashes against the restraints, his efforts leading to nowhere with how the binds only got tighter. With two open wounds on his back that are yet to heal, his strength is compromised. Akutagawa seems informed— if that air of superiority around him is any indication. Rebuttal boils at the back of Atsushi’s throat, ready to roll on his tongue, when he catches a group of students walking by. Laughing and taking candid pictures on a small film camera.

Atsushi curses. The front of the store just has to be glass from top to bottom. He prayed they wouldn’t notice. But how could they not when a guy in black is stabbing another guy with a shopping basket midair? Using an ability, no less. The students come to a halt. Smiles fading. Multiple pairs of eyes bulge in shock. 

They're in a corner store. In public. Why are they doing this here? Of all places and time?!

"H-Hey, put me down." Atsushi whispers, meekly tapping Akutagawa’s shoulder with the cream. He flushes crimson when someone from the group slowly raises the camera to snap a shot of them. Mouth hanging open. He nudges Akutagawa with added force. “Hurry. There’s people outside.”

At that, Akutagawa turns to face the students. All of them flinched under the mafioso’s gaze. He casts Atsushi a sidelong glance, “They're cutting classes,”

"That's nowhere near the point!" Atsushi shouts as loud as a whisper can be. 

"Then what?"

“We can’t do this here. We shouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place!” 

Akutagawa’s quiet for a moment. Glaring at what seems to be middle schoolers contemplating their next move. A girl in high-pony is tugging at the hem of her friend’s shirt. A boy is sneakily fishing something out of his pocket. A phone if Atsushi has to guess. 

"We wouldn't be if you had given me the cream," Akutagawa grunts. 

Why does he want the cream so bad?! 

"Don't put the blame on me. You attacked first." Atsushi counters, nailing the cream atop of Akutagawa's head and keeping it there. His shoulders are crying of pain and blood. At least, Akutagawa looks funny. 

The reaction comes fast. Akutagawa's features hardened. "Cease it. You're debasing the product." 

"It's not like you're going to pay for it." Atsushi scoffs.

The tendrils sink further into his skin, shifting him a little more forward.  

"I am. Now, hand it over." Akutagawa reaches above, yet Atsushi is (still miraculously) quick to keep it away from his pale hand. 

"You're drawing the line at shoplifting?" He won't leave without paying, but he has no problem committing physical assault. Atsushi refrains from grinning out of incredulity. 

Akutagawa rolls his eyes. "Unlike you, man-tiger, I have the money." 

"It's not expensive!" 

"For you, it might be." 

Atsushi's jaw can fall off its hinges if it could. He cannot believe this guy! They're in public— nevermind that, they always fight in public. At least, when they do, it's always anticipated. During a mission, on the battlefield— their interactions are predetermined. And so, there can only be two outcomes for Atsushi. To fight Akutagawa or fight with Akutagawa. But this? This is all uncharted territory. Foreign waters Atsushi's yet to thread in— or drown in. He was out to run an errand. Akutagawa, in his casual clothes, is intent on buying cream. He clearly stated he's not hunting for Atsushi's head. 

So can't this be an exception? Do they really have to battle just because they're wired to?

"Okay. Look, I really don't want to fight you right now," Atsushi admits. He has no idea why he's being honest. It just felt like the right thing to do. Despite evident reasons. 

"Perhaps you should've considered that before opening your mouth to speak. In the end, your suffering was your own doing. All of this was because of you ." Akutagawa says with a tone of finality. A large tendril sprouts behind Akutagawa and breaks the front of the store. Tiny glass shards scatter and flicker under the late morning sun. 

It reflects on the surface of Atsushi's eyes ever so slowly. Along with the terrified expressions of the students as their screams echo in his ears. They run away. They escaped. They're not hurt. Still, Atsushi faintly wonders what would've happened if Akutagawa wasn't as merciful as he is now. If the pavement would be littered with injured bodies of students who were innocently cutting classes. 

Atsushi averts his gaze to the mess inside the store. The broken shelves. The damaged products. To the cashier hiding under the counter. 

He was out to shop for ingredients. 

He was just out to shop for ingredients. 

"I said…" Atsushi bows his head, lips trembling. The pain on his back had never gone numb. His skin tingles against the fabric of his clothes soaked in blood. The basket in his hold is getting heavier. 

You bring suffering to those around you by merely existing.  

Atsushi knew the burden that accompanied his very existence. The weight is something his own hands could never hold— watching someone else suffer in his stead. At a young age, everyone guaranteed it's nailed in his memory and marked onto his body. He's a monster. Useless. A misfortune brought upon the world. If he's not, what further justification could his parents have for abandoning him? In the orphanage, what could possibly excuse treating him as if he's less than an animal? Even at the agency, what other reasoning could explain their past predicaments? 

It's all because of him. 

Atsushi understands. 

That doesn't mean he wants to believe. 

Newfound strength courses through him, fueled by anger and something he'd rather not name. "...Don't put the BLAME ON ME!" 

Atsushi tears through the coil wrapped in his ankle to land a kick on Akutagawa. In a split-second, the tendrils retract from Atsushi's body to shield their owner from the incoming attack. Atsushi could feel Rashoumon absorbing most of the force. Still, he pressed on, gritting his teeth, and sent Akutagawa flying across the room. 

Gravity pulled Atsushi face first to the floor with a choked cry. His back burns hot as the tiger works to regenerate his wounds. Pushing himself to his feet, Atsushi quickly transfers all his items to a plastic bag while Akutagawa groans amidst sodas and cans of juice. 

"Here's my payment, you can keep the rest." Atsushi throws a handful of bills (from Hana and his own) behind the counter. A shaking hand emerges in a thumbs up. 

"Sorry." Atsushi gasps. He knows an apology won't fix anything. It's as futile as it can get. He still does. To ease the guilt clawing at his stomach. Even just for a while. 

"I'm so sorry." 

He dashes out of the store, leaping high to the rooftop of a nearby apartment, and continues to run despite the protests of every muscle in his body. 

A faint shout of "jinko" can be heard from a distance. 

" Where on earth have you been?!" 

Atsushi winces at Kunikida's voice as he shuts the office door behind him. Yume asked the same question in the same half-panicked half-angry tone when he dropped off the groceries. Hana prattled on about how he managed to return like he'd been in a gang fight when he was only out for supplies, and that being a detective is a dangerous job.

A short affirmation that he's fine is enough to calm their nerves. For Kunikida, Atsushi might have to double his effort. 

"At the convenience store. It's nothing serious!" Atsushi waves his hand, stepping further into the office. With Kunikida standing in the middle, both hands on his hips. His coworkers pretend to be immersed in their tasks, yet they're switching glances between Kunikida and Atsushi. 

At least help me out.  

Past Kunikida, Dazai's leaning against Ranpo's table, taking a small chocolate candy and popping it into his mouth. Atsushi locked eyes with his senior, hoping the simple gesture translates to 'do something'. 

Dazai just made a peace sign while he chewed. 

Kunikida barks. "Nothing serious? Look at yourself!"

On the dull multicoloured glass partitions in the reception area, Atsushi faintly registers his appearance. Dried blood is a starking red against his ruined uniform and dishevelled hair. Hana's right. He did look like he was in a gang fight. 

"You expect us to believe you got bruised up in a convenience store?!" 

"Uh… yeah?" It's possible when Akutagawa's there, too. 

"What did you do?" Kunikida crosses his arms, his stance imposing. Before Atsushi can open his mouth, he adds. "Yume arrived here earlier with Ranpo-san's drink that you ordered. Though she informed us that they asked you to head out and buy ingredients, don't you think more than an hour was a bit excessive? Also, how fortunate of you to forget to bring your phone." Kunikida gestures to his table, where his phone lies beside the laptop.

Atsushi presses his lips into a thin line, clasping his hands behind his back. He hadn't thought of that. He was too absorbed in his task, he accidentally disregarded everything else. 

What are the odds of convenience stores simultaneously running out of baking ingredients, anyway?  

"We can't reach you. We don't know where you are. Must I remind you that there's people out there who are after you?"

Oh, right. 

Atsushi flexes his jaw. A familiar heavy feeling spreads across his chest, rolling down his stomach.

He's being selfish again.  

"Sorry. I'll make sure to be quick next time." Atsushi forces out a smile as he scratches his cheek. "And to bring my phone wherever I go." 

He needs to be more careful if he doesn't want to cause more problems.

Kunikida stares at him behind his glasses. Long and hard. Seeking. It pierces through Atsushi's skin, rousing goosebumps across his body. At the intrusion, Atsushi wishes Kunikida doesn't see something he shouldn't. Then again, it's Kunikida. As he blinks, Atsushi knows he already saw what he's looking for. 

Kunikida perches back at his seat, takes a file, and peruses its contents. "Tanizaki and Kenji were back before you." 

Huh? Atsushi blinks. What's that got to do with him? 

At the mention of their names, Tanizaki swivels on his chair, work momentarily paused. 

"Why are we being dragged into this?" he sounded almost offended.  

Kunikida flips a page. "You're fifteen minutes behind schedule, that's why." 

"It's not our fault the informant chickened out at the last second. We had to chase him through the backstreets." Tanizaki frowns. Beside him, Kenji opens a pack of onigiri, humming in agreement. "He's got a tricky ability, too. I had a hard time aiming that old vending machine at him."

Their discussion on why their delay is (or isn't) valid shifts the attention away from Atsushi. He sighs, relieved. With the last bits of adrenaline gone in his system, he can feel exhaustion hugging the wrong parts of his body. 

What a day. 

"Hey, brat, go to Yosano-sensei's office and have her examine you." 

Kunikida still has his nose on the file as he uttered the command in a levelled tone. Atsushi lets his gaze linger on him. His eyes, which were once filled with boiling anger and worry, are now subdued to a calm shade of green and grey. 

If an outsider was asked what kind of person Kunikida is, they would probably say he's a matured, calculated man whose composure doesn't falter. While those hold some semblance of truth, Kunikida isn't confined within those qualities. He's also prone to short outbursts. Mainly because of Dazai. Often because of the setbacks experienced by the agency. He would yell at Dazai for slacking off. Provide a thirty minute lecture on what they should do or shouldn't have done after a barely-successful mission. Scold those who did something reckless. 

He runs his mouth. And he runs it well. Atsushi can compare it to being shot by a machine gun. It's continuous. It hits the mark. Above all, it's deliberate. 

Regardless, Atsushi understands it's his own way of showing concern. 

He jolts when Kunikida catches his stare. "What are you standing there for? Go. You still have some explaining to do." 

He didn't forget. That's not a surprise. With a curt nod, Atsushi follows. 

Yosano's reading a book when Atsushi arrived. The doctor spares him a bored glance, unfazed by his gore appearance, before stating the obvious. 

"You don't seem half-dead to me." 

Atsushi shrugs. If anything, he's just tired. "Kunikida-san insists… maybe out of company protocol?" 

"I couldn't care less about that." She motions Atsushi to sit on a cot, to which the latter quietly does. He swings his feet on the edge, waiting. 

"I need to finish my readings, so let's get on with this, quick." Yosano heads over as she flexes her neck. Noting the bags under her eyes, Atsushi can tell that her job isn't for the weak. He began removing the top part of his clothes, using his torn button-up to wipe the blood clinging to his skin as much as he could, before setting it aside. "Alright, what's the story?" 

Yosano trails her gaze across Atsushi's exposed skin, looking for any forming bruises or open wounds. The fact that there's none makes Atsushi a bit embarrassed. This is pointless. Still, it's Kunikida's orders. She signals Atsushi to raise his arms. 

"I bumped into Akutagawa." 

"Not surprised. What did he do?" Yosano drags her hand and lightly squeezes particular areas. "Tell me if it hurts, 'kay?" 

He nods. Atsushi doesn't have the heart to say nothing's hurting. She probably knows it, too. Even so, she continues to work on his torso. "He just stabbed me on the back."

Yosano quips. " Just on the back?" 

"Yeah," 

"That's a first. Where did you fight? I thought you're stuck in the office today." she gestures for him to stand and turn around. And he did. Atsushi summarises the events that happened prior, vaguely wondering why Yosano hadn't touched the planes of his back yet. 

"Yosano-san?" 

She didn't answer. However, Atsushi can sense her gaze on him. He's certain the large gashes under his shoulder blades are fully healed by now. He’s also sure that there’s no scarring, thanks to the tiger’s regenerative abilities. Maybe she wants to kill time?

"Atsushi, does your nape hurt?" 

Atsushi shakes his head. 

"I'm going to touch it, let me know if it does." 

Seconds after, a gentle pad of a gloved finger comes into contact, and sharp burning pain bursts around the area. 

Both of Atsushi's hands dart to his nape, crying out as he hunches forward, eventually collapsing to his knees. Breathing hard, he presses onto the back of his neck. Something is biting him something wants to bite his neck off it won't let go it's biting harder it hurts it hurts it hurts—

Tears line the corner of his eyes screwed shut. Words flew out of his mouth, but he couldn't make sense of them. His ears couldn't pick up any sounds. Someone was touching him. Someone was calling his name. Atsushi doesn't know who they are. He sobs and bows to the floor. Body numb and convulsing. It's going to rip his head off it's going to kill him it's killing him he's going to die—

"Atsushi." 

Through the uproar, Dazai's call managed to reach Atsushi. He weakly detects a gentle pat on his head. 

Like magic, the pain vanished, taking whatever energy's left on Atsushi. He sags onto the cold tiles. Jaw unclenching. Breath starting to even out. Bit by bit, he regains vague awareness of his surroundings.  

"You knew something like— happen!" 

"—fight in my office, please." 

"Is he gon— okay?" 

"—later, Kunikida-kun."

"Oi, bastard, where are you—?!" 

"—try to understand—" 

As he drifts into unconsciousness, Atsushi cracks an eye open. 

Familiar voices morph into static noise, and he finds himself in a place he's never been before. The details are blurry. All he can tell is that the moon is full and at its peak behind him. At his feet, his shadow is not his own but of the tiger’s. She moved across the concrete. Mixing into the darkness ahead. 

Atsushi stares at the void. Two rubies shine with raw hunger.

He heard a howl.

Chapter Text

Atsushi stirs when he feels something prodding his cheek. He groans and shifts his legs weakly, neck craning away from the touch. He bites down a whimper when the simple movement strains his nape. It’s sore, but it’s fine. Whatever he’s laying on is soft; he wants to sleep longer.

The poking continues.

“Would you stop that?”

“He should be up by now. I think he’s faking it,”

“The kid’s two shades paler for god’s sake. Cut it off.”

“I’m telling you, he’s faking it. Look, his brow’s twitching.”

“Stop fooling around!”

“Kunikida-kun, why don’t you go and take your paperworks out for dinner and let me babysit this one? You’re making this harder for the both of us,”

“One, stop using the term ‘babysit’. Two, why do you keep on insisting that I leave? What are you up to?”

In the low hum of the air-conditioner, two familiar voices rouse Atsushi’s sleep-addled brain. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The ceiling overhead was what greets him. Gray and dark. He breathes in the faint smell of medicine. Yosano-sensei’s office. What is he doing here? 

Oh, the check up. 

Veering his gaze to his side, Atsushi finds Dazai with his index finger digging into his cheek. Kunikida sits next to him, glaring at his stubborn coworker through his glasses.

“Stop it already.” Kunikida hits him with his notebook. Dazai yields with a grin. “Good morning, sunshine,”

Atsushi attempts to prop on his elbow so he can sit up. “Wha— ow ow ow—!” His whole body seizes at the burst of pressure on his nape. Does he have a stiff neck? It felt like all the muscles in the area were being pulled taut. Moaning in pain, he allows himself to fall back on the inclined mattress.

Kunikida studies him carefully. “Don’t force yourself. You can stay here for as long as you need,”

"How long was I out for?" Atsushi croaks and scans the room. He can't find any indicator of how much time has passed. 

Dazai quickly responds. "A week," 

"A WEEK?!" His voice cracked. He’s knocked out cold for that long?! 

Kunikida whacks Dazai once more. Harder than the first. Right on top of his head. "Today. You’re only unconscious for today, for approximately seven hours." he throws Dazai a glare. “ Quit messing with him.”

Dazai raising his hands in resignation isn’t exactly reassuring. But Atsushi will take what he can get. Dazai rubs his head with a chuckle. “That hurts, Kunikida-kun. Are you perhaps a sadist?”

“Keep it up and I’m throwing you to the other side of the room.” Kunikida threatens. 

“I'll take that as a yes.”

Annoyed, Kunikida ignores him and focuses on Atsushi. The animosity remains, albeit subdued and overpowered by concern. “Kid, how do you feel?”

He's feeling… Atsushi can’t describe what it is. He felt like someone had pried into his brain with a shovel. It doesn't ache, just a tad uncomfortable. His limbs are heavy, throat parched and scratched raw. 

“I'm fine,”

A low rumble came from his stomach. 

“Just hungry… and thirsty,” he adds. 

He jolts when Dazai grabs a tray of food he didn't notice on the bedside table, setting it on Atsushi's lap. 

“That's good to hear, otherwise I whipped this up for nothing.” Dazai huffs with pride. It's nothing fancy— a bowl of mildly hot nimono and a cup of water. Atsushi takes in the aroma of the soup. It smells delectable. “Eat up.”

The simple gesture should've moved Atsushi, had he not known Dazai can't cook for an inch of his life. He asks Kunikida. “It's from the café, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

Dazai crosses his hands over his chest with a pout. “Rude! Just because it looks edible and tasty doesn't mean I didn't make it!” 

Atsushi sits up, cautious not to move his neck too much, and picks up the spoon provided with a small smile. “But you really didn't, Dazai-san.”

“So, if a dish is crap, you'd assume it's mine?” he retorts in disbelief.

Kunikida smirks. “It's always yours, anyway.”

At that, Atsushi laughs a bit. 

“Do you want it or not?” Dazai glowers at him. “Because I'd be happy to take it back and tell Yume-chan you're being a picky eater.”

Atsushi immediately takes a spoonful. 

The next moments are marked by silence, interrupted only by Atsushi's occasional slurps. In the first few minutes, Atsushi revels in the heat and all the meat and vegetables swimming in the broth— he couldn't care less if he appeared savage to his seniors. But as it dragged on and his bowl started to clear halfway, he notes that they're just there. Waiting for him to finish. Kunikida thrums his fingers across his notebook. Dazai seems to be lost in thought as he observes Atsushi. 

The attention is unnerving. 

Atsushi swallows. “What is it?”

Both men hummed yet offered no words.  

“I can tell you have something to tell me. Or ask.” Atsushi shrugs. “Go ahead. I don't mind,”

His seniors exchanged glances, before Kunikida decided to speak first. He leans in, bracing his elbows against his knees. His glasses glint under the light. “Do you… remember what happened before you passed out?”

What happened… 

Atsushi opted to stare at his food instead, chest beginning to weigh down on him. No matter how hard he racks his brain to piece the fragments in his memory, he's drawing blank. 

What's certain is that you caused them problems. Again.  

"The last thing I remember, Yosano-sensei's about to examine my back." Atsushi tightens his hold on the bowl and spoon. "Sorry." 

“It's okay,” Kunikida affirms. “How about your neck? Does it still hurt?”

Atsushi slowly flexes his neck from side to side, back and forth, and in circles. Unlike earlier, the ache is more manageable. 

“A little.” He reaches out, hoping a little knead might lift the remaining soreness. 

“DON'T!”

His hand stops midair after Kunikida shouted. Atsushi recognizes the panic crossing over his features. Realizing what he'd done, Kunikida smooths over the moment with a dry cough. “Apologies. It's best if— it's best if you don't touch it.”

“Why?” Atsushi looks at Dazai, expecting an answer. His lack of input stirs anxiety in his guts. Atsushi almost wishes he runs his mouth all the time. “What's going on?”

“Kyouka-chan told us a dog attacked you this morning.” Dazai announces with an unreadable expression. “Do you remember?”

The incident flashes through Atsushi in great detail. The eyes. The bloodlust. The sheer size of it. A shiver ghosts down his spine. “Yeah,”

Dazai resumes. “She says it's eerie, black, and dangerous. And that it nearly bit you.”

“It didn't,” 

“But it came close, yes? Really close to place a mark on you.” Dazai draws something out of his pocket and holds it in between his fingers to show Atsushi. “This is what's on your nape,”

Blood runs cold on Atsushi's fingertips. He gulps. Gaze nailed on the photo. 

On his bare skin, a line of imprints occupies either side of his nape. They resemble a bite mark. A huge bite mark. It looks old and fresh at the same time. With all hues of red. Atsushi couldn't think of any animal that could slot its teeth into those—

His stomach churned as a thought occurred to him, throat constricting. Threatening to vomit what he ate. Shakily, he sets the spoon down so he can place the tray aside. Not bothering to drink. He can't. Wouldn't. He might throw up if he does. 

The second the tray landed on the bedside table, something grazed against his nape. Atsushi flinches and quickly covers the area. 

“Hey, kid, are you alright?” Kunikida almost rises from his seat, worry flickering over him. “What's wrong? Does it hurt?” Beside him, Dazai pocketed the photo again. 

“O-Oh, it's just— it's just the cold.” Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. But Atsushi wishes it was. And as much as he wants to keep his hands in place, he lowers them back to his lap, faltering slightly. You were told not to touch it. “Sorry about that,”

Kunikida sighs and bows his head. “It's fine. We only want to avoid accidentally… triggering something… again.”

The air conditioner continues to buzz. Atsushi purses his lips, waiting for an explanation. 

Dazai pinned him with a blank look. “When Yosano-sensei touched the mark, you suddenly collapsed on the floor, screaming in pain.”  

A hard heartbeat rattles Atsushi's chest. He remembers waiting for Yosano-sensei to check his back. Why can't he remember that she touched him? Why can't he remember being on the floor and yelling because it hurts? 

Why?  

“She did everything she could— even tried using her ability, but the tiger wouldn't let her,” he resumes. “When she called us in, you were out of it. You kept on shouting. Crying. You don't want to be touched. You don't even recognise us.”

Guilt wraps around Atsushi's heart, almost pressing against his throat. His lip quivered. He caused them all that trouble. For what? 

“I worked my ability on you for thirty seconds.” Something glinted across Dazai's features. “That never happened before,”

It wasn't supposed to in the first place . The unspoken statement hangs over Atsushi's head. Heavy like an anvil tied on a rope. Looming to crush him. 

He wanted to say something. Anything. His mind scrambles to piece together words of apology that can amount to how sorry he feels for bringing problems yet again. His carelessness had troubled those people around him once more. But he knew, no matter what he says, no matter what he does, he always ends up being a burden for others to carry. A misfortune for others to endure. 

Because he's not strong enough . 

“K-Kyouka-chan said it could be an ability,” Atsushi supplies, hands balling into fists. “It's the most plausible explanation.”

Someone out there wants him dead. They practically sealed his fate the moment the dog marked him on the nape. A ghastly reminder that those sharp canine teeth will find their home into those red marks, realizing his end. Sooner or later. 

But Atsushi doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to create more problems nor wait for them to present themselves, either. If he wants to convince himself that he's not taking his place at the agency for granted, if he wants to prove to everyone who called him useless otherwise— he needs to move. He needs to protect his friends. 

He needs to be strong enough. There's no other choice. 

“Let me fight them, one on one.”

Atsushi will end it quickly. He may not have a plan as to how just yet, but he will not let it drag on and have unnecessary casualties. Nothing should be destroyed because of him. No one should be hurt because of him. 

In the far corner of his mind, he hopes it will be real this time. 

“From what Ranpo-san deduced, a second attempt will take place tonight,” Dazai revealed. “The President instructed us to use the opportunity to collect more intel on what we're dealing with. Evade and escape maneuver. After all, the dog thrives in the dark.”

Atsushi doesn't like how that sounds. 

Kunikida stands to his feet. “For the meantime, drink your water and get some rest. We'll be back in a while to fill you in on the plan.”

“Where are you going?” Panic slowly creeps into Atsushi as he watches his seniors head to the door. The distance between them grows farther than it's supposed to. The room stretches. It feels too big. Too spacious. Too dark and too quiet. The air drops in temperature. His heart races. They're going to leave him here? Alone? He doesn't want to be alone. What if the dog comes? His energy's still low. He'll be defenseless. 

They can't leave him. 

Dazai regards him over his shoulder with a cheeky smirk. “Do you miss us already? I'm flattered, Atsushi-kun.”

“We're going to finalise our remaining paperwork.” Kunikida responds as he twists the knob open. “As for your tasks, much of it has been taken care of; you don't need to worry about them for the time being,”

Atsushi blinks. “B-By who?”

“By me.” Dazai points to himself. “So you have to treat me to—”

“Tanizaki insisted. You can thank him when you find the chance.” Kunikida opens the door wide and ushers Dazai with a kick to the shin. “Carry on, double time. Finish sorting out your cases, or else…”

“Or else what? You'll bind me to a chair?” Atsushi heard Dazai laugh. “And use your tie to—”

“GET LOST!” Kunikida's voice boomed, followed by Dazai's cackle resounding in the corridor. He turns to Atsushi, face and neck beet red. “You heard nothing. Got it, brat?”

Kunikida-san’s that kind of person. Atsushi nods, fascinated by how fast Kunikida's complexion returns to normal. 

“Do you need anything else before I go?” he asks. 

A small sound catches at the back of Atsushi's throat. His fingers nervously trace the blanket, hesitant about how to answer. He lets out a shaky breath.

“Will… Yosano-sensei be here… shortly?”

It took a few seconds for Kunikida to say, “She's out shopping. She'll be back in thirty minutes.”

Atsushi doesn't think he can last thirty minutes alone in this room. “Oh, then I'll go, too. I'll just nap on my desk.” He shifts under the sheets, grabbing the edges to pull it off of him despite his body’s protests. 

He doesn't notice Kunikida reclaiming his seat by his bedside. “You're one stubborn kid. Have I told you that?”

Atsushi veers to him. Past his glasses, his eyes are solemn, glued to his notebook as he writes on it. Atsushi knew: Kunikida saw something he shouldn’t have once more. But whatever that is, it's fine. “Yeah. Many times, actually.”

A smile ghosts Kunikida’s lips. “Rest, Atsushi,”

And he did. 

The plan is simple. Too simple for Atsushi's liking. As he walks a step behind Dazai and Kunikida, he vaguely wonders if these two know what they're doing. The night is falling deeper, fewer cars drive down the road, and the unfamiliar district is quiet, save for these two arguing for the last forty minutes. 

“I thought you said to turn right on this intersection?” Kunikida snarls as he points a finger on the map Dazai's holding. Why do they even have that? Shouldn't they have the whole city memorised? Dazai was an ex-mafia, for god's sake.

“And we did, the landmark Ranpo-san mentioned should be straight ahead.” Dazai reasons. 

“Ranpo-san said to turn left on the intersection where the landmark is on the right yOU BASTARD!” Kunikida comes to a halt and snatches the map from him for inspection. “Now we have to go back!”

Atsushi sighs. Even though there's only three of them on the street, he can't help but feel a bit embarrassed. The shops and buildings are closed, but there's no telling if they accidentally wake those who are already asleep in the neighbourhood. 

“Not to be rude or anything, but where are we going? Do you know where we're going?”

His seniors turned to him. Kunikida adjusts his glasses. “Of course. We just took a wrong turn,”

“We've been taking wrong turns ever since we left the agency, I'm afraid.” Atsushi notes. 

Dazai snorts. “Talk about not being rude, huh?”

Kunikida flicks the map, exasperated. “Having this rock-for-brains guide us was a terrible idea,”

“And you let me, anyway. So this whooole situation is. on. you.” Dazai pats Kunikida's head to emphasize his last words and hides behind his junior. 

Atsushi can almost see Kunikida's glasses crack. If possible, hot steam could've burst out of his ears. Here we go…  

“How dare you put the blame on me when you're out here acting like a child stuck in a grown man’s body! I trusted you enough to give us the correct directions because you were there when Ranpo-san gave the instructions! The whole situation is my fault? Do you hear yourself?! We got lost, chased by a cranky old man, and almost got hit by a truck all thanks to you! Now tell me, who's really in the wrong here—?!”

“Take your lovers’ quarrel to the bedroom! Some of us have work tomorrow!”

Kunikida spat at the middle-aged man leaning over a third-storey apartment window. “WE'RE NOT LOVERS DAMMIT!”

Dazai doubles over. 

“Please, tone it down.” Atsushi places a gentle hand on Kunikida's heaving shoulders. He sends Dazai an unimpressed glance. “You, too, stop laughing.”

“C-Can’t—!” A series of uncontrollable cackles rattle Dazai's entire frame. “K-Kunikida-kun—you're face—you should've seen it—!” He clutches his stomach to steady himself. 

That's going to take a while. With a huff, Atsushi decides to check the map for the first time. “Where should we…?”

His eye twitches at the sight of the blueprint. “Someone handed a kid a crayon and walked away, huh?”

The paper is a mess of red lines and aimless doodles. Atsushi squints at it. A poorly drawn image of agency members was thrown randomly in the mix. The President’s head is on an airplane. Yosano-sensei’s a demon. Dazai is an octopus on the far sea. A big heart stands out amongst everything. Pointing to a random building. 

Kunikida tilts the map closer. “Ranpo-san got a little bored during our meeting,”

“How could you disrespect art, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai finally regains his composure beside them. “I'm telling on you,”

“No, you won't.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Can we focus, please?” Kunikida groans. 

“Fine, fine.” Dazai plucks the paper from Kunikida's hands and starts retracing their steps. “Come on! I'll get it right this time,”

“Would you now?” Kunikida folds his arms over his chest as he trails behind with Atsushi. 

“Wanna bet?” Dazai challenged.

And that assured Atsushi he will. 

The rest of their trip went surprisingly smooth. Dazai and Kunikida still argue every now and then, unlike before, they do so in strained whispers. They probably do not have the energy, either. The night is at its deepest. The streets are empty. And the air has gotten a lot colder. Atsushi regrets he didn't bring a coat, so he's forced to embrace himself to trap his body heat.

Despite the tiger aiding in his swift recovery, he wants nothing more than to go home and end the day already. But he knows it's far too soon. Ranpo told them to visit an acquaintance of his around the outskirts of Yokohama. He claims this person is familiar with Atsushi's predicament, though the information comes with a price. At this point, Atsushi doesn't care if he doesn't get paid for six months. 

Besides, the dog is nowhere to be found. 

Atsushi gulps, raising a hand to the back of his neck. It was easy to forget about the impending threat when his seniors’ bickering can be heard three blocks down the road. Now that the silence stretches longer, he's struggling to ignore the feeling that someone's watching him. 

The hair on his nape tingles. 

“Are we there yet?” he quietly asks. 

Kunikida slows in his step to walk alongside Atsushi, providing a much-appreciated comfort. “Yes. Just one final turn on that corner.” He motions to the alleyway not far ahead.

Atsushi lets his hands fall and tries to relax his shoulders. They're here. This is it. Whoever they find in that dark space has the answers Atsushi needs. He should be glad, right? This will clear things— make everything easier.

But isn’t the timing a bit impractical? At any given moment, the dog could attack. Ranpo confirmed that its presence interferes with the abilities within its range, explaining the delay of Dazai’s ability on Atsushi and the behaviour of the tiger and Demon Snow on their encounter prior. By meeting the mystery person now, wouldn’t that put them in danger?

Atsushi steels his resolve. He wouldn’t let it happen.

They ventured into the poorly lit alley with Dazai at the front. A garbage dumpster sits on their right, overflowing with garbage bags. Up ahead, Atsushi spots a brick wall illuminated by an overhead light from a door adjacent to it. Was that where they were supposed to go? Atsushi scaled the building the door offers entrance to. It’s a typical office building. If this is the place, couldn’t they just use the front door?

Atsushi is pulled from his thoughts as he bumps into Dazai.

“We’re here.” Dazai announces, folding the map and slipping it into his coat’s pocket. Behind Atsushi, Kunikida asked. “Do you think this will work?”

Huh? Atsushi turns to Kunikida. “What will work—”

Atsushi’s words died in his throat. A cold shiver prickles his skin, pooling at his joints and at the tip of his fingers. Past Kunikida, on the other side of the street, he catches a pair of red eyes locked straight at him. His heart begins to hammer at his chest as he hears a low ominous growl.

He takes a wobbly step back. It’s here. 

The dog is here.

“D-Dazai-san—” Atsushi can’t find his voice. Alarm shoots up his spine as the beast slowly advances with its teeth bared. 

He will fight it. He must. He needs to fend it off before their companion shows up. But he just can’t . Inside him, the tiger is quiet, but her agitation resonates with Atsushi. Even after his request, she makes no move to course through his limbs and provide him additional strength and speed.

“I c-can’t transform.” Atsushi informs his seniors. A broken sound escapes him as the dog stalks across half of the road. “S-Something’s wrong—”

The dog is bigger, skinnier, and its claws are out and sharp. It’s darker than the night itself, and Atsushi fears it could blend into the shadows at will. Only to emerge to snap his neck in two. His hands instinctively move to his nape where the skin feels slightly hot. What should he do? He’s powerless, yet he wants to help. He needs to.

But looking at how pointed its teeth had gotten, he had half a mind to run away. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near the monster. He can’t imagine the pain he will experience once those canines clamp onto his nape. Slowly dragging him to his death. 

What is he thinking?

“Pull yourself together.” Dazai grabs him by his elbow and coaxes him to stand aside. “It won't hurt you. We won't let it,”

“I want to… help…” Atsushi trails off as he leans against the wall. Maybe he can contribute something even if he can't transform. But what? Close combat is not an option. And even if Kunikida somehow gives him a weapon, he's not entirely sure he can wield it to its full potential. What can he do?

His heart constricts at the sudden, yet old realisation.

Dazai pats his head. “Let us handle this, Atsushi-kun.”

His coat flutters as he faces the dog that is already at the mouth of the alley. 

“How long do you think it’ll take for me to work my magic?” Dazai asks Kunikida as they stand abreast. 

“Hopefully, not more than thirty seconds—” Kunikida readies his pen and notebook. “—and fewer than the payload I brought.”

The dog stopped in its tracks, ears flicking.

“...Did it just—”

Dazai cuts off his statement as the dog springs at them with a feral growl.

Kunikida procures a flashbang to disorient it at the last second. 

Atsushi huddles into the corner, closing his eyes and hoping he has put enough distance away from the fight. When he recovered, he found Dazai running towards the dog. 

He shot down the concrete, narrowly avoiding the dog’s jaw snapping, then leaped onto its back. The dog snarled, thrashing violently as Dazai yanked at its ears. They crashed into the dumpster, metal screeching, before slamming into the opposite wall, the bricks groaning upon impact. In a blur of fury, it reared up, using the momentum of its landing to hurl its hind legs backward, throwing Dazai violently off and flinging him towards Kunikida. 

“Dazai-san!”

Dazai falls hard to the ground with a heavy thud, just as Kunikida ducks and draws a tranquilizer gun, aiming it straight at the dog.

He shoots. 

The dog jumps high on the side of the building to avoid the shot, sharp claws digging into the wall. It lunges at Kunikida with its jaws wide open. Kunikida's reflexes kick in— he leaps backward, creating a gap between them, two shots firing out in calculated succession. But the dog is agile, relentless, undeterred by the darts cutting the air around it.

“More than thirty. How unfortunate,”

Behind Kunikida, Dazai got back to his feet. “Make this count, Kunikida-kun.”

He resumed his attack. He surged towards, his movements light and precise, eyes cold and focused. The dog barks and runs to meet him halfway, teeth bared. With only a meter left, Dazai halts and abruptly spins, raises his leg, and drives his heel into the dog’s jaw with brutal force. Atsushi caught the faint sound of something cracking. It lets out a small whimper and falters back. 

Kunikida seized the opening and delivered a hit. Right at its chest. The dog howled, in pain or in anger— Atsushi could not figure, neither was comforting, anyway. Its faint shadow dances across the ground as it sways side to side. To and fro. Taking a few experimental bites and shaking its head. Kunikida empties the remaining rounds. 

“At least we tried,” Dazai murmurs, gaze not leaving the staggering hound. 

“This is going to be complicated.” Kunikida reloads the gun. 

Dread crawled up onto Atsushi as he watched the dog steady itself on its feet. 

It didn't work. 

Kunikida fires three darts, all landing on the target. It flinched, shuddering with a wince, yet nothing happened. It's still standing, dark and livid, black eyes trailed on the three men. 

Bile lodges within Atsushi's throat. Heart racing in his chest. Dazai can't cancel the ability, the darts are ineffective. Then… 

The dog zeroes its attention on him.

Is he going to die tonight?

It won't hurt you. We won't let it. 

Dazai and Kunikida position themselves before Atsushi, blocking his view of the animal. 

“Kid, do you trust us?” Kunikida leans over his shoulder. “We'll pave a path. Run and don't look back,”

No. No no no—

“I'm not leaving without you!” Atsushi resists. The dog is different. He can't pinpoint why, but it is. He can sense the atmosphere growing thick with the stench of bloodlust and death. It clogs his nose. Pounds in his ears. Twists around his ribcage. 

What if it marks them, too? What if it's too strong, too fast— what if it goes for the kill? They're going to get hurt because of him— “We can think of something else—”

“There is no ‘something else’. We did what we're told— and our options aren't exactly broad as of the moment.” Dazai stretches out his hand, silently motioning for Atsushi to move back in response to the dog approaching. “So, it's either you leave, or none of us will.”

“But—”

“Listen, kid. You're the target; if it catches you, it's over.” 

Atsushi's blood ran cold when he felt the coarse wall kissing his back. 

He stares at Kunikida, dumbfounded, then at the beast. 

He can escape. He can tell Ranpo-san what they have gathered and plan a counterattack. He won't die tonight. But leaving his seniors behind seems wrong . 

Selfish. 

You are capable of fighting, and yet you attempt to escape. Just like in every other occasion. What a weakling you are.

For some reason, Akutagawa’s words float inside Atsushi’s head. He’s definitely not capable of fighting right now, so his escape is justifiable. He trusts Dazai and Kunikida enough to believe nothing too bad is going to happen to them. Still…

“On the count of three—” 

“I’m staying,” Atsushi declares. 

At that, Dazai smirks. “Of course, you will.”

Atsushi didn’t have the chance to process the cryptic reaction. The dog lurches high, claws directed towards them. Its pointed teeth flashing in the dim glow of the door light. Panicked, Atsushi waits for his seniors to take action— for Kunikida to write in his notebook and for Dazai to stretch his hand— yet both remain unmoving . Their stance is confident and expectant.

His limbs had lost the strength and courage to flee. Atsushi shudders in terror as he backs into the wall, lifting his arms to try and protect himself.

An anguished wail echoes in the night.

“It appears you remain as cunning as ever,” 

Slow, sharp footsteps click amidst the silence. Before them, a tall man with a top knot stands with a blank expression. He dons an all-black attire— kimono, hakama, and haori— each piece is cut and tailored at the right angles to exhibit a refined look, complementing his dignified posture. Strapped to his sash is a wakizashi, its polished hilt catching Atsushi's eye. He grips a sleek katana exuding wisps of black smoke.

He directs a heated glare at Atsushi's senior.

“Dazai Osamu.”

The four men walk down the road. But if Atsushi's honest, his mind might have lingered in the alley. His lips were slightly ajar, brows furrowed as he failed to make sense of their current situation. 

Shusaku Endo. That's the name of the man walking in front of him. Back straight. Shoulders leveled. Head held high. He's the man who will guide them to whoever they will meet. The same man Dazai wouldn't stop teasing, even after numerous threats of being diced like an onion and three attempts to unsheath his katana. 

“I appreciate the offer, but no. I'm set to commit double suicide with a lovely British woman after this whole shebang.” Dazai clarifies with a flick of his arm. 

Shusaku notes. “Your preferences have changed.”

“It didn't,” 

“So, you are still interested in—”

“ANYWAY!” Atsushi lightly jerked at Dazai's sudden energy. “I knew you wouldn't be able to resist, Shusaku-ojiisan.” 

Ojiisan? Atsushi frowns even more. At most, the man in black is the same age as Dazai, if not younger. In need of clarity, he spares Kunikida a glance. The man is busy scribbling on his notebook to provide an explanation.  

“Don't test your luck, Dazai. I only intervened because an innocent boy was involved.” Shusaku sighs. “Though you were already aware of that. You planned for it, after all.”

Dazai chuckles. “It's nice to see old age hasn't slowed you down.”

“Will it?”

Maybe it's the fatigue. Or adrenaline. Whatever hormones Atsushi can pin the blame on. He's not comprehending any of this. Shusaku Endo. The man who effortlessly drove the dog away in a single strike. Dazai knew he'd be nearby when the dog attacked. He came clean along with Kunikida the moment they exited the alley. The whole getting lost, arguing, even the “run and don’t look back” drama— it’s all part of the plan. Well, most of it, according to Dazai.

The plan to spur the Samurai of the Endless Abyss into stepping in.

Atsushi repeats the moniker in his head, it sounds familiar. When has he heard it? Where?

The sword glimmered in the darkness with utter precision, each strike cutting through the savage beasts. With fluid grace, the lone warrior moved like a veil of smoke under the moonlit sky. Despite his bones rattling in exhaustion, despite the ragged breaths he takes, his enemies fell on the ground without end. 

Veins pop across his hands as he reinforces his grip on his blade, mind long numb to the rough texture. As the night drags on, he can feel his body nearing its limit. However, the weight of his promise drives him on with fierce determination: Before the sun rises, the village will be free. 

Then it clicked.

“ You’re Shusaku Endo,” Atsushi finally registers. “Samurai of the Endless Abyss.”

Kunikida closes his notebook with a snap. “Weren’t you paying attention when he introduced himself?”

“No, it’s not that!” Atsushi flails his hands in defense. “It’s just— I read about him before!” He was mentioned in a good amount of historical literature in the orphanage’s library! 

Shusaku makes a noncommittal hum. “I see those books are yet to be burned,”

“Why would you? You were so awesome!” Atsushi beams. “I used to read your tales before going to sleep!”

“I'd rather you kept your thoughts to yourself.”

Atsushi cringes and falls a bit behind the group. Cold.

“Boo. You're not being all samurai-like right now.” Dazai leans forward and examines Shusaku with an indecipherable gaze. From where Atsushi’s positioned, he could tell that the warrior didn’t like what he heard. “Don’t you adhere to the code, hm? Shouldn’t you be more kind and patient and whatnot?”

Shusaku hisses. “I am kind enough to extend a helping hand in spite of our strained relations. I’m also patient enough not to rest my blade in your throat this instant .”

“How touching!”

“Dazai, cut it out.” Kunikida cautions. 

“Still…” Shusaku peers at Atsushi. “My apologies. That was rude of me,”

Atsushi’s reply is a bit late. “It’s… fine.”

A beat of silence passes over them.

“So, uh, you’re real.” Atsushi opted to watch how his clothes fold and crease as he walks— a galaxy with no stars. “I mean— I know you're real. I just assumed you were…”

“Dead?”

“Well, yeah. You're three hundred-ish years old.” Atsushi deadpans. “Who lives that long?”

“Vampires and werewolves.” Dazai glances at him. “A lot of things live longer than you think.”

Whether he's being serious or attempting to joke, Atsushi didn't guess. 

They proceed to take unfamiliar streets, round corners here and there, until they arrive in front of a—

“All Might All Night… Love Hotel?” Atsushi reads the neon sign of an ironically standard looking building. Tucked in a narrow passage behind a convenience store and a restaurant. He whispers to Kunikida. “Are we sure we're in the right place?”

Kunikida, who's also scrutinising the establishment, shrugs. “Seems to be.”

A loud moan came from an open window on the upper floors. Both Atsushi and Kunikida immediately found their respective shoes interesting. 

“Come along,”

The samurai makes a beeline to its entrance, ignoring the scandalous sound. Dazai is on his tail. Shy and red, Atsushi follows along with Kunikida.

Past the tinted glass door, Atsushi observes the lobby— matte gold lamps pinned on red walls in between suggestive paintings, black marble tiles, brown couches and coffee table. A stark difference from its appearance outside. 

“Welcome back, Shusaku-sama.” The lady behind the reception desk regards the group with a polite bow. Shusaku gives her a curt nod and marches straight to the elevator. The rest of the group trails after. 

“Perhaps the new location strikes you as odd, Dazai.” he says while they ascend. 

Dazai chuckles beside him. “Not at all. You're bound to spice things up once in a while.”

That definitely has a double meaning. Atsushi thinks.

Shusaku ignores his comment. “The antique shop was swept up in the chaos brought by the mafia.”

“So I've heard. How's Marcel?”

“Still furious. She's in the room with what she salvaged from the ruins. Until the reconstruction is finished, we are temporarily based here.” 

The elevator dings just as Kunikida lets out an obvious fake cough. 

“What's the matter, Kunikida-kun? Getting jealous?” Dazai teases with an innocent grin. They let Shusaku walk a few paces ahead of them. 

Kunikida crosses his arms over his chest. “ No. I'm infuriated that you're picking and choosing what information to tell us.” he seethes. A stark contrast to his indifferent demeanor he sported until now. “I let it slide due to the time crunch, but now you have to be transparent.— You told us you knew Shusaku Endo. Okay, I get that. It's not surprising that you know him. Who doesn't? But you didn't tell us you're close with him!”

“So you are jealous,”

Atsushi notices the veins bulging around Kunikida's neck and remarks. “Dazai-san, he's three seconds away from dragging your face across the tiles. Please choose your next words wisely,”

“Just tell us everything.”

Dazai grumbles. “ Fine. I've met Shusaku-ojiisan a couple of times. The first was before I joined the agency— it was a disaster, and he abhors me. By our second meeting, I was already a detective, and that encounter is probably the reason why he doesn't hate me enough to want me dead.”

His features sharpen. “He has a master revered as the Erudite. That's Ranpo-san's acquaintance. That's who we need to talk to. And as much as I'd like to reveal his ability, it'll ruin the fun. But you already know what it is, right, Kunikida-kun?”

Kunikida lets out a deep sigh. “Yes,”

An understanding passes over them, yet it does not reach Atsushi. Curious, he asks. “This Erudite, is it the one you call Marcel?”

“No, no. That's their first line of defense. Marcel Proust. Really cool icon. Her ability allows her to summon the original owners of the artifacts she has and makes them fight for her. You see, their base is her antique shop. Unfortunately, one of the mafia’s recent operations did some major damage and they had to relocate.” 

After the thorough explanation, Kunikida takes two fingers to draw circles on his temple. He groans. “You never fail to give me a headache,”

“Glad I have a streak going on. Unlucky for you, I'm not going to break it anytime soon.” Dazai pats Kunikida's back and catches up to Shusaku. The samurai stops by the door at the end of the hall. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

“Marcel. It is I,”

Few seconds passed; a sophisticated voice spoke up from the other side. “What's the password?”

“We didn't establish a password.” Shusaku points. 

The door opens. Revealing a smirking woman, Atsushi could only be described as ethereal . “I'm kidding, Monsieur Grincheux. Loosen up.”

Even in the plain white bathrobe provided by the hotel, she glows . Her olive skin radiates warmth— like watching the sun set on a white sand beach. Her black hair in a pixie cut frames her face— highlighting her cheekbones, jawline, and lashes. Green eyes latch onto Atsushi. A gentle trace of wrinkles rest around them, yet the edge of her look remains.

She's captivating. And intimidating. 

“Oh, you brought customers.” She utters, her smirk disappearing. “Really, Shu? At this hour?”

Shusaku brushes past her, seemingly unaffected by her discontent. “It's a special case,”

“How special?” Marcel steals a glance at him, then at the three detectives stranded at the door. She observes them one by one— first is Kunikida, then Atsushi, last is—

“Dazai Osamu.” She tries to hide her surprise as she articulates the name. 

The man smiles and presents his palm in front of her. “Mademoiselle Marcel Proust. It is a pleasure to finally meet you,”

“I couldn't say the same.” Despite her snarky reply, she offers a delicate hand. After giving her knuckles a peck, Dazai lets go. “May I ask why?”

Marcel gives way and gestures for them to come in. Atsushi moves after his seniors with a slight bow. “Your goons turned our plaza into a battlefield the other week. That monster you nurtured under your wing almost destroyed the whole place,”

Akutagawa? 

“With all due respect, I'm no longer involved with them. Not anymore.”

The room is spacious. Two queen-sized beds lie in the middle. With a red carpet and dimmed lights to set an intimate atmosphere. However, the scattered antiques on the floor rendered the effort futile. 

“I know. I just need someone to blame to make myself feel better,” Marcel laughs and closes the door. “So, what brings you here, detective ?”

Atsushi takes a closer look. There's several paintings, ceramic and porcelain, and glassware laid at the foot of the beds. On the far right are different textiles and books. To the left are swords, bow and arrows, shields, spears. Everything looks old. As if one touch would crumble it to dust. 

“We need to speak to the Erudite.” Dazai stands beside Atsushi. He squeaks when his senior clears the hair on his nape in a single swipe. “We believe he knows something about this,”

The air in the room goes still. Atsushi can feel multiple pairs of eyes pinned on him, rousing heat up to his cheeks.

Shusaku breaks the silence. “I suppose we don't have much time to lose,”

Atsushi doesn't like the underlying implication. 

The warrior strolls up to the bathroom and turns the knob open. Atsushi expected a standard looking interior, but no. 

It's just pure white. 

“You may experience the term ‘vertigo’ after the jump, but it will pass eventually. When you're inside, whatever you do, do not wander into the aisles. Do not take anything without permission. And mind your words. Or else.” Shusaku flicks the guard of his katana to show a bit of the blade. Only for him to push it back. 

Is it safe? It doesn't look safe. Was what Atsushi wanted to relay to Dazai when their gazes met. 

“The boy goes first.” 

“Me?” Atsushi reluctantly points to himself. 

“Move along.”

With a gulp, Atsushi creeps towards the vortex. His shins are prickling, heart a little unnerved in his chest. The more he stares, the more he senses as though it's sucking him in a spiral. It's dizzying. 

He braces himself. Beyond this lies the answer to the never-ending questions about his predicament. Why did the dog choose to mark him? What does he have that it wants? Who owns the dog? 

How can they be defeated? 

That's the bottomline. The reason why Atsushi stands in front of a bathroom door of pure white. He doesn't want to trouble the agency longer. He doesn't want to bother any more people. The least he could do for being alive is to not be a burden. But even that, he fails to do so. 

And with his eyes closed, mind made, Atsushi jumps.

Chapter Text

The wave of nausea hit Atsushi like a brick to the forehead as he stumbled, limp like a cloth in a washing machine. His body swayed uncontrollably— as if he's being pulled in different directions. His stomach turned, but he kept his jaw screwed shut, fighting the strong urge to vomit. The whole situation felt both endless and fleeting. And by the time Atsushi registers what's happening, he's falling face first on the cold hard floor. Left cheek stinging in pain. 

“Ow…”

His whole being is disoriented, head spinning, and full strength yet to return to his limbs. He might’ve passed out at that moment if not for the mild taps on his unscathed cheek. 

“ Che, are you okay? Still alive? Yoohoo~”

Groaning, Atsushi musters whatever he can to rise to his elbows. What greets him is a pair of bare feet, and as he travels upwards, baggy sweatpants, oversized hoodie, leading to—

Atsushi's lost for words. 

“Woah,” he absentmindedly murmurs. 

The man, appearing to be around his age, crouches. “Sorry, what was that? Didn't quite hear ya,”

“Huh?”

The man chuckles and offers his hands in assistance. Atsushi takes them. “You're funny. You actually jumped, didn't ya? I told Endo multiple times not to call it ‘the jump’ because some people would take it literally. But hey, you're cool! You're not actually hurt, are ya?”

Standing up close, Atsushi can fully digest the sight. Untamed, curly white tresses poke out from his head and cascade down his shoulders— a chaotic halo that matches his lively energy. His fair skin is dotted with freckles, spanning across his hollow cheeks and straight nose. His brown eyes, warm and deep, have Atsushi imagining chocolates and everything sweet. 

“Mesmerised by my looks, I see. Don't worry, you're not the first one.” He says in a thick Spanish accent with a wide grin. 

Atsushi's nerves panicked. “Sorry!” In a flash of embarrassment, he retracts his hold and bows, earning another laugh from the guy. 

“What are you sorry for? It's not like you committed a crime. C’mon, lighten up.” He pats Atsushi's shoulder like an old friend would. “What's your name?”

“Nakajima… Atsu…shi…” his answer trails off. 

The guy smiles. “Atsushi-kun, I'm not supposed to leave my spot, but I wanted to make sure ya didn't bust a tooth or somethin’. So, let's keep this whole—” he rotates his wrist to emphasize what he meant, “—between us, claro? Endo can’t know.”

Without further explanation, the man runs across the hardwood, away from him. Only then did Atsushi manage to appreciate his surroundings. 

Oh, wow. 

“My god,” Eventually, he hears Kunikida breathe out behind him, along with Dazai’s low whistle. Both reactions are understandable. 

The place— the library is enchanting. 

Mouth agape and eyes entranced, Atsushi cranes his neck to marvel at the towering archways that lined the huge hall, its height as though crafted for giants. Intricate carvings adorn the old wood— every line, curve, and spiral tells a story Atsushi is yet to learn. The golden glow of light spilling from above bathes the arches in a warm, almost heavenly aura. Rows upon rows of shelves pour on each side, stretching to the end of the hall. Each shelf brims with books of every imaginable size, color, and age, their spines encrusted with titles in languages both familiar and unknown. Scrolls both old and new are in heaps scattered on the floor here and there. And the wall behind him, where the door once was, is now another endless array of tomes, as if the library itself is alive, wrapping them in its infinite embrace.

Atsushi meets Kunikida's gaze. 

“It's—”

“—fascinating? I'm with you on that.” his senior finishes his statement. A small smile ghosting his lips. 

Atsushi swallows a yelp when Dazai nudges him forward. “Come on, you bookworms. We're not here to check out fantasy novels and guides on how to not be a stick up the ass.”

“Maybe we can find a book that teaches you how to not be a piece of shit after we're done.” Kunikida fires back. Nevertheless, the three of them pass through the arches. Their footsteps echoing in the main hall. 

“Is that the way you speak to one another all the time?” Shusaku asks from behind them, his dark eyes glinting with interest. 

Dazai peers from his shoulder. “Pretty much. Kunikida-kun gets off on this—”

“I do not. And I'll shove your face on the shelves if you insist.” came Kunikida's aggravated reply. 

“See? Sadist,”

After passing through the arches, the group reaches the end of the hall— a large hexagonal gallery with a large pillar in the middle that overlooks the whole area. Atop stands a man with a noble poise— the Erudite, Atsushi reckons. The light shining above makes it challenging to discern his face properly, but Atsushi's certain it's the guy from earlier. Who's more serious and more… intimidating. 

Cutting shadows drape over the fabric of his clothes. His jaw remained sharp and his chin held high. With Atsushi on the ground and him twenty feet above, the glaring contrast of their position settles in his bones. 

“Nakajima Atsushi,”

His whole body shivered at the grave voice that thundered in his ears. A complete opposite of his vibrant tone before. On instinct, he slowly shuffles back. Finding comfort in having his seniors in front of him. His heart starts to beat harder. Atsushi's certain that he's the same guy! And yet… 

And yet he's so different. It's like a switch has been flipped, and now an entirely different presence emanates from him. The warmth he once carried is gone, replaced by a chilling sense of authority and dominance. 

It struck Atsushi.

It’s the same man, but a different side of him— a side that looks down on them with a heavy gaze, as if he’s the one who calls the shots. Someone who commands respect, who carries weight, as though he has the power to manipulate their destinies without a second thought.

To manipulate Atsushi’s destiny… without a second thought.

Erudite… What does it mean?

“Kunikida Doppo. Dazai Osamu.” The man recites their names as though he'd known them for as long as he'd lived. “For what reason do you stand before me?”

A lone footstep resonates in the grand room. Dazai beholds the man for a long moment, before kneeling on one foot. Kunikida follows, then Atsushi. “Great Erudite, we approach you with reverence, in pursuit of knowledge, as others have before us. Yet, know that it is not greed or pride that led us here.”

Atsushi has no idea how long they knelt on the floor with their heads bowed. He's too anxious to move. Afraid that one mistake would cost them something far greater than their own lives. 

“Stand,”

They got to their feet. The man spoke. “What knowledge do you seek?”

It was Kunikida's turn to respond. “If you allow, we wish to learn the existence of a large black hound, known to brand its victims upon the nape and hunt them to death,”

Gently, he proceeds to guide Atsushi to show the proof. With Atsushi's back on them, he could only trace his shadow on the floor, wondering what his nape appeared to the man. “The hound attacked this morning, marking Atsushi-kun, and struck again as we made our way here. We fear that, should this persist, it will place him in grave danger,”

A pregnant pause hangs over them. 

“Very well. If that is what you seek, then so shall it be,”

Atsushi hears a soft flap. Then another. Then some more. Until he can feel the minute disturbance in the air around them. 

His eyes grew round when a shadow rose above his own, darkening the floor as it loomed larger. Distinct wings, massive and powerful, flutters with elegance as the silhouette moves. Unable to resist his curiosity, he looks up.

Once again, he found himself in awe.

A majestic owl soars gracefully above them. Its feathers, pure white as freshly fallen snow, shimmering with an almost mystical glow of a frozen lake under the moonlight. They appear as delicate as frost, yet as sharp as an icicle. Its deep blue eyes peer down upon them. 

“Follow me,” The Erudite glides through a connecting hall on the other side of the room at a gentle pace, mindful of the group trailing behind him on the ground. 

Atsushi, with his feet on autopilot, couldn’t tear his gaze away from the magnificent creature. While therianthropic abilities are uncommon, Atsushi’s aware there’s people out there who have the same ability as he has. But never in his life did he expect to meet someone so beautiful. 

“Eek!”

Atsushi’s skin nearly crawled off his body when he suddenly saw his own terrified eyes on the surface of a very very sharp blade. His joints locked in place, goosebumps rushing from his head down to his toes.

“Stop staring.” Shusaku scolds, sheathing his katana with unnecessary force. “It’s rude to stare.”

“S-Sorry.” Atsushi mumbles and diverts his focus to the rows of books on his left and right. His mind reels at the absurdity of a giant library being inside a hotel bathroom. “What is this place?”

“The young one appears to have no prior knowledge about who I am.” The Erudite mentions. “Nor my capabilities,”

Heat gathers around Atsushi’s cheeks. “I-I apologise, your highness.”

“Your highness?” The Erudite parrots with an amused lilt. “I hold no title of royalty, silly boy.”

If Atsushi can turn into a puddle and disappear on the floor, he would have done so. Shusaku lets out a faint snort beside him.

“I am regarded as the Erudite. A guide to those in pursuit of enlightenment, a judge of those worthy to receive it, and the guardian of this sacred library: the Library of Babel.”

The owl descends with effortless elegance, its wings folding neatly as it lands in the middle of yet another gallery. Instead of a pillar in the middle, a winding staircase shoots towards the endless ceiling. The owl’s feathers rustle softly as its talons scrape the hardwood, its sharp eyes lock onto the following corridor. Up near, its height made the rest seem smaller. An unspoken energy and age-old understanding electrify the air surrounding it.

“Should your intent remain genuine, this path will deliver you to the answers you seek.” He extends a wing towards the aisle. “However, only one can enter,”

The burden of the condition hangs like a dark cloud above them, its presence weighing down on their shoulders. Bit by bit. Gauging who will break first. Atsushi twiddles the longer end of his bangs staring at the seemingly endless passage. If the only way is forward, he would have no problem proceeding by himself; should he end up lost, he could retrace his steps back to the entrance. But the fact that the library is practically limitless and probably contains all the knowledge both discovered and undiscovered by humanity rattles Atsushi’s nerves. He doubts the course would be everything but straightforward and easy.

“I’ll do it.” Kunikida steps forward. “I understand the mental fortitude needed to journey through the library unassisted, and I am confident in my own resolve.”

Dazai pulls him back by his wrist. “Don’t,”

Both Atsushi and Kunikida studied Dazai’s veiled expression. “Just. Don’t.”

“Shall you carry out this task instead, Dazai Osamu?” The Erudite asks, eyes twinkling.

Dazai chuckles lightly, still he kept his grip around his partner. Urging him to withdraw. Kunikida obliges. “I’m afraid it’s something I cannot do,”

“Your self-awareness is a rare gift; such is not common among others,” The Erudite comments. “Hence, thousands who endeavor never find their way back.”

Huh? Atsushi’s heart begins to hammer in his chest. They remain inside the library? Forever? He looks at the Erudite. “I-I thought you guide people to, uh, enlightenment?”

If countless others, who are definitely stronger and wiser than Atsushi, tried and failed, what chance does he have? Those who came before him— notable scholars, better fighters, tacticians, and inventors across history— driven by high ambitions and unwavering courage, have vanished into these shelves, their fates sealed by the trials that lay beyond. What more can be expected of one such as Atsushi? 

“I provide direction, young one, but their success is shaped by their own will and strength.”

He’s not a scholar. Nor a tactician. He doesn’t have the mind of an inventor nor have the strength that could par the best fighters across the country. He doesn’t have the brave heart like the protagonists he reads in novels. His only ambition— the only reason why he’s inside this library is that he wants to live. He doesn’t want to die.

Would that be enough?

The Erudite leans towards the group. “You need not to choose who may forge ahead,”

He glances at Atsushi. “As told, only one can enter.”

Will he be enough?

A warm hand rests on Atsushi's shoulder. “Kid, do you think you can do it?”

“I… don't know.” Shame burns on Atsushi's tongue as he opts to stare at his feet. “You heard it yourself, Kunikida-san. Thousands of people tried and never returned. They're probably smarter, stronger, and overall better than I am… and they still…”

Kunikida bends slightly to get within Atsushi's view. His glasses flicker. “It's a yes or no question. And you hesitated,”

Atsushi didn't answer. 

“You think you can, but decided against it,” Kunikida pulled the words out of his mouth. 

Atsushi shrinks in on himself. He hates this feeling. He's accepted long ago that he has a fixed place among the things in the world. Never too strong. Never too weak. Never too smart. Never too dumb. 

Average. 

“Well, for what it's worth.” Kunikida pats him twice. “I think you'll do just fine. Right, Dazai?”

“What if they're just power hungry idiots?”

Atsushi lifts his gaze at Dazai. His senior has both hands in his coat’s pocket, staring intently at him. “What if they're too stubborn to follow instructions? What if the information they want is too dangerous to be discovered? What if they decided not to return at all? Have you ever thought of that?”

He blinks. Mind processing the new perspective.

Dazai steps closer. “It doesn't matter if they're smarter, or stronger, or whatever comparative adjectives you want to use to put yourself down. Your reason for being here is different from theirs. You are different from them. So don't assume you're going to do worse because, believe me, a lot of people stoop lower. In more spectacular ways than one.”

One. Two. Three. Five seconds pass. 

“Woah,” Atsushi breathes after digesting Dazai's mini-speech. “You sounded like an actual senior back there. Amazing.”

Dazai exhales and abruptly turns his back on him. “That's it. I'm out of here,”

He only managed to get a couple strides away when Kunikida blocked him with a hand on his chest, smiling. “There's no exit. Where are you even trying to go?”

“Hopefully, there's a book around here that can teach me how to teleport to a place where I'm respected.” Despite his indignant tone, Dazai settles beside Kunikida. 

Shusaku declares with a smirk. “Apologies, we do not possess that kind of book in this library,”

Atsushi laughs. His doubts and fears melt into reassurance as he observes his seniors. Dazai is sticking his tongue out at Shusaku, while Kunikida shoves a hand on his face to make him stop. 

That's right. They'll be waiting for him. They have enough faith in him that they're certain he'll return. 

He meets the Erudite’s gaze with newfound determination. “I'm ready.”

The atmosphere shifts. The warm, easygoing energy that had previously hung in the air dissipated, replaced by thick tension that settled over the room.

“Before you go forth, let this serve as a warning.” The Erudite says. Atsushi nods, taking position in the middle of the corridor. 

“The library shall subject you to a trial to determine whether you are truly worthy. And so, the further you venture, the more your mind may deceive you. What form these tricks shall take, I cannot tell, but let not the knowledge you seek be forgotten.”

Atsushi bows at him. “Thank you,” 

He faces his seniors for the last time. He wonders how long until he can see them again. 

“You got this, kid.”

“Make it quick, I'm craving ramen for a midnight snack.”

With a huff, Atsushi takes the first step. Then the next. Then the next. Falling into a well-paced cadence. 

To find your path, listen close,

They will plead, command, and oppose.

Where shadows rise and silence falls,

Follow the whisper that softly calls.

“Did you say something—?”

The moment Atsushi turns around, he's met with an empty aisle that stretches endlessly.

Did he already walk that far? And the Erudite recited a poem of some sort… 

“To find your path, listen close…” he mumbles. “Follow the whisper that softly calls.”

Atsushi scales the loft shelves on either side of him. The poem is a clue. A hint on how he will be able to complete this journey. He makes a mental note of the verse, braving himself for whatever awaits him ahead. 

Walking in a giant library that holds all of the world's secrets is a dream come true for a young Atsushi. Back at the orphanage, the headmaster rarely allowed him to visit theirs. “Reading is a privilege,” he would spat at Atsushi every time he asked. “What makes you think you're deserving?”

Young Atsushi would then take on the most difficult tasks to appease him. Scrubbing the floors. Washing the windows. Picking the weeds around the yard by his hand. He did all of those alone. And by the end of the day, it still boils down whether the headmaster is in a good mood. If he's not, his skin would tend to a couple dark bruises for the following days. If he is, Atsushi can pick a book in the library, one different from the generic textbooks given to every orphan, and read for an hour. 

An hour. He can forget everything for an hour and delve into fantasy lands. With elemental dragons, benevolent heroes, and mystical magic. While magic doesn't differ much from the abilities existing in the current society, young Atsushi wished he had cool magic so he could be useful. Important. 

As time passed, an hour wasn't enough. Young Atsushi spent nights laying on the thin mattress on the floor, mind awake— wondering what happened next. Eventually, he worked up the courage to sneak into the library during lunch hour, when the librarian would leave to get something to eat. Sure, he'll miss a meal, but nobody cared enough to ensure he ate, anyway. He would pick a book, hide behind the shelves, and squeeze in roughly an hour of reading. 

When he gained a bit of height, he became bold. Young Atsushi made use of the fact that their sleeping quarters lie atop of the library. And so, when he's certain all of his roommates were asleep, he jumps out of the window, to the large pipe screwed on the column of the building, and makes his way down to the library, where he left a window unlocked. The stunt is nowhere near easy, especially if you have bony limbs and short stamina, paired with healing wounds and bruises across your torso. But young Atsushi persevered. 

Those were the instances wherein he decided to read every book on the shelves, for he fears he won't have the chance to read them in the future. 

And the future came. Atsushi expected his banishment from the orphanage, hence it wasn’t as devastating. Maybe the headmaster found out about his activities during the night, was what he thought. But not once did he mention something about it, even as he closes the gates on Atsushi. Monster. Useless. Burden. Those were the headmaster’s final words to him. 

For a moment back there, Atsushi figured a cool magic wouldn't have made any difference. 

Now, as Atsushi runs his fingers across the shelves, his appreciation towards the Library of Babel swelled once more. Perhaps if he’s a few years younger, who knows less, and a little more hopeful, he would stay inside forever. In here, no one would call him useless. No one would hit him with a piping hot metal rod. No one would see him as bad luck.

Must be nice.

He puffs a quick breath. He doesn’t know why he’s being pensive out of the blue. Probably it’s because he’s been walking for a long while. Alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.

He fleets his gaze towards the spines of the books he passes by. They’re written in another language. With characters Atsushi can’t read. He wonders what they’re about. Surely he can find a textbook or something to use to study the language.

Stopping in his tracks, Atsushi surveys the shelves in earnest. He randomly pulls out a book and opens its pages.

It’s about fungi. Delicate illustrations of mushrooms were scattered over the paper. Fascinated, Atsushi checks the front cover. Age-old leather. He wonders how long it has been here. He flips through the faded pages before putting it back and drawing out another one.

Every topic under the sun is here. While Atsushi couldn’t decipher the texts, he settles on admiring the visuals. And after he’s finished, he would place it back and wander for a bit in search of a new book to check.

This library is amazing! Atsushi continues his exploration, spotting thick volumes dedicated to the history of corn, rice, and wheat. There’s even a book about companion planting! These would help Kenji-kun a lot—

Kenji-kun?

Atsushi jerks to his right, eyes wary. What greets him is a wide aisle of shelves that extends forever. To his left is just the same. Nothing changed. 

Nothing changed. Realisation dawned on him like a bucket of cold ice pouring down his head. 

Atsushi forgot where he’s from and where he’s supposed to go.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

He carefully returns the book and recalls what he’s done for the past, what, fifteen minutes? Thirty? Had he been browsing the shelves for an hour? Was it longer than that? 

Dazai-san. Kunikida-san.

“Okay,” Atsushi shakily mutters to himself, gripping the front of his button-up to calm his racing heart. “This is fine, just pick one direction and stick to it,”

It sounds easy. A two-step plan should be easy in the first place. Pick one direction. His only choices are left and right. The problem is he can't choose! 

Frustrated, Atsushi removes a shoe and tosses it in the air. If it stays upright, he’ll go right. If it doesn’t, he’ll go left.

Plop! 

Left it is. 

Heavy thumping of footsteps echo in the vast place as Atsushi marches forward. Hands fisted tightly. Jaw gritted. 

He mentally scolds himself for letting his concentration slip. The Erudite gave him a warning. His mind is bound to play tricks on him to keep him from finding what he's looking for. To trap him in this library forever. Why didn't he notice he's already being manipulated?

A sharp exhale escapes his nostrils. Mental fortitude. If he wants to get this done, he needs to stop being distracted. He's here because he wants to live. Not because he's finding a different way to die other than being bitten in the neck by a hellhound. 

Atsushi slows his pace when he seemingly arrives in another. hexagonal gallery, just like the one before. On the far side, the aisle continues. 

Another problem presents itself. How will Atsushi know where to look? Standing by the staircase, he scans the area. 

Should he check every book in the gallery? That's a huge waste of time. Who knows how time works here in comparison to the main hall. In comparison to the outside world. All Atsushi can tell is he's been here for too long. 

To find your path, listen close,

They will plead, command, and oppose.

Where shadows rise and silence falls,

Follow the whisper that softly calls.

Atsushi places his hands on his hip and huffs. What’s that supposed to mean? 

“Atsushi.”

His senses heightened at the call of his name. The voice. It belongs to… 

But he's alone, isn't he? 

No, no. He shakes his head. His mind is messing with him again. He's not here. And he would never call Atsushi by his name. With that gentle tone and fondness. It's always shouting. Reeking of venom and scorn. Raw from anger. 

But the way he said it sounded so natural. Genuine. It's unbelievable; there's no universe where he would sound like that. 

It came from behind, and Atsushi has no plans on turning around. He ventures into the next aisle, convincing himself that the rapid beating of his heart is out of fear.

“You want to stay,”

At the next gallery, Atsushi heard a voice that belonged to him before. Squeaky, tiny, and wavering. Atsushi lets out a humorless chuckle, eyes raking over the shelves. Towards the golden light above cloaking the room in a surreal radiance. The library is beautiful— that cannot be disputed. Stepping foot in here is a one-in-a-lifetime experience for Atsushi. But considering his current situation, he's quietly relieved. It's making him schizophrenic. 

“Why can't we stay? The world is cruel to us,”

Atsushi moves to the following vestibule.

From then on, new voices resound in his ears as he passes through gallery after gallery. The headmaster. Ranpo-san. Yosano-sensei. The President. They’re giving him conflicting directions. Give up. Stop here. Check that book over there. Go down. Go up. I need that scroll, can you get it for me? And when Atsushi continued to ignore them, they grew impatient, mad. Their words cut sharper, tone fuming, and voice loud.

“Why can’t you do us all a favor and rot in here?!”

“I’m helping you get what you want! Why don’t you listen to me, Atsushi-kun?”

“Tsk, seriously? I patched you more times than I could count and this is how you repay me? You’re selfish! Ungrateful brat!”

“This is insubordination, young lad.”

“I want to stay,”

Atsushi clasps his palms to his ears, feet taking longer, faster strides. He knows they're illusions, mere tricks of the mind— of the library. Yet, no matter how many times he reminds himself, a part of him can’t help but listen. Those are the voices of the people he knows. The fact that they say such things at him stirs something deep within his core, making his heart race, his breath catch. 

“They’re not real,” his own voice sounded far. “They’re not real.”

He reaches another gallery. He turns in place. It looks the same as the ones before. The same scent of aged paper fills the air, the same winding staircase, the same high shelves barring him in, the same light stinging on his skin. Dread blooms at the pit of his stomach. Everything is the same. The same rows of books, the same vestibules, the same oppressive stillness. The fear starts to creep in, a gnawing sensation deep in his chest. Is he walking in circles?

His steps feel heavier now, like the weight of his own doubt dragging him down. No matter how far he walks, no matter how many galleries he passes through, he can’t escape the feeling that he's only moving in place. Has he made any progress at all, or is he just running after nothing? The thought claws at him, and for the first time, he wonders if he’ll ever see anything different.

Another gallery. Atsushi’s knees buckle at the voices bursting in his eardrums. He might’ve screamed, he’s not sure. He closes his eyes as his back bows to the floor, head thumping. Stop talking! Stop it!

“You finally get it, don’t you? You’ll never be able to leave. You’ll die here. The world would have one less useless failure like you.”

“You don’t want my help at all, well, suit yourself. You’re not important to the agency, anyway.”

“This is what you get for being selfish. You deserve this,”

“The agency is disappointed in you, Atsushi. Perhaps it’s best if you don’t return.”

“No! That’s not true!” Atsushi grits his teeth, pushing his palms to his ears deeper. “None of those are true!”

A litany of laughs swirls around him.

“Not true? Look at yourself. You look pathetic.”

“It is true, Atsushi-kun. I’m never wrong,”

“Deny all you want, but it would not change anything. All you think about is yourself. After all we’ve done for you.”

“It’s best if you stay away.”

“Let me stay.”

“Stop it!”

“Kid.”

Atsushi’s eyes shot open, wild and jumpy on the hard floor. “K-Kunikida-san?”

No. No. It’s not real. It’s not him. He’s not here— he can’t be here— why—

“You disappoint us,”

A premature tear rolls down his eye.

The voices stopped, leaving Atsushi in his own silence. Slowly, he uncovers his ears, body falling to the side on the floor. A tear crosses the bridge of his nose.

What is he doing here? 

He sniffs, vision blurry, his heart heavy. He lets the tears fall. 

He’s supposed to be looking for something— he has a task to fulfill, the reason he entered this maze of endless shelves of books. But with each passing second, that purpose becomes harder to remember, as if the very idea of it is slipping through the edges of his mind. He needs to keep searching, but his body is exhausted. The soles of his feet are sore— like he’s been walking for ages, with no sense of time, no clue how much further there is to go. The thought of continuing feels almost impossible now. What’s the point? What if he never finds it? What if the book he seeks doesn't even exist, and he's just chasing after a dream that will never come true?

The idea of leaving— of escaping this place— burns in the back of his eyes as he blinks the tears away. The thought of stepping out into the main hall, being with his seniors again, is so alluring that for a brief moment, he almost believes it's possible. But then, like every other time before, he remembers: he can't leave. Not until he finishes what was started. 

But what if he can’t?

What if he remains trapped in this place until the end of time? Would his seniors come for him? Will they look for him? Or would they grow tired of waiting and just leave him here? He’s not of great importance to the agency, anyway. He’s not smart like Kunikida and Ranpo, not as experienced as Dazai. His ability isn’t as helpful as Kenji, Tanizaki, nor Yosano-sensei’s. It’s as if he’s another nuisance. An inconvenience. 

Maybe he is. Maybe it’s best if he should just rot here. 

Atsushi laid there, drowning in his own despair, in his own frustration, until his chest begs for air, until his mind pulls him deeper into a pit of darkness he can’t haul himself out of.

A voice called him once more.

“Atsushi,”

“G-Get lost, Akuta—gawa.” His voice is hoarse, body curling in on himself. The last thing he wants is to hear the attack dog tell him he's weak. Or an elaborate, gut-punching version of that. 

“Atsushi,”

“Leave me a— alone. You're n-not real.” Atsushi sniffs, catching his breath. He can’t breathe.

“Atsushi,”

Atsushi rolls to his stomach, using his arm to shield his eyes from the light. “Stop calling me that. It— it sounds weird and it's— f-freaking me out.” 

Anger bubbles within him as he balls his fist. His hiccups grow erratic. “I don’t e-even know why I’m— why are you here? Y-You hate me. You r-ripped my—leg off. S-Stabbed me—so many—t-times. A-And called me weak and pathetic. Why— ”

Sobs shook his frame. In a distant corner of his thoughts, he knows this is his own doing. His mind provided impressions for the library to twist, intensify, and deliver back to Atsushi in ways he’d never imagined. In ways he can’t endure. Accept. 

But of all people, why him? Why Akutagawa? Atsushi doesn’t understand. Ranpo-san. Yosano-sensei. The President. Kunikida-san. They called him ungrateful, insignificant, selfish. A disappointment. Only Akutagawa didn’t. He never called him names. He never ordered him what to do. His voice is warm and gentle. Patiently waiting for Atsushi to acknowledge him.

Why?

“Jinko.”

“That's worse .” Atsushi brought his hands to his face, feeling his cheeks reddening in a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. Why would his mind conjure an illusion like this? It’s the library’s. All of this is the library’s fault!

Veering to his other side, Atsushi wipes the remaining tears while calming himself. The voice will eventually leave him. It’s not real. Just ignore it.

“Atsushi,” 

Ignore it.

“At..shu..shii…”

Ignore.

“The one and only time I get to have you all to myself and you’re ignoring me.”

“What the heck?”

The reaction is spontaneous. Akutagawa is pouting? In what universe would Akutagawa sound like that— would say something like that?

“Please, talk to me.”

Akutagawa would die a hundred times before saying please. Tentatively, Atsushi sits up in hopes to unclog his nose, his tears beginning to thin out. The whole situation is giving him a whiplash.

“Are you alright?”

“N-No.” Atsushi cranes his chin upwards, soaking up the light. “I’m t-talking to an— out-of-character i-illusion of Akutagawa. F’course I’m not okay.”

“You’ve been strong. I admire you for that,”

“Thanks. I’m—t-three minutes away from going crazy. Just a heads up.” Atsushi bows his head. His predicament settles with renewed hopelessness. “Please, leave me alone. I d-don’t know what I’m going to do— if I really lose it,”

“I will. But first, stand up, Atsushi.”

Atsushi snorts. “What’s t-the point? I bet you— saw me running circles in h- ere for the p-past hours— days— I don’t know. Please, just go .”

“Not until you stand,”

“L-Leave me alone, please. I-I can’t—” His heart closes in on itself. “I can’t do it,”

“Why?”

A shaky exhale. “I just… can’t.”

Seconds passed, perhaps minutes— Atsushi couldn't track, but he's certain the silence stretches long. 

“I’ll leave you be. But first, look at me, Atsushi,”

Atsushi didn't budge. 

“Please?”

Why does he sound so— Atsushi couldn't describe it! Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. Attack dog of the Port Mafia. Is pleading? In a soft voice, no less. Even if it's not real, it's endearing to hear him talk like that. 

What? 

Atsushi grits his teeth to brush off the heat rising in his cheeks. What was he thinking? Alright, focus. He has nothing left to lose. So it's fine if he does it, right?

Atsushi looks. 

By the mouth of the next vestibule, a man stands in an all black attire, wearing a signature white jabot. 

“Akutagawa?” 

It’s not Akutagawa , Atsushi reminds himself, desperately clinging to reality. Akutagawa would never look at him like that. The heated, disparaging glare, the downturn of his mouth in disgust—those are what Atsushi’s familiar with. This is something else entirely. It’s an expression that doesn’t belong to the Akutagawa he’s known.

Still, he can’t help but feel a sliver of comfort. There’s something deeply human about the way this person looks at him, something that makes his chest tighten in an indescribable way. It’s almost reassuring. It shouldn’t be possible. It doesn’t even make sense. Akutagawa— his enemy, his rival— shouldn’t be looking at him with anything other than disdain or contempt.

Yet here he is, standing before Atsushi with a kind gaze and a warm smile. Is this a hallucination? The thought slips through his mind, unbidden. 

It is. The answer is bitter at the back of his tongue. But he had gone too far to care, anyway.

“Come with me,”

The being walks into the aisle. And for the first time, Atsushi’s heart is at ease.

Follow the whisper that softly calls.

He trails after ‘Akutagawa’ to the following gallery, where he finds him pulling a small book out of the shelves. Just enough to rest at the edge. He meets Akutagawa’s gaze. Is it…?

“You did well,”

Atsushi blinked, and then the man was gone, as if he was never there at all. Tentatively, he draws near and plucks out the book.

The book is ancient, its leather cover worn and cracked with age. Its once-vibrant color has faded, now a muted shade of brown, the surface creased and softened by time. Its pages are a shade of yellow, edges are frayed, and a faint musty scent rises from within.

Atsushi opens to the title page.

The Black Hound of Death

Sounds about right. Atsushi closes the book, tucks it under his arm, and runs. 

His feet thudded against the floor in a relentless, almost desperate rhythm. Everything around him blurs— aisles of books, the hexagonal galleries— all distort into streaks of indistinct color in his periphery. His pulse hammers in his ears, louder than the sound of his shoes striking the hardwood. Each stride sends jolts of pain shooting up his legs, his muscles begging for rest, but he doesn’t falter. His breath comes in ragged gasps, sharp and shallow. The bitter taste of exhaustion lingers in his mouth, but he swallows it down. Sweat drips down his temple, his neck, yet he doesn’t stop to wipe it away. His chest heaves, lungs burning, but he doesn’t let it slow him. 

He did it. He actually found the book. The answers. He'll see his seniors again. He won't be trapped in this library forever. 

He'll live. 

“Atsushi-kun!”

At the far end of the corridor, Atsushi can see four figures waiting for his return. He smiles to the point of his cheeks hurting. Forming tears glaze his vision. 

“Dazai-san!”

They're right there. Real. Not some illusion his mind conjured. Atsushi runs faster, putting all his energy to close the gap already. His lungs feel like it's bound to collapse, legs threatening to fall off his torso. But he pressed on. 

Because he did it. He made it. 

The world tilts as he takes a dive to cover the last few feet, the book snugged in his chest. 

Mouth open and panting, Atsushi is momentarily detached from his surroundings. He lays limp on the floor, feeling hot with his heart pounding against his ribcage. Darkness creeps into the edges of his vision, but he refuses to pass out. Multiple hands assisted him into standing up. And along the way, the book was taken from his grasp. Someone snakes a hand around his waist and slings his arm across their shoulder.

“Kid,”

Atsushi registers Kunikida's voice close to his ear. Glancing to his side, Atsushi realizes he's the one bearing his weight. 

“Kuni…kida…san…” he tries to speak. “I-I… did… it…”

Kunikida adjusts his hold on Atsushi. Despite being overexerted, Atsushi registers how he kept his touch firm. Kunikida sighs. “I'm relieved,”

Huh?

“I—” Atsushi wheezes. “I got… the book…”

“You did,” Kunikida smiles fondly. “More than that, you made it back safe. Thank you, Atsushi-kun.”

The tight, suffocating knots that had been coiled around Atsushi’s chest for so long slowly untangled. Each word sliced through the pressure that had clung to him like a second skin. Its weight that had burdened him faded as his muscles relaxed, his jagged breath evening out.

You’re not disappointed? Atsushi liked to ask to make sure, but the way Kunikida holds him as if he’s going to slip away gave him the answer.

“ Che, congratulations!”

On the far side, Atsushi spots the Erudite beaming at him. Brown eyes twinkling. He had returned to his… previous… human form and self. The heavy, otherworldly aura that he carried had vanished, replaced by the familiar ease and joy that once surrounded him. “It's been some time since anyone last managed to make it out. Ya should be proud of yourself!”

Atsushi offers him a small smile in return. “Thanks, uh, the Great Erudite.” he internally cringes at how bad it sounded.

The man bursts into laughter, and a dimple digs in his cheek. “Call me Luis when I’m not a nine-foot-tall owl, Atsushi-kun.”

Atsushi blinks, confused. Luis chuckles at him. “Endo found out,”

Oh. Atsushi’s gaze shifts to the samurai, whose brows are furrowed in a deep scowl as he glances down at Luis. “You ought to have been more cautious than to hide it from me. As I have mentioned before, you are not to leave your position when I’m not around. What if we end up with a repeat of last time?”

“Nah, you're overthinking it. These are Ranpo-kun’s friends! Chill out.” Luis reasons with a smile. 

“Still…”

Atsushi feels like he shouldn't voluntarily witness whatever it is that they're doing, so he attempts to stand on his own.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Kunikida reminds as he gently releases his grip on him. Atsushi nods, gauging his body’s capability to hold his own weight.

His world immediately tilts. Kunikida’s hands moved back to steady him once more. A pint of shame draws Atsushi’s shoulders in. “Sorry,”

Even if he wanted to, his legs refused to cooperate; the last stunt he pulled drained all his energy.

“What you experienced in there must have been exhausting, physically and mentally.” Kunikida notes. “So, don't apologize for needing to give your body some rest.”

As if his body understood, Atsushi falls limp in Kunikida’s hold, limbs easing completely. 

“Well, that’s about it.”

Atsushi hears Dazai speaking for the first time. Shifting his gaze to his senior, Atsushi finds him closing the book with a soft snap. With his lips pressed into a thin line, Atsushi can tell whatever’s written in it is far from good news. 

“What’s wrong?” Kunikida asks.

The question hangs in the air without an immediate response. Dazai takes his time to stare at the empty space, while tracing the book in his hands. His jaw flexed.

“The reason why I can’t cancel the ability is because it isn’t an ability per se,” he discloses. He finally meets the group’s gaze. “Do you remember the Great Purge?”

It is the global massacre of people with therianthropic abilities, justified by the belief that they are not human as they are “savage, mindless creatures.”

“What about it?” asked Luis. 

“The ringleader somehow found a way to pass his ability down to his descendants.” Dazai tongues the inside of his cheek. “Through a curse, or a spell, or with another ability— no one knows, and I couldn't bother to care. The problem is the ability itself is tampered; that's why I can’t properly work against it. 

And for decades, his descendants try to finish what he started. To wipe out all therianthropes across the continents.” 

Something heavy pulled Atsushi's heart down to the floor. 

“And now they're in Japan, and they're after you, Atsushi.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Atsushi catches himself wondering why misfortune had carved a place for itself in his life. 

When he was young, he used to believe he was like the protagonists in the stories he read— condemned to a life marked with pain and suffering, yet destined for a happy ending. It was what kept Atsushi clinging to hope; that one day, his own pain, his own suffering will come to an end. But as the years passed, everyone— everything did nothing but prove him wrong. And so, the promise of a better, happier life seemed more like a wish on a star rather than a future beyond today’s sunset.

Maybe he was a serial killer in his past life. Or a dictator. Maybe his past self was mean to stray animals— how ironic that sounds if that would be the case.

The moment Atsushi fully absorbed the gravity of the situation, a wave of hopelessness and exhaustion dragged him under. But he could only stand still. Letting his heart sink to his feet, his thoughts run amok, thrashing against his skull. He asked himself why. Why was this happening to him? Why was he, of all people, forced to endure wearying trials after trials?— One misery after another? It’s as if the very fabric of reality itself was plotting against him, pushing him to the brink, whispering in his ear that he should give up. That maybe, just maybe, the universe had no interest in his struggle— no regard for his perseverance. Because his future holds no merit.

Anger bubbled beneath everything Atsushi felt, but it was quickly quashed— not because he refused to feel it, but because he couldn’t afford to indulge in it. At some point, his eyes started to heat up, yet no tears fell. Despite everything, he still wants to survive. He still wants to live.

He’s still hoping. And if that would mean maintaining his calm and pushing his warring emotions to the back of his mind, then so be it.

In spite of his bones and muscles pleading for rest, Atsushi immediately stuck his nose in the book when he returned to the dorm. As he skims through the pages, it clicked to him that the first half was basically a list of what the hound can impose on its victim— on the author. The details in the narration were vivid that Atsushi couldn’t bring himself to finish the entire journal. The thought that he, too, would eventually go through what he had just read kept him up all night. Not even managing to get a wink of sleep.

“Atsushi-kun, are you listening?”

He blinks. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry,” 

Dazai lingered his gaze at Atsushi for a moment, as if he’s trying to decipher the message hidden in his answer. When he’s like this, he reminds Atsushi of Kunikida. 

“Is everything clear so far?” Dazai asks.

“Mm-hm.” It’s not. Atsushi nods. “You can, uh, continue.”

To some extent, Atsushi foresaw Dazai requesting a meeting with the President the following day. What didn’t cross his mind is that he would attend the said meeting. Truthfully, Atsushi wonders to himself why he hadn’t thought of that, given that he’s the centre, the reason, the cause of the whole matter. Maybe it’s the exhaustion— mentally and physically— because he simply assumed they would talk it over among themselves and give him a summary afterward. With how Dazai bombarded him with calls and texts to come to the office early, it’s clear that wasn’t the direction they wanted to take.

“As I was saying, it would—”

“But if we—”

“That won’t work,”

“How about—”

“Then we could—”

“But then it will—”

Now, Atsushi sat in the President’s office next to Kunikida. Across from them, Dazai and Ranpo occupied the ends of the couch, their voices racing past Atsushi’s ears. Listening to his seniors sustain a conversation without complete sentences at seven in the morning while he runs on literally zero hours of sleep makes his eyes twitch.

“Let’s come to an agreement.”

The President’s authoritative tone cuts through the air. Atsushi corrects his posture, subtly biting the inside of his cheek to wake his senses.

“It’s far from perfect, buuut it will have to be enough for now.” Ranpo lets himself sink in the chair as he opens a pack of chocolate. “At least, it has to be until we gather more intel,”

“While the book gave some insights into the origins of this black hound, unfortunately, it lacks the information we need— there’s no hint of its potential weakness.” Dazai adds. 

The truth lodges uncomfortably inside Atsushi's throat. Along with it, a fleeting thought passes over him, something he wishes he hadn’t: his sacrifice at the library is not enough. Still, he managed to swallow, burying the offending idea at the back of his mind. 

His senior clasps his hands together. “So, here’s the plan.”

All eyes focused on Dazai.

“As we’re all aware, Shusaku-ojiisan wasn't affected by the hound. While both my ability and Kunikida-kun were compromised, he managed to use his without issue and landed a hit. This could only mean that there are people who are immune to the hound's influence. The problem is, we don't know who they are. And we don't have the time in the world to shortlist every ability user who could,”

He glances at Atsushi. “Have you heard about the Unified Origin Theory?”

“A-A little.” Atsushi has a general idea on what it means.

“The theory suggests that all abilities, regardless of how different or unrelated they appear, stem from a common, underlying source. This explains why certain abilities work well and why some don't. This also implies that abilities can boost, cancel out, or overpower one another. Because they are different manifestations of the same force.” Kunikida crosses his arms over his chest, his glasses flickering. “Dazai,”

Atsushi knows that tone. Deep. Pointed. It’s a dead giveaway that Kunikida already knows what Dazai has in mind.

Dazai turns to the President. Eyes sharp and firm with determination. “ Shachou, allow us to persuade Shusaku-ojiisan to take Atsushi under his protection.”

Atsushi chokes on his spit. What?! 

“Wait, wait!” With his senses alert, he frantically alternates his gaze between his seniors. “Are we really doing this? I-I mean, is there no other way? One that doesn’t include— I don’t know— dragging innocent people into this mess?”

Ranpo takes a bite of his treat. “If there is another way, this wouldn’t even be on the table.”

“Besides,” Kunikida leans on the couch. “That samurai isn’t as innocent as you believe he is.”

Atsushi gulps, blinking. “Still…”

He can feel his face turning red. The plan. It’s basically asking Shusaku to be his bodyguard. Or in the samurai’s perspective— babysitter. Now, Atsushi had his fair share of putting himself in embarrassing, humiliating situations in the past. But this? This is on a whole new level. Asking for somebody to protect him from constant danger because he is incapable of defending himself. What is his ability for? 

Atsushi doesn't know the answer. He doesn’t know what the answer is.

“It will only be temporary.” Dazai reassures. “Until we figure out how to defeat that hound. Or at least, uncover the user’s identity.”

“But—” 

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai calls, barring him in his gaze. “If I could do it myself, I would. But I can’t. None of us can. The hound will not read a book and wait for you to come up with a defense. And as of now, this is our only option. Our best shot to keep you alive.”

His last sentence lingered in the air. Slowly forcing itself down Atsushi’s lungs. He wants to rebut the idea, think of an alternative, but the words died before he could form them . And as the President rises from his seat, the decision is made.

The plan is final.

“You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,”

“If you say so.”

Atsushi adjusts the scarf he’s compelled to wear, suppressing the itch to peel it off. There must be something else he could do to hide the mark without looking like a total idiot; summer is near.

“You do know it’s for your safety, right?”

A defeated sigh escapes Atsushi’s lips, taking his courage to tell Kunikida everything he wanted to say and letting it disappear in the empty space. “I… I know,”

Kunikida inches closer, their elbows brushing. “And you are aware it’s not because we think you’re weak.”

Atsushi purses his lips together. But it’s the truth, he argues. He has an amazing ability. The tiger was the embodiment of what Atsushi had longed to be as a child. Strong. Fearless. Unstoppable. And now that he can properly wield her powers, for the first time in his life, he sees himself as someone who protects— instead of being the one that needed protection. And he does. He protects people. The citizens of Yokohama were kept safe from threats brought by his existence . It’s the least he could do.

But when he needed to protect himself, all the power he had slipped away. It’s almost comical. Downright frustrating. Because then, someone else had to carry the burden of looking after him. Someone else had to sacrifice their time for him. Even when they shouldn’t be. Because Atsushi is capable. He should be capable. Until he isn’t.

Helplessness is a debt Atsushi can never repay.

“We’re getting close.” Kunikida’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

After their meeting, Kunikida and Ranpo set out to talk to Shusaku, while Kunikida asked Atsushi to accompany him on his mission. If Atsushi had it in his heart to refuse, he would; it’s obvious why his senior wanted him to tag along.

“Remind me again why you chose me to go with you instead of Tanizaki-san?” They stop in front of a nuanced flower shop. Kunikida adjusts the bridge of his glasses. “Why not?”

Atsushi shrugs. “I don’t know—” he trails behind the taller man as he opens the door and saunters inside. “— maybe because his ability is a better fit. This is a kidnap for ransom. What am I gonna do with my tiger claws and legs against a man holding a kid at gunpoint?”

Kunikida looks back at him with a small smirk. “Who knows,”

Why do his seniors have a habit of acting cryptic?

The door opens with a soft ring of a bell. Upon entry, the scent of fresh flowers greets Atsushi. He scans the room with a curious gaze; he’s never been to a flower shop before. Colorful arrangements fill every corner. Each bouquet was thoughtfully arranged to show off the flowers' best features under the warm morning light that filters through the glass windows. Some are neatly placed in rows, while others are clustered together on tall wooden shelves. Potted plants are concentrated here and there. Atsushi lingers his gaze on a small succulent plant, its plump, fleshy leaves stacked in a gentle rosette shape.

Atsushi has a general idea on how to take care of plants. He would like to bring one back to the dorm in the future.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re here!”

A gentle voice catches Atsushi’s attention. Hurrying towards them is a woman fixing her apron. Her long, brown hair was tied loosely, perched over her left shoulder. Strands of bangs frame her face marked with fatigue and worry. She bows at the detectives upon approach. “Please, save my daughter.”

Atsushi stares at her, the sense of urgency seeps into his bones.

Kunikida coaxes her to sit behind the counter. “Is there any update?”

The woman, named Tamiko, came to the agency yesterday while Atsushi’s knocked out cold. Someone has kidnapped her only child, demanding money her late husband, Kato, owed in exchange for the child’s safe return.

She reached into the drawer, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out an envelope, its edges worn from being handled so many times. Without a word, she gave it to Kunikida. As he opened the envelope, the cold, stark images inside sent a chill through the room. The pictures were of a middle school girl, her eyes wide with fear, her hands bound tightly with rough rope, mouth covered with tape. She was curled up in a corner, silently pleading for help. 

Atsushi's breath caught in his chest as he took in the haunting images. His finger twitched, a gnawing sense of familiarity creeping up on him. He saw her before.

At the convenience store. She’s one of those students cutting classes.

Tamiko weakly spoke. “I-It was addressed to our residence, along with a letter that says the deadline for the money will be at twelve noon. At an abandoned factory not far from here. I— ”

Her voice broke. Shoulders quivering. “I don’t have that kind of money. What I earn is just enough for the both of us to survive. I can’t —” she takes in a deep breath, “— I can’t lose her. She’s all I have left.”

“We only have hours left. That’s more than enough time for us to strike.” Kunikida says as he stands straight, chin held high. “Don’t worry, Tamiko-san. We’ll get your daughter back,”

The moment they stepped out of the flower shop, Atsushi knew they had no other choice but to get the job done.

Kunikida puffs a breath and begins walking. “ So. What are we going to do?”

He glances at Atsushi, as if expecting an answer. Atsushi frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What’s the next step?” 

You’ve got to be kidding me , Atsushi blanched at the blooming realization. “You took this case,”

“Yes. And I’m asking you what’s our next course of action,” Kunikida notes.

Atsushi stares at his senior in disbelief. He admits he’s been at the agency for quite some time now. With each passing day, his body becomes more in tune with the demands of their work— the routine, the pace, and the pressure that comes with it— but that doesn’t mean he can handle a case this delicate!

“Are you serious?” Atsushi lengthens his stride to keep up with Kunikida. “I can’t do it!”

Kunikida arches a brow at him. “Says who?” 

“Uhm, says me? I don’t even have the full details—”

“So, if I told you everything you need to know, can you do it?” Kunikida surmise.

Atsushi purses his lips, cheeks growing warmer. Now that he thinks of it, he had carried out missions just as complex before. Hostage situation, bomb threat, terrorists to name a few. But Atsushi wasn’t the one calling the shots in those instances. He follows orders. He sticks to the plan made by his seniors. Not the other way around. 

“I… I don’t know.” Atsushi averts his gaze to the ground. What if he makes the wrong decision? What if his plan fails?— What if he can’t develop a plan in the first place? Time is their enemy in this mission. What if they move too late?

“You hesitated,” Kunikida points. “What is it?”

It took Atsushi a while to respond. “It’s just that… I’m scared that I’ll mess up, knowing that someone’s life is on the line.”

“If no one is in danger, would you still be afraid?” Kunikida pushes.

Atsushi didn’t answer.

Kunikida hovers a hand in front of him as a signal to stop walking. At the edge of a pedestrian lane, Atsushi watches the cars pass by. It’s ironic how the sun casts a warm glow on the trees and buildings and there he stands in the middle of it all, with his chest about to implode.

“Look, kid.” Kunikida puffs a breath, his tone low and gentle. “You’re bound to mess up. You will make mistakes and choose the wrong decisions. It’s part of growing up. But don’t assume that everything you do will end in disaster.”

“But it always does.” Atsushi retorts with a harsh swallow. He glances at Kunikida. “And you know it,”

“No, I don’t, actually.” Kunikida shrugs. A tiny smirk plays on his lips. “Are you a hundred percent certain that everything you do always go wrong? All of them?”

Atsushi blinks. Mouth struggling to form the words.“W-Well, uh, when you put it like that—”

Kunikida’s smirk widens as he pats Atsushi’s back. “Come on, let’s keep going,”

The two men cross the pedestrian as the signal turns green. Upon reaching the other side, Atsushi exhales a sharp breath and frowns. “I mean—  not everything, but the majority. Maybe ninety five percent of what I do doesn’t end well.”

At his answer, Kunikida barks out a laugh. “Ninety five percent? Kid, you are terrible at math.”

“What?! Is it higher?!” Atsushi shrieks, observing Kunikida’s expression to check if he’s right. He doesn’t know if he should be offended when his senior laughed again. Atsushi huffs. “If you’re done mocking me, it would be a great time to tell me the answer.”

He looks away, focusing on the path in front of them. Where are they going, anyway?

“Thirty percent,”

Like a bottle of cap being opened, Atsushi cranes his neck towards Kunikida. Eyes as wide as saucers. “Really?”

He’s pretty sure the number is a lot higher, especially considering the kind of mess he leaves behind every time he screws up. That one time with the Black Lizard. The Guild. It adds up fast, so there’s no way it’s as low as that. 

“You’re doubting a former math teacher?” Kunikida snipes.

“No.” came Atsushi’s quick reply.

“If you don’t, that only means you’re doubting yourself .” Kunikida ruffles the top of Atsushi’s head, to which the latter tried to avoid but eventually accepted with a pout. “Kid, it’s normal to worry about whether things will turn out fine. Just— don’t let it hold you back; I want to see the day you wield your fullest potential,”

The words caress Atsushi’s wary heart like a warm blanket on a rainy day. It clears his mind from the fog of doubts, fears, and everything in between. With a sharp inhale, the tension pulling on his face dissolves. “You really believe I had it in me, huh?”

Kunikida chuckles. “I always do, so chin up. This pep talk took up valuable time we could have spent preparing.”

“For the record, no one told you to give me a pep talk. But I appreciate it.” Atsushi beams at him. “Okay, let’s do this. What’s our intel?”

As they walked, Kunikida provided the information about the case. Apparently, their background check pointed them to three possible suspects. Kato’s coworker, his cousin, and his mistress.

“Tamiko-san doesn’t know he had a mistress. If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut.” Kunikida advises. Atsushi simply nods, the cogs in his brain turning as he scrutinises the photo in his hand. Despite being bound and silenced, the girl appears neat— as neat as hostages could be. Her high-pony is still intact. Not a single crease mars her uniform. And her skin is free from forming bruises and cuts. On top of that, she’s sprawled on a wooden floor with cream walls. It’s the tamest hostage situation he’s ever seen.

Atsushi comments. “Whoever took her must be someone they’re close with. It’s obvious they cared about the girl enough not to keep her in a dingy basement or something. Usually, the abductor wants the victim to look as pitiful as possible to drill in a sense of urgency.”

“If we're evaluating the suspects' history, only the mistress isn’t close to the girl— or to the family in general. Is that enough to remove her from the list?” Kunikida asks.

“No.” Atsushi shakes his head. “The cousin was last seen with the girl before she disappeared,”

“If he’s the culprit, what would his motive be?” Kunikida counters. “Why would he resort to kidnapping his own niece for money? He’s on good terms with the family. He has a stable job. Why pull this kind of move now?”

“So, it’s the coworker?” Atsushi’s response was met with a pinch on his arm. Kunikida ignored his surprised yelp. “The Armed Detective Agency does not assume and most certainly does not point fingers.”

“I wasn’t pointing fingers!” Atsushi defenses, massaging the aching area with a deep frown. They come to a halt in the quiet, less-populated part of the neighborhood. Old shops, run-down apartments, and barely working traffic lights filled the sides of the street. Not far from where they stand, Atsushi notices an infrastructure that stands out among the dull surroundings.

Kunikida speaks beside him. “I surveyed the location, that is the closest abandoned factory within the area. Unfortunately, it’s close to Tamiko-san and the cousin’s residence, the mistress’ apartment, and to the coworker’s office.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Atsushi asks himself as he observes the building. At this point, he couldn’t care less to filter his ideas. Every time he thinks his reasoning makes sense; he would eventually find a gap he can’t fill. Kunikida also seems to enjoy refuting his arguments. “In the letter, the abductor instructed to leave the cash inside, and rest assured the girl will be brought home safe. The abductor doesn’t want Tamiko-san to see their face. It’s someone she knows.”

“Chances are the girl already saw what they looked like; she’s not blindfolded. What’s the point?” 

Atsushi groans. “I get the feeling you already know who it is, but you’re stretching this out to test me.”

Kunikida snorts. “You’re quick enough to figure that out. You’ll solve the case in a matter of time.”

“But we don’t have time. Can’t you give me a hint?” Atsushi crosses his hands over his chest. At his display of frustration, Kunikida yields. “Their relationships.”

Atsushi blinks. “What about them?”

If they are going to base it on the relationship Kato had with the suspects, his cousin is off the list— he had no reason to commit the crime. Kato owed his coworker money, but the latter assured it didn’t need to be paid off as tribute to the deceased. His mistress—

“Kunikida-san,” Atsushi calls. “How did Kato-san die?”

Dots are forming, lines are being drawn, connection emerges. For every passing second, Atsushi can feel something is bound to click inside his brain. As if the answer is shying away from his consciousness, challenging him to dig deeper, think of another perspective. 

“Road accident. After a fight with Tamiko-san, he went out drinking and got hit by a car.”

Atsushi’s eyes widened at the realization. Everything fell in place. “The mistress,”

He meets Kunikida’s gaze, only to find his senior smiling proudly at him. “Let’s go.”

It was never about the money. All this time, it was about Kato. The mistress— Misaki-san— seeks retribution. Kato was taken away from her for good, so she’s returning the favor.

When they arrived at the apartment, Atsushi knocked on the door before he could catch his breath. He heaves and sighs. Adrenaline steadily fills his veins, senses sharpened by the tiger as he listens to the sound on the other side of the door. 

“Did you tell your mother you're here? No? Then who's at the door?”

“She has the girl.” Atsushi tells Kunikida. “What are we going to do?”

Kunikida gently coaxes Atsushi to step aside. His notebook was held firmly in his hand. “I'll talk to her first. Be ready to transform on my signal.”

The sound of something shuffling and closing enters Atsushi's ears. “Why?”

“Misaki-san’s not in the right state of mind. I need you to get the girl and bring her to the agency. Fast. If I can't make her see reason, she'll go after the girl— after you.”

Footsteps thud on the floor. Power thrums at the end of Atsushi’s fingertips. “Understood,”

The door creaks open, revealing a young woman with medium-length hair. She offers the detectives a smile, but it looks more like a forced gesture than a sign of warmth. Even with a touch of light makeup, Atsushi notices the dark circles under her eyes. “Hi. May I help you?”

Her voice is as hollow as she looks. Atsushi watches as Kunikida fixes his posture. “Good day, Misaki-san. I’m a friend of Kato-san from the bar, Takahashi-san. This is my son. We…. only recently heard about his passing. We’re sorry for your loss.”

Atsushi hangs his head low, focusing all of his willpower to appear mournful instead of surprised, annoyed, and betrayed— all in that order. Kunikida never said anything about acting!

“... Why are you here?” Atsushi can feel Misaki staring at him. 

“We just wanted to stop by and see how you're doing. Kato-san always spoke so fondly of you whenever we shared drinks.” Kunikida smoothly lies. So this is what they are going to do— pretend they know her as the legal wife. Atsushi trusts Kunikida has planned this out properly. “How’s Kumiko-chan?”

The girl. An idea compels Atsushi to meet Misaki’s gaze. “Is she… is she okay? She hadn’t answered any of our texts yesterday,”

A fleeting spark of realization crosses her eyes, but she quickly blinks it away. There’s a faint trace of life returning to her expression. “Oh. She— She caught a fever. But she’s fine! She’s resting in her, uhm, room. Why don’t you come in and have some tea?”

Kunikida chuckles. “We couldn’t intrude… but if you insist,”

Misaki widens the door for the two men to enter. The first thing Atsushi noticed is the cream walls and the wooden flooring; it’s the same one as the picture. He slips off his shoes and glances at the shoe rack, assessing the best spot to place them for easy access in case the worst happens.

“My… husband…” It’s as if she tasted the word in her tongue for the first time. It rolls off in an unnatural way. “He… told you about me?”

They are guided into the low kotatsu table positioned at the center of the room. They take a seat on the floor cushions as Misaki busies herself in the compact kitchen, which adjoins the equally small living room. Atsushi casts a lingering glance on the door to her bedroom, standing across from where he's sitting.

“Absolutely,” Kunikida feeds her delusion. “Everytime we drink, he never fails to tell a story or two about you.”

“Really?” Misaki asks, tone soft and hopeful. For a second, Atsushi wonders if there’s some truth behind Kunikida’s words, because if there is, Tamiko-san would be crushed, should she ever find out. He distantly thinks Kato-san is an asshole for cheating.

A loud thud echoes from the bedroom. Atsushi fought every nerve in his body not to lunge forward and destroy the door. His arms and shins are growing hot from keeping the tiger’s powers at bay. Bluish-green veins pop at his neck, jaw squared shut, eyes open and wild as he waits for Kunikida's signal. His lack of reaction tells him not yet. 

“You should go check on Kumiko-chan first,” Kunikids advises. “The tea can wait.”

Crescent moons carve onto Atsushi's palms as he fists his hands under the table. He needs to stay composed. He needs to look like he won't kick a hole into the door or the wall. He needs to relax . But how could he when his heart is pounding against his ears, his fingertips, and his soles, all at the same time? How could he when every fiber of his muscles are wound tight and ready to snap? It's electrifying. Not in a way that makes his nerves sing in anticipation. It sends bursts of zaps across his skin that reminds him not to mess it up.

“Kumiko-chan is fine.” Misaki reassures, her tone uninterested. “Let’s not bother her while she’s resting,”

Another thud, louder than the first, came from the room again. Atsushi made a mistake to spare a glance at Misaki. 

The woman is staring straight at them from her shoulder, eyes sharp and unblinking. For a split-second, Atsushi wonders what he looked like in her perspective. Did he give himself away? Did he expose their plan? 

“You’re not Kato’s friend.”

A shiver runs down Atsushi’s spine. His thumb twitches. He can sense the air leaving the room, being replaced by a heavy energy that triggers Atsushi’s instincts to run. 

“Now!”

Upon Kunikida’s signal, Atsushi’s limbs morphed into tiger claws as he leapt over the low table and smashed the bedroom door. He quickly discovered Kumiko, tied and gagged, on the floor near the window. The girl blinks at him. Atsushi can see the exact moment she remembered him as the guy from the convenience store, because her brows knitted further. Behind Atsushi, he hears Kunikida activating his ability and the sound of a gun being loaded. 

The window is a great escape route.

Wasting no time, Atsushi removed the tape from Kumiko’s mouth and cradled her in his arms. “Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”

Atsushi hears Misaki scream as they jump from the two-storey apartment. The moment they touched the ground; he began to run. As fast as he could. The wind whipped against his face as he avoided civilians on their path. Each stride he takes, he forces them to be longer— stronger than the last. The wind is whispering in his ears that their gap isn’t enough. And so, Atsushi jumps high towards a low building, regaining his momentum to jump from rooftop to rooftop. He vaguely wonders how Kunikida would deal with the mistress.

“Who are you, mister?!” he heard Kumiko ask despite the whistling breeze muffling their voice.

“We’re from the Armed Detective Agency!” Atsushi beamed at her. “Your mother sent us!”

“Thank you!” Kumiko shouts as they make another jump. “I guess you’re not weird, after all!”

“Wha—”

Before Atsushi can react, before his feet land on solid concrete, mid-air in between two high infrastructures, he catches something in the corner of his eye charging directly at them. A familiar, bone-chilling cold encases his body, rendering his arms weak, legs stuttering. He angles his neck a fraction, just in time to see what it is. Pure, unadulterated fear engulfs his system as he registers the black figure inches away from his face.

Shit. 

“Mister, look out!”

Kumiko’s warning drove Atsushi to hold her tightly and dodge the incoming attack. Even though he successfully avoided large jaws, sharp teeth managed to snag his scarf. Atsushi can’t do anything as his nape was left uncovered— but that’s the least of his concern, as the force of his stunt threw him into the side of the building, his back to the brick wall. Atsushi choked out a groan when his shoulder hit the pipeline, hot pain shooting through his arm. He doesn’t have the chance to recover; gravity immediately pulls them downwards. Kumiko yells in panic, but Atsushi manages to land on both feet, albeit unsteady. Despite the shock, terror, and pain swirling alongside the adrenaline, Atsushi resumes running. Only this time, he wasn’t sure where he would go.

He has nowhere to go. There’s nowhere he can go. The hound. He forgot about the hound. The hound is here— what will he do? Kumiko— she can’t be dragged into this. She can’t get hurt. 

“Mister! The big dog is chasing us!” Kumiko shrieks as she wraps her hands around Atsushi’s neck. “Run faster!”

“I am running faster!” Atsushi barks. Tears spring in the corner of his eyes, but he quickly blinks them away. He can’t afford to break right now. He can’t afford to stop. Even when his legs quiver on every step, even when his arms feel heavy and numb, even when the tiger growls warily inside him— he runs. Because the moment he slows down, the moment he hesitates, death would come and bite him on the nape.

Think, think, think. What would Kunikida-san do? What would Dazai-san do? What would Ranpo-san do? Atsushi can't think of anything other than running. This is bad. He can't run forever.

There's no other choice. 

And so, Atsushi speeds up, ignoring the way his legs start to ache from being pushed to their very limits. His heart pounds against his chest, each beat rattles his ribcage. His vision zeroes in on the path before him that blurs ever so often.  

The only thing Atsushi can decipher is what's in front of them— the rest is a mush of color he can't bring himself to worry about. So when he crosses the road, he fails to notice the truck moving towards them. The sound of the horn blaring reaches Atsushi too late. 

“Mister!”

With only mere inches apart, Atsushi knew they wouldn't make it even if he used all the energy he had. The unnerving fear brought by the hound doubled as he found himself standing right in the middle of the truck’s course. Atsushi could only wish he could endure the pain. It will be painful, it will hurt , but he wishes his body can bear it— at least long enough to bring Kumiko to safety— hopefully long enough to bring himself to safety. He closes his eyes and swerves to his back, bracing himself at the incoming impact. 

“Eep!” 

Atsushi yelps when he feels something encircling his waist and shoulders in a tight grip. Snapping his eyes open, he managed to catch a glimpse of black tendrils before his world tilted as he was hauled from danger with Kumiko in tow.

Crashing onto the other side of the road, Atsushi grunts at the drag of concrete against his bare skin. His joints ache, bones begging to be reprieved. Kumiko’s faint whimpers barely register through the pounding in his skull. And when it did, Atsushi pushed themselves to sit up. 

“Are you okay?” Atsushi asked the girl deposited in his lap. No visible injury mars her body. However, Kumiko is terrified. Premature tears line the edge of her eyes as she stares at a distance. Her fingers are shaking as she mindlessly fiddles the collar of her uniform. If Atsushi would ask her to stand, she wouldn’t be able to. He’s not even certain she can hear him.

“Stirring trouble yet again, man-tiger,”

Atsushi looks up at their, for the lack of a better word, saviour. Akutagawa towers over them, wearing his signature all-black attire accompanied by his usual scowl. An idea struck Atsushi.

“Take her to the agency.” Atsushi adjusts her grip on Kumiko. “You know where it is, right? Take her there. Hurry. We don’t have much time, please .”

He’s aware of what he’s asking for. He knows all too well who he’s talking to. Atsushi is asking an enemy— asking Akutagawa Ryuunosuke— a favor outside work-related affairs. His pride plummeted six feet underground the very moment he had the absurd idea. And it plummeted another six feet more when he proceeded with it regardless. He’s not thinking straight, that’s certain. Because what gave him hope that Akutagawa would agree? What gave him hope that the mafia’s hellhound would cooperate without Dazai’s direct orders? Just because Akutagawa saved them from being hit by a truck doesn’t mean the mafioso cares about them— about him.

Still, holding Akutagawa’s gaze, staring into deep, indecipherable grey, Atsushi hopes anyway.

“What’s going on?” he asked. 

The detective looks down at the unresponsive girl. “It’s a long story,”

“If it is, then I don’t have the patience to hear it.”

Atsushi’s jaw falls off its hinges when Akutagawa turns and leaves. “Oi! Come back! I’ll punch you in the neck if you don’t take this girl to the agency!”

“Is that so?” Akutagawa glances at him over his shoulder. “You can’t even rise to your feet,”

At the remark, Atsushi can only swallow and grit his teeth. His cheeks burned in shame. Experimentally, he tries to shift his legs, now in their human form. At the slight movement, prickling pain digs into his skin, rendering them numb. Was he that obvious?

Akutagawa swivels to the side to look at him properly. “I’m going to ask again. What’s going on?”

The question buried itself in Atsushi’s brain, along with the implication that Akutagawa might help. He could’ve ignored Atsushi, be on his merry way and incapacitate whoever unlucky victim he has today, but he didn’t— he turned around and asked. Akutagawa never asks unless he’ll gain something from it. In all the time they have worked together, the attack dog only barks orders and throws demeaning insults— sometimes landing a stab or two at Atsushi. 

So if he’s asking, maybe he’s willing to help? But what will he gain from this?

“Are you going to answer my question, or will you just keep sitting there like a fool?”

Atsushi blinked at Akutagawa, who turned his back on him once more. He sighs. “I shouldn’t have bothered,”

The mafioso began walking away. 

“Wait—!”

Atsushi’s call lodges in his throat when his gaze drifts past Akutagawa. 

Across the street, the hound stands in an eerie stillness. He doesn't know how long it's been there. Seeing that the whole area grew deserted, it's probably a while. Its set of sharp canines glint in broad daylight as it hums a low, ominous growl. Red eyes are pinned at him, ears perked up and forward. Atsushi never dared to blink, fearing that the hound would appear centimeters away from his face the second he did. He never thought of moving, either— he couldn't even if he tried. And so, Atsushi just sat on the ground, powerless at the fear seeping into his blood. Fear that isn’t even his own, yet he’s forced to accept.

It’s going to attack them— attack him. It’s going to kill him. Kumiko— he needs to get Kumiko away from him—

Huh? 

The hound disappeared from Atsushi's view, blocked by Akutagawa as he stood in front of them. 

Huh??? 

Atsushi didn't react. Well, he did react. Silently. His eyes bulged in shock; brows drawn together in total confusion. And when black coils started to rise and fall along the surface of Akutagawa’s cloak, Atsushi's mouth hangs open. 

Huh?!?! 

“Jinko,”

“Eh?” Atsushi stares at his back. He may not see the mafioso’s expression, but with how he takes on an offensive stance— the one Atsushi's grown familiar with— he knows Akutagawa won't stop at nothing until he secures his victory.  

“You owe me an explanation after this.”

Dark tendrils crackling with red energy sprouted from Akutagawa’s cloak. Atsushi expects he will aim it all at the enemy. Instead, he reserves two to drag Kumiko and Atsushi away from the vicinity of the fight. The rest of the tendrils surge with an intent to pierce.  

The hound leaps to the side to evade the attack, letting the tendrils breach the concrete in vain. Akutagawa recovers quickly and continues his assault. Using three whips, he chased the hound around the main road, destroying shops and public property as they fell into a dangerous dance of offense and defense. The hound moves like a shadow as it slips away from the nimble lashes sparkling an electrifying red under the sunlight.

All the while, Atsushi watches from behind a tree. A few paces away from Akutagawa. His attention wasn't set on the dog nor on Rashoumon. No. It's on the mafioso who has no problem using his ability as if the hound is just another nuisance in his life he had to get rid of. 

There are people who are immune to the hound's influence.

The hound managed to snag a whip with its teeth and bites hard. Atsushi waits in bated breath for Akutagawa to show signs of pain or discomfort. However, what bloomed in the mafioso’s face was pure malice. With the hound occupied, he used the remaining whips to stab it. He even went as far as hoisting it up in the air, just to let Rashoumon dig further. Apparently, that's not enough, as new tendrils stem from Akutagawa’s coat and lance through different areas of the hound’s body. Atsushi doesn't miss it wailing in agony. 

Abilities can boost, cancel out, or overpower one another, because they are different manifestations of the same force.

Akutagawa held it aloft for a good while. To satiate his sadistic tendencies and bloodlust, if Atsushi would guess. The dog uselessly paws at the tendrils as it tries to free itself.

“Look,” Kumiko mumbles. 

Trickling down the piercing cords is its blood, which holds the same colour as Rashoumon. Akutagawa drives the tendrils deeper one last time before pulling them out completely, all at once, letting the hound fall and bleed in the middle of the road. 

“I'm going to kill it,” he announced. Stepping close to the whimpering beast, Akutagawa spawns multiple strands, forming an arc behind him that screams death. Red energy zaps the air as they grow longer and larger. The sight, reeking of raw power and strength, reminds Atsushi why he’s called the Ability User of Destruction and Disaster. 

As the threads gather momentum, Atsushi discovers the hound looking at him. The outline of its ribs vanish and reemerge as it takes in laboured breaths. Its limbs twitch every now and then, trying to escape its own pool of blood and its impending doom. Atsushi might take pity on it, if it weren’t for the seething rage encased in its gaze.

Something tells Atsushi this is far from being over.

Eventually, tendrils reach their peak, looming over the immobile animal and blocking it from the sun. Silence engulfs the scene— Akutagawa’s first and final act of mercy, before the tendrils violently surged down and towards the hound. Fast and hard. It rumbles through the ground, vibrating past Atsushi and triggering the alarm of the vehicles near the area. Dust and particles fly in the air at the intensity of the attack, the breeze fanning the trees and Atsushi’s hair. 

“Woah,” Kumiko sighs in awe. Atsushi didn’t wait for everything to settle; grabbing her wrist, they approached Akutagawa to assess the situation.

“Did you get it?” Atsushi asked upon getting close, his shoulder lightly bumping against Akutagawa’s. The latter scowls at him. “Fool. You should’ve held your position until I said otherwise— don’t you know anything about post-battle precautions? Some detective you are,”

Atsushi ignores his taunts and waves the dust from his face using his free hand. He squints his gaze at the crater formed in the concrete. 

“It’s gone.” Atsushi says. Despite fear slowly dissipating in his system, his senses remain high and alert. Mind racing to make sense of the outcome. The tiger in him purrs, coaxing him to relax— he can’t. The hound couldn’t have escaped in its state. Sure, it’s not a normal hound, but it certainly couldn’t have dragged its wounded body fast enough to avoid the strike. What happened? 

Atsushi felt a tug in his hand, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. He glances at Kumiko. “Are we safe now, Mister?”

Her pony came undone, letting her long, brown hair cascade down her back. A few stains spoil her uniform. Atsushi offers her a smile. This girl shouldn’t have gotten involved, but she did, anyway— because of him. “We are,”

She lets out a sigh of relief. Her shoulders sagging. “Whew! I thought that truck was going to hit us back there,”

Wait. Atsushi frowns. “You're more afraid of getting hit by a truck than being bitten by the hound? Didn’t you see how terrifying it looks?”

Kumiko blinks at him. “Well, yeah, I was afraid of that, too. But you managed to run away from it. You can't move out of the truck's path. I would’ve seen heaven if it weren’t for your boyfriend here,”

Both Akutagawa and Atsushi choked on air. Atsushi immediately distanced himself from the mafioso. Arms flailing in defense, every inch of his skin is burning in utter embarrassment. “W-What? Who? Him? I don’t— we’re not— why did you even— he wasn’t—”

“We’re not lovers.” Akutagawa clarifies with a cough, his expression calm and composed. Atsushi thinks it’s unfair. 

Kumiko tilts her head to the side. “Really? But yesterday, in the convenience store, you were acting out your kinks, no?”

What kinks?!  

“ O-kay! That’s enough. Let’s get you back to your mother. She must have been worried sick!” Atsushi firmly places his hands on her shoulders and steers her in front of the mafioso. “Thank him before we go,”

As Kumiko expresses her gratitude, plus her reasons why she assumed they were dating (no one asked), Atsushi refuses to meet Akutagawa’s gaze. Why would he? He’s not obligated to look at him. He can look at him whenever he wants. And right now, Atsushi wants nothing more than to go back to the agency and pretend none of this ever happened.

“— that’s about it. Sorry for jumping into conclusions, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you two will start dating—”

Atsushi’s shoes are very shoe-sy right now. The material is very material-ly. Very very interesting. Definitely more interesting than the feeling of Akutagawa staring at him.

Look at me, Atsushi.

The sudden onslaught of the memory urged Atsushi to look up.

Akutagawa is fixed on him. Gaze calculating and cold. His brows are slightly furrowed; lips drawn into a thin line, the corners subtly dipping into a faint frown. Those sharp grey eyes— distant yet entrapping— remind Atsushi of a storm gathering strength on the horizon. Something unreadable flickers behind them, like the first flash of lightning behind heavy clouds. Unpredictable. Wild. Electric.

“— so thank you! We’ll be on our way,”

They absolutely will be. Atsushi gives Akutagawa a curt bow, ignoring the weak goosebumps that travel across his skin, and ushers Kumiko to leave. 

“Jinko.”

Atsushi pauses in his tracks.

“The explanation.”

Shit.

Hesitantly, Atsushi turns to look at him. Akutagawa hadn’t moved from his spot. “Maybe, uh, some other day?”

Akutagawa seems satisfied with the answer. Without another word, he turns and marches off in the opposite direction. Atsushi watches as his figure gets smaller and smaller. Until all he can see is a streak of black in the distance. His eyes drift to the crater. Traces of the hound’s blood tarnish the debris.

He hopes Dazai won’t know about this.

Atsushi sighs. “Let’s go— AGH—!”

As if the universe is playing tricks on him, as if the gods heard his wish and decided to grant the exact opposite, his seniors stand before him. Dazai and Ranpo. Atsushi shrieks. “What are you doing here?!”

Ranpo is sipping on a chocolate milkshake, not intending to answer. Dazai, however, has this shit-eating grin that warns Atsushi he’s plotting something sinister. He looks past Atsushi— at the goddamn crater — then back at him. “Hi, Atsushi-kun! Whatcha got there?”

“A middle school girl named Kumiko,” Atsushi deadpans. His hopes were completely lost. He nudges Kumiko’s arm. “These are my… seniors at the agency, unfortunately.”

Dazai pats the top of Kumiko’s head. “Nice to meet you, Kumiko-chan! Can I borrow Atsushi-kun for a moment? Ranpo-san here would keep you company for the time being,”

Atsushi didn’t get the chance to protest as Dazai hauled him toward the edge of the crater. Without hesitation, Dazai swiftly descended, gliding down to inspect the area while Atsushi lingered at the rim. 

“Bad news—” Dazai fishes a small vial out of his coat’s pocket. “— Shusaku-ojiisan declined.”

He started gathering the blood that hadn’t yet dried. “Aren’t you going to ask me what the good news is?”

“Is there ever any good news from you?” Atsushi snaps. He doesn’t like where this is going— probably because he already knows where this is going.

Dazai kicks down a few rubble with a laugh. “Fair point. But really, I have some good news.”

Atsushi crosses his arms over his chest. “I highly doubt it,”

“We found you a bodyguard. Or should I say, you found yourself one.” Dazai stashes a few fragments in a small bag.

Atsushi’s heart starts to pick up its pace. Please, don’t be him. Please, don’t be him. Please, don’t be him. Dazai couldn’t have seen what happened. He wasn’t supposed to see it. He shouldn’t have seen it— 

“Are you still going to play pretend?” Dazai smirks, his eyes a little more wild than usual. “You already know, don’t you?”

The whole world zooms out when Dazai finally confirms:

“My former pupil, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.”

Chapter Text

This can't be happening. 

This shouldn't be happening. 

Why is it happening? 

Akutagawa is being dragged into this— his mess. Akutagawa is going to be Atsushi’s bodyguard— because unfortunately for him, when Dazai sets his mind onto something, he will do everything he can to bring it to reality. No matter how absurd. No matter how crazy. And no matter how impossible something is, if Dazai wants it to happen, it will happen. Sometimes, Atsushi thinks he’s some kind of god with how he manipulates events to go the way he likes. It’s as if the future is some sort of puppet he drags and pulls to progress the way he wants to. It’s a terrifying skill— more dangerous than his own ability, but it saved Atsushi’s ass countless times in the past. And it will undoubtedly save him again.

Even if it’s in the form of Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

Atsushi huffs a breath. He’s outside their room at the dormitory, his elbows propped on the railings as he stares at the bright crescent moon slowly being covered by the clouds. Even though the past forty eight hours have been taxing, he can’t force himself to lie down and sleep. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. In fact, the mental exhaustion is a persistent thumping in his temples, a heavy weight on his shoulders. It’s just— how can he sleep when his life is about to change?

“Why are you awake?”

Atsushi failed to suppress his jolt when he heard Kyouka’s voice beside him. She may appear unaffected, but Atsushi can see the strain in her eyes and the crouch on her posture; she hauled herself out of bed. “Dazai-san ordered me to ensure you get proper rest,”

“He did, didn’t he.” Atsushi sighs. He returned his gaze above. “You should go back to sleep, I’ll follow soon. Don’t worry about Dazai-san.”

“It’s not Dazai-san I’m worried about.” she says. Atsushi watches her from his periphery. She rests her hands on the railing, looking up at the sky like he does. “Something’s happening,”

“Yep.”

“And you are involved.”

“Mm-hm,”

“And the agency is yet to share it among the rest of the members.” 

The President instructed them that until they secure a protector (the President’s words, not Atsushi’s) they are to remain silent about the matter. Dazai already appointed Akutagawa, though Atsushi doubts the latter is adequately informed of his new responsibilities. So, maybe it’s safe to tell Kyouka? But where will he start? 

Atsushi swallows a gulp, momentarily grinding his teeth together. In the most quiet, barely audible voice he can muster, he asks: “What do you… think of Akutagawa?”

“Hm?” 

“I mean—” heat muddled with anxiety begins to crawl across Atsushi's chest, snatching the words before they could rest on his throat. “— you know, after everything that happened— after everything he did to us and to you . Pretty sure most of what messed you up in the mafia traces back to him—”

“ Why do you wish to know?” Atsushi tries not to visibly react to Kyouka’s question. Even so, his breath comes in shallow bursts as his ribs shrink against his lungs, forcing it to give out an answer. And when it failed to do so, he heard Kyouka continue. “Does… it have anything to do with your problem?”

“... Yeah,”

“If I answer, will you tell me what it is? All of it?”

The cold breeze picked up slightly. “I will.”

A strange kind of silence encompasses them. One that isn’t heavy nor light, but something that teeters in the middle. It drives Atsushi’s heart to pound in anticipation, and yet the only thing in his mind is how peaceful the night looks. Soft clouds roll by, taking turns covering the moon; the stars aren’t present to poke the dark canvas. The neighborhood has their lights off, already dreaming— Atsushi does, too, the only difference is his eyes are open, and his dream is a mirror of his reality where he’s stronger. Strong enough to handle his problems alone. Strong enough to face the hound by himself. Strong enough to not need anybody’s help— or pity.

“I still see him as the mafia’s hellhound,”

For some reason, the admittance made Atsushi’s finger twitch.

“He’s dangerous— powerful, aggressive, and unstoppable when he’s ordered to kill. Whenever I see him or hear his voice, no matter how much I resist, memories I wanted to forget come back in vivid detail.” Kyouka sighs. “However, I’m aware that those will remain in the past, and his words and actions do not and cannot define me nor my future. I won’t let him. Not anymore,”

Atsushi smiles a little despite his heart clenching. How will he tell her? “Do you… hate him?”

He feels the weight of her stare, steady and unblinking. At her hesitation, Atsushi guesses she’s trying to figure out why he’s asking such a thing out of the blue. Even he, himself wonders why he did when, in fact, he could answer it on his own and get it right.

“I did.”

Of course, she does. Wait—

“You did ?” Atsushi parrots and meets her gaze. Though her face gives nothing away, there’s a gentle flicker in her eyes that Atsushi catches but can’t quite name. And as seconds pass, he realizes Kyouka may not be actually looking at him.

“I hated him.” Her voice doesn’t reek of resentment or anger. She says it as if she’s stating a truth she’d come into terms a long time ago. “He refused to end my suffering despite having the ability to. One look, and he decided that my sole purpose is to kill— that without Demon Snow, I am nothing. And that I should be glad I have an ability that can be of use— that can keep me alive.”

She looks up at the sky. “Now that I think of it— there’s only little I can do with this hatred. And I won’t be able to move forward while still clinging to the past. So… I let it go. That doesn’t mean I forgave him. I just— stopped caring.”

Atsushi’s eyes drift upward again, drawn to the moonlight subdued behind the clouds. He knows it’s his turn to speak. He knows Kyouka is waiting. Expecting. Still, he struggles to find his voice, to think of the right words, the right way to tell her. He fears that if he says it now, it will be his reality. He’ll accept it as his reality.

He takes a deep breath. “Well, remember the big, scary dog that chased us? Turns out they’re an ability user who’s hunting down therianthropes. And they marked me as their next target.”

He straightens his stance and places his palms on the railing, leaning his weight on it. He swallows a hard lump before resuming. “We found a book on it, but it didn’t really explain much. Dazai-san mentioned a theory where abilities could cancel each other out and stuff. That’s why the President wants me to have a, uh, bodyguard— someone who won’t be affected by the hound’s powers.”

His grip on the rail tightened as a heavy warmth closed in on his throat, but he pressed on. “It’s, uhm, pretty humiliating— to need something like that when I have an ability I should be able to use. But— you see— the hound can mess with the abilities of any user nearby… a-and it has this, uhm, effect that makes you experience fear like nothing else. You know this, right? You felt it.”

Atsushi doesn’t know why his jaw is quivering. He can’t explain why there’s tension pooling at the pit of his stomach. His nape feels hotter than usual. “This morning, while I’m on a mission. The hound attacked, if it weren’t for—”

Shit. He can’t say his name. He bows his head and flexes his fingers. “I-If it weren’t for… Akutagawa, the hound might have killed me. Now, Dazai-san appointed him as my… my…”

It’s frustrating. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. As Atsushi’s bodyguard? The person who will be at his side every second, every minute, and hour of god knows how long to make sure he’s safe? Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. Who ripped Atsushi’s leg off on their first meeting and has been hostile towards him ever since. Who sees Atsushi as weak, pathetic, and undeserving of recognition. Who sees Atsushi’s existence as a curse, a suffering to those around him. That Akutagawa Ryuunosuke?

It just doesn’t sound right.

“Akutagawa saved you?” came Kyouka’s surprised reaction. Atsushi bows his head more. Heat creeping up his ears. “When you phrase it like that…”

“He doesn’t get involved in anything that won’t benefit the mafia.” she remarks.

“I know.”

“So, what did you offer in return?”

“He volunteered.”

“What?”

Atsushi brought his hands to his face in shame for reasons he doesn’t have. 

“Was that why you asked me if I hated him?” Kyouka nudges Atsushi’s elbow. After a moment, his palms move to cover his eyes instead. “Well, yeah, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable when the time comes. If I need to, I’ll keep my distance so you won’t have to see him.”

He takes a sharp inhale and drags his hands down his cheeks, to his throat, and collarbone, before wrapping loosely around the sides of his neck. “And… I could really use another perspective to make sense of how I feel.”

“What do you feel?”

Atsushi grits his teeth before letting his raw, unfiltered thoughts run out of his mouth. “I’m not sure. You do know how it is between us— he’s an enemy. We’d rip each other’s throats out if given half a second. Sure, we team up sometimes. But that’s only because of Dazai-san and it’s for a mission! But this? This isn’t. Back there, he didn’t have to fight the hound. It’s none of his business. He could’ve ignored me and walked away, but he didn’t. And I’m grateful, I really am— but why? He wouldn’t just do that out of the goodness of his heart— god forbid he even has one—”

With a slow exhale, he anchors his fraying composure. “I just don't understand. Yesterday, he stabbed me in a convenience store.”

Kyouka ponders for a moment. “Have you… ever thought that you're doing the same thing?”

Atsushi looks at her. “How?”

“I think,” she starts. “To Akutagawa, you're also his enemy that doesn't hold back his punches, and at the same time, the ally that never hesitates to come to his aid.”

“Yeah, only because we're on a mission,” Atsushi retorts. 

“Interesting. So if Akutagawa’s life were in danger and you weren't on a mission, would you let him die?”

Atsushi knew something was wrong with him the moment his mind answered no. Without missing a beat. As if it has always been his answer, even if he was never asked the question. A certainty that surreptitiously carved itself in his very being, somewhere along the way of trying to kill each other and saving the city together.

Before the weight of his thoughts fries his nerves, Atsushi forces out a scoff, pretending the pause was nothing more than blatant annoyance. “In what universe would Akutagawa ever need my help?”

“He’s not the strongest,” Kyouka says. “There are people out there who can kill him, and you know it.”

Atsushi shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “His pride would never let him ask for my help— even if it meant saving his own life.”

“Just like you.”

His eyes widened, the epiphany suddenly crashing through him like wild waves trying to crawl into the port during stormy weather. Unpredictable. Unwanted. Inescapable. All of Atsushi’s accusations, all of his impressions, all of what made Akutagawa the Akutagawa in his eyes mounted into a heavy feeling in his lungs. Threatening to burst in the form of poorly stitched words to attempt to differentiate himself from that… guy. But before it reaches the peak, it just— disappeared. Gone like the waves calmly retreating into the sea after its fit of rage.

And in the stillness, Atsushi asks himself if he has these turbulent feelings towards Akutagawa because, in some way, he sees himself in him.

He doesn’t want to know the answer.

Kyouka taps his back. “It was never about the missions. It's about the fact that, when it comes down to it, you'd both risk your lives to make sure the other survives. That says a lot about your relationship.”

“We don't have a relationship.” Atsushi frowns at her. 

She chuckles. “Being enemies is a type of relationship, Atsushi-kun. What do you think I am referring to?” 

Atsushi looks up at the sky and ignores his cheeks heating up. “Nothing,”

The moon slowly peeks through the clouds. Atsushi stops sensing Kyouka’s presence beside him as he hears the door click open. “Let's sleep. You have plenty of time to think about it; the mafia rarely relieves its members from active duty. If I have to guess, Shachou and the Boss will meet and discuss the situation first. After all, Akutagawa is their principal line of assault.”

Atsushi sighs. He hoped he would really have the time to think about it.

He doesn’t have the time to think about it.

Well, he thought that he had, given that he slept well, got to work the next day and found out that Dazai and the President would not be around until further notice— and without his suicidal senior, the office is peaceful for the first time in months. So, everything was generally lax. Most of them stayed in the office to handle paperworks. Ranpo told him to be extra cautious when out in public. Kunikida informed the members about his predicament. Kenji promised he would beat up the hound once he saw it. Yosano offered him a cup of coffee with a ‘little something’ to keep him steady. Whatever that ‘something’ is, Atsushi’s grateful, because his mind has been strangely calm ever since. 

The next day, the doctor gave him another cup. Atsushi drinks it as Tanizaki asked if he could accompany him on his stalker case.

Which led them to a nice, western restaurant on a sunny afternoon. And there are three reasons why Atsushi’s fidgeting his scarf while Tanizaki recites their order to the waiter from across the table. 

First. Atsushi’s aware it’s not exactly a high-end restaurant, Tanizaki said so, too. In fact, people of all sorts take up most of the tables. It’s just that— Atsushi saw the prices on the menu and his wallet cried a little. To think that Tanizaki, like he insisted, would pay for their meal… It's embarrassing! Atsushi promised Tanizaki he would treat him for helping on his workload, but even if he wanted to cover the bill— he couldn't. And it’s not like Atsushi can tell their client to eat at a more affordable restaurant. They are only here so they can assess the stalker in an enclosed environment. So who is he to choose where to eat?

Second. Atsushi is certain that the universe is playing with him. The stars and the gods and everything in between must have thought that his life could use some thrill, so they weave the thread of probability and had Akutagawa sit at the other side of the booth Atsushi’s sitting in. Atsushi walked past him. And despite wearing those dark shades, Atsushi’s sure Akutagawa was looking at him. 

Atsushi wishes he’d focus more on his date instead. He barely got a glance, but Atsushi managed to catch a glimpse of the girl. Her porcelain skin matches her long, black hair that reaches her waist. And her white dress compliments her eyes.

She’s beautiful. How the hell did Akutagawa get her attention? 

That’s not for Atsushi to pry. What he wants to know is why a thin, inconspicuous tendril of Rashoumon is hellbent on dragging his ankle from under the table. This is his third reason.

“Is everything good?” Tanizaki asks when he noticed Atsushi’s discomfort.

He nods. “Mm-hm. I’m just, uhm, not used to this kind of place.” 

As covert as possible, Atsushi wiggles his shin to remove the iron grip. He grinds his teeth together. There’s only so much the table cloth could hide. 

“Is that so?” Tanizaki offers a soft smile. “Ogawa-san regularly dines here. The stalker might get suspicious if she went on a different restaurant,”

“Makes sense.” Atsushi shrugs and gives Rashoumon an experimentally harsh tug. Behind him, he hears something clank. Still, Rashoumon didn’t let go. He mentally cursed as he tries to divert his attention to their client. 

From his seat, he can easily spot Ogawa-san sitting alone by the window, reading a book as she waits for her appetizer. Atsushi pouts a bit as he notices her worry seeping into her grip on the book. He looks at Tanizaki. “How long until the stalker arrives?”

“He should be here any minute now. His usual table’s being cleaned.” Tanizaki glances at an angle behind Atsushi. 

They specifically requested this booth so that Tanizaki can monitor the stalker, while Atsushi checks on Ogawa-san. Theoretically speaking, they could skip this whole shebang and just have Tanizaki use his ability. However, the poor guy has been experiencing migraines; overusing his ability would make it worse. Besides, Atsushi thinks eating at the restaurant is fine if you don't think about the prices, or his ankle threatening to snap in two with how Rashoumon wounds around it so tightly. 

He audibly winces. What could Akutagawa possibly want to act like this in public?! 

“Are you sure you're alright? You look like you're in pain.” Akutagawa must have heard Tanizaki with how Rashoumon loosens its grip almost instantly. 

Atsushi sighs in relief. “Of course, I'm—”

He couldn't mask how his eyes widened in horror when Rashoumon began to gradually snake up his ankles. 

“—fine. I'm fine. Super fine. Haha.” Atsushi anchors both hands on the edge of the cushion seat and balls his fists. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What is he doing?!  

He gulps and bounces his heel in an attempt to make it stop. But it won't. Rashoumon just keeps shifting and wrapping across the expanse of his skin in this frustratingly slow manner that burns the area it consumes and sends tingles up his leg and into his spine. This is bad. It's messing up his senses. It's fogging his mind. He can hear Tanizaki talk, but the words fail to properly reach his ears. His own mouth moves, but he doesn't know what he's saying. Dangerous heat engulfs his body as the touch grows higher, wider, slower— fuck, Akutagawa is toying with him. 

Atsushi flexes his jaw and focuses all of his willpower to not tear into the cushions and throw the whole booth at Akutagawa. 

“Seriously, are you okay?” Atsushi registers Tanizaki’s question. The man is staring at him in concern. “You look— how can I describe it… constipated? Does your stomach ache? You can go to the bathroom, you know, I’ll manage.”

Rashoumon had completely taken over Atsushi’s shin, drawing soft circles on his knee cap as the tendrils continued to wind and curve. He shakes his head in an attempt to ignore the feeling, then smiles. He’s going to kill Akutagawa. “Thanks, but I’m— ”

A lone tendril travels up his inner thigh.

“Bathroom!” Atsushi slammed his palms on the table and stood up. With his head hanging low, he can see Rashoumon retreating below the seat, leaving him quivering in electrifying goosebumps and burnt veins. His voice cracked. “I need— I need to go,”

He can sense multiple pairs of eyes following him, but he couldn’t care less. He needs to punch Akutagawa. Punching him and making him fly across the room would get rid of whatever Atsushi felt and whatever he’s currently feeling from the stunt the mafioso pulled. No sane person would do that! Let alone in public! Is he crazy?!

Atsushi didn’t have the opportunity to appreciate the sophisticated design of the bathroom. Upon entering, he plants his feet on the tiles and paces around, trying to rationalize the situation and release his pent-up energy. Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out. Because in the end, he can’t punch Akutagawa. They can’t fight inside the bathroom of a nice restaurant. They can’t cause trouble for Tanizaki’s sake. So, when Akutagawa joined him and locked the door, Atsushi could only stomp towards him and snap. “What the hell was that?!”

His voice bounced through the walls, amplifying the restrained anger and disbelief laced in it. Akutagawa raises a brow. “Did you not grasp the idea?”

“What idea?” Atsushi almost shouted and dug his point finger into Akutagawa’s chest. “You violated me!”

Annoyance schools Akutagawa’s features at the display of hostility, yet he didn't push back. “You’re just as stubborn as you are foolish. It’s pathetic. I had to resort to alternative methods since subtlety clearly doesn’t work on you. I need to speak with you privately.”

Atsushi scoffs as he props his hands on his hips. “That’s it? You did all that— you did all that crap just to talk to me? You can’t leave your date for one second to peek over the booth and ask?”

“That’s just revolting,” Akutagawa cringes. “This is a fine dining restaurant.” 

“Oh, so you can’t do that, but you can worm your way up my thigh?” Atsushi retorts. He’s aware his voice is growing louder. He can probably be heard outside if they stick their ears on the door. But he can’t help it. The searing heat in his system has yet to subside, and Atsushi is intent on chalking it up as anger. Well, to some extent, it is anger. But he’d rather remain oblivious on where it was rooted from.

Akutagawa took two fingers and rubbed circles on his temple. “ Again. My attempts prior to that action are futile, which is why I opted for a different strategy. It’s either that, or I’m stabbing your thigh.” 

Is that his go-to solution for everything? Stabbing? How creative. Atsushi almost laughs. “You had another choice, actually. You could have stood up and asked. At least have some dignity in front of your date,”

Akutagawa snarls. “ Why do you keep assuming the woman I am with is a romantic interest? You fool. That’s my sister.” 

Sister…

Sister…

Sister…

For the longest moment, Atsushi could only blink. Just blink. He’s no longer breathing. The air refuses to enter his nostrils because it’s embarrassed for him. Blood runs down from his face— they too, couldn’t stand the position Atsushi gracefully placed himself in. The only one who finds this amusing is the tiger. A low rumble thunders in her throat, before she puffs out a playful gust that Atsushi can only interpret as a chuckle.

Maybe getting stabbed is the better option.  

“So, is everything settled, man-tiger? Can I begin?” Akutagawa huffs. Atsushi weakly nods, clasping his hands behind his back as he minutely rocks himself back and forth— waiting for the awkwardness in the air to dissipate.

It didn’t take long the moment Akutagawa spoke. “The Boss has been away at a secret meeting with your President, and it's rather unusual they brought only one companion, with no one else aware of their whereabouts. What do you know about this?”

“Why are you asking me?” Atsushi quickly supplies to feign ignorance, but fails. Akutagawa squints his gaze at him. Tension frizzles the air. “Something is bound to disrupt the peace of the city— and I’m certain you’re involved, seeing that there’s a huge, black hound running in the streets— chasing after you.”

Atsushi crosses his arms over his chest. “So what? You’ve never seen someone being chased by a dog before?”

“Not one that looks like it eats people for lunch.” Akutagawa deadpans. “No dog is ever that big— or smart. It’s aware of what it’s doing. It can read, dodge my attacks, and strike back with purpose. That’s not just some animal. What is it?”

Akutagawa takes a step forward, and Atsushi involuntarily steps back. Alarm starts to pulse in his chest as Akutagawa continues to move closer. “We had an agreement. Now speak,”

Technically, Atsushi did (kind of) promised Akutagawa he’d tell him. But with the mafioso now part of the equation, Atsushi found himself second-guessing whether it was wise to share the truth so soon. Dazai might kill him. Akutagawa will kill him.

“Yeah, uhm, about that—” Atsushi keeps walking backwards, jerking when he feels the cold sink kissing his lower back. His wild eyes begin to look for any opening to make his escape. Unfortunately for him, the entirety of his vision is only Akutagawa. This close, Atsushi can see his own reflection on the surface of his tinted shades, the individual strands of his black hair that turns into white at the ends, and the faint cracks marring his pale lips. His breathing hitched when the scent of smoked oud and winter air reached him. Clean. Sharp. Suffocating. It was a scent that scuffs against his nerves, taking up what little space he had without permission. 

He’s never paid attention to such details before.

Atsushi clumsily finds purchase on the edge of the sink, head turning to the side to prevent himself from observing further. He gulps. “Okay. Okay. Seriously, man to man, I really think I shouldn’t be the one telling you this. Maybe, uh, wait for your boss to come back?”

“ You’re the one I want to hear it from,” 

“ I actually don’t care—”

Atsushi mentally cursed when two tendrils crackling with energy pinned his hands on the sink. In a heartbeat, Akutagawa snatches a fistful of his cheeks and forces him to meet his gaze. Underneath those dull, grey eyes, an unmistakable pool of raw anger whirls— barely waiting to be released. “Let me be perfectly clear. The only reason you’re being shown any mercy is because I gave my sister my word to act with decorum in public. Refuse to cooperate, and I’ll have no qualms about leaving you bleeding on this bathroom floor.”

He tightens his clamp on Atsushi’s cheeks. “Do you understand?”

The animosity sparks the fire that begins to burn the thread of Atsushi’s patience. A harsh puff of air escapes his nostrils. Hot and heavy. His fingers twitch as they squeeze the sink— itching to break free from Rashoumon’s bruising hold. He can already feel the power fueling his body, amplified by his growing annoyance. 

He can fight Akutagawa. Right here. Right now. He can kick him. Throw him across the building. Punch him into the ground. And Akutagawa can subject him to the extremities of his nature that he's familiar with. Atsushi will lie on the receiving end of his bloodlust once more— a place he's grown accustomed to. And he will return the favor with equal intensity. Because if the world isn't ending and everyone is safe, and yet they're suffering in each other's presence— what else were they supposed to do? 

After a long, deliberate silence, Atsushi resigns. “The Black Hound of Death. That's what it's called. The dog.”

He can feel the grip on his cheeks and hands loosening, so he seizes the opportunity to completely free himself. He avoids Akutagawa’s gaze. “It's an ability user who's after therianthropes… like me,”

“For what reason?”

“How should I know?” Atsushi retorts. Despair bubbles at the pit of his stomach. “I'm just trying to stay alive.”

Even with his tinted glasses, Atsushi can see the visible confusion painted across Akutagawa’s face. “It doesn't make any sense. What role does the mafia have in this situation?”

Nothing. That’s the answer Atsushi wanted. The mafia should be excluded from the narrative. Akutagawa shouldn’t have been involved. Not this time. But here they are. Here he was. Standing at the edge of the shore, staring at the violent seas. Unable to look away. Unable to run away. Aimlessly waiting for the waves born from resentment to rise and swallow him whole. 

Atsushi walks past Akutagawa, ignoring the heavy feeling pushing against his chest. “You’ll know,”

A hand grabbed his wrist. Demanding. Determined. Yet Atsushi didn’t dare to look back. Seeing Akutagawa and talking to him led him to learn another horrible aspect about his situation. A perspective he failed to notice. To take into account. 

He’s been anxious that only Akutagawa can protect him from imminent death, but what if Akutagawa doesn’t want to?

“You’re not walking away without telling me everything.” Akutagawa pulls him back lightly. “You owe me, man-tiger.”

Atsushi chuckles dryly and stares down at the floor. “I do. Don’t I?”

If only it was someone else. If only it wasn’t Akutagawa. The very incarnation that reminds him of his weaknesses— of the reasons why the world deemed him weak and worthless. If only Atsushi can stop clinging on to his damn pride. Even just for this moment. Things could’ve been a lot easier.  

Three faint knocks sounded on the door. Akutagawa squeezes his wrist, one final order for Atsushi to give him an answer, but Atsushi doesn’t. So, when Akutagawa lets him go, despite the unexpected leniency, Atsushi immediately leaves the bathroom.

“How are you feeling?” Tanizaki asks as Atsushi sits down. At the same time, Akutagawa walks past their booth. His frame was a little heavier, shoulders tensed. Atsushi pretended he didn't notice and offered Tanizaki a short, reassuring response. 

Hopefully, this will be the last time he'll talk to Akutagawa before Dazai returns. 

Well, shit. It's not. 

The very next day, Atsushi was sitting on one of the benches scattered around the mall plaza, far from the boutiques and shops where people swarm into. Bags of purchases pile on his sides and feet, which he carefully organised to avoid any accidents. With his elbows propped on his knees and clasped hands supporting his chin, Yosano-sensei told him to wait here while she stalls her shopping spree to catch up with an old friend. 

He wishes he could wait somewhere else, because while he deliberately stares at the pouring fountain basking in the sunset, a familiar figure approaches his periphery. Black face mask. Dark, minimalist jacket paired with equally dark pants. His form oozed a barely restrained sense of superiority.

Atsushi mutters a curse under his breath. What is happening to his life? Why is he being subjected to such torture? It's already excruciating to wait for the President and Dazai to return— given that it has been three days and they have yet to hear from them. And now he has to deal with this? Bumping into Akutagawa in public? On a normal day? This never happens. No. Their lives only cross when the agency and the mafia decide to. An unspoken convention that compartmentalise their aspirations and sins. A necessity to maintain the delicate balance between both parties. 

Meaning, someone must be behind this. Someone who's aware of Atsushi’s problem, and at the same time, aware of Akutagawa's role in it. 

“Act normal.” 

Atsushi’s thought bubble pops as Akutagawa grabs the paper bags on his side and takes a seat. Right there. Beside him. 

What the hell is going on?

“I’m sorry?” Atsushi looks at him funny as the mafioso places the bags on his other side. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans comfortably against the bench. “I’m being pursued,”

Alarm pulses through Atsushi as he whips his head around, looking for enemies. “By whom?”

Sharp, scanning eyes rake the few people in their line of sight. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, except for a girl marching straight towards them. 

Her long, black hair is tied into two low-pigtails, adorned with a simple white headband. She’s wearing a chiffon dress that drapes over her fair skin, complimenting her gentle features. In her shoulder, a small black bag that matches her sandals. 

She seems… okay? Atsushi blinks. “Is it— is it her?”

“Yes. Now, quit looking. ” Akutagawa growls.

“I’m not.” Atsushi diverts his gaze back at the fountain, spine a little tense. The girl seems harmless, or is it only a facade?

“I told you to act normal,” 

“I don’t know what kind of ‘normal’ you want me to act.” 

“Control your body language. Your stiff posture is drawing attention.”

“Because I have no idea what’s happening ,” Atsushi almost yells out of annoyance.

“Stop talking. She’s near. Pull yourself together or I will—”

“Hi!”

The two men raise their heads in unison to address the girl standing before them. Atsushi notices the faint blush on her cheeks as her eyes twinkle while looking at Akutagawa. “You’re Gaki-san, right? Hana-chan’s brother. Do you remember me?”

Gaki-san? Atsushi steals a glance at Akutagawa. Never had he seen him look so uninterested. His grey eyes, which are usually cutting and fervid, now stared ahead with the blank indifference of someone who couldn’t care less.

“Fumi-san,” Akutagawa greets. His tone is oddly flat, and the mask offers no excuse for it. “I remember.”

Fumi giggles. It’s the most adorable sound Atsushi’s ever heard, and yet, Akutagawa remains unfazed. Is he dense? She clearly has a crush on him!

“It’s a pleasant surprise seeing you here. How has Hana-chan been lately? I haven’t heard from her in a while, and it made me a little worried.”

“She’s fine,” Akutagawa answers. “Just busy.”

“Of what?” the girl beams.

“You can ask her. I’ll let her know to message you.”

So cold! Atsushi internally cringes as he quietly watches the situation unfold. Should he leave? He probably should. But it’s awkward to navigate out of the fortress made of shopping bags— and he needs to bring all of it with him, too. Besides, Akutagawa did come to him for help— whether he admits it or not, so in a way, it’s a betrayal to leave him alone.

This is getting difficult.

“Uhm— there’s no need for that! If you want, we can talk about it over some food? My treat.” Fumi bats her pretty eyelashes. Atsushi can physically observe how her radiant warmth sizzles out before it reaches Akutagawa. It’s as if the light from the heavens fails to breach the pitch black depths of hell. 

“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m with a companion, so I’m not available.” 

Ah, so that’s why. Atsushi reluctantly nods at Fumi while forcing out a smile, cheeks quivering to make it look as genuine as possible. He hopes it does.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. The sparkle surrounding Fumi instantly evaporates at the blatant rejection. Her shoulders slump, eyes flicking across the shopping bags. “Oh, I see. Is there a special occasion?”

“It’s his birthday,” Akutagawa coolly supplies. And Atsushi had never struggled to keep his eyes from popping out of its sockets. Because for one, it’s not his birthday. And two, can’t he think of a better lie?!

Fumi continues to scan the merchandise, her smile fading little by little. “You… bought all of this… for him?”

Atsushi’s brow twitched. 

“Yes.”

He can only turn his head away and fiddle his scarf as the awkwardness grazes the edge of the atmosphere. If only he could wring Akutagawa’s neck and walk away like nothing happened. That would be nice, but it’s impossible given that they’re trapped under societal conventions. However, if only he had the guts to tap Akutagawa on the shoulder and say ‘Hey! So these aren’t mine. You see, Yosano-sensei shopped like summer was starting tomorrow so—’

“These are high-quality skirts and dresses…” Fumi’s expression is unreadable as she stares at one particular bag. 

Akutagawa shrugs. “What of it?”

This is ridiculous. Atsushi squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Akutagawa’s cover story is downright absurd. Who even thinks of something like that under pressure? Is he even under pressure? He could’ve said literally anything else: they were guarding the bags for a friend, said friend went to the bathroom, ran a quick errand, bought snacks or whatever. It was so easy. And partially true on Atsushi’s side. But no. In Akutagawa’s version, it’s Atsushi’s birthday — and he bought them all for him.

For what possible reason?!

“They’re… nice.” A pregnant pause hangs over them before Fumi speaks again. “Oh, my. I just remembered I have to be somewhere. See you around, Gaki-san. And happy birthday to your, uh, companion.”

Quick footsteps click across the tiles. Atsushi waits for them to fade before turning to face Akutagawa. Teeth bared. “ What is your problem?!”

“Consider this as my first attempt at getting even.” With a languid hand, the mafioso removes his face mask and meets his gaze. Atsushi ignores the light goosebumps that pass through him, deeming it was nothing more than an extension of his looming anger. “Although I would hardly call it even,”

“Out of every excuse imaginable, you decided the most believable one was that you bought me all this— for my birthday?” Atsushi vaguely gestures to the shopping bags. Akutagawa raises a curious brow. “I don’t see the problem. I lied to get her to leave, so what?”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Atsushi sinks into the bench. There’s no use in arguing. After all, Akutagawa wouldn’t understand how awkward it was to be dragged into a story like that, with no say and no warning. He huffs. “Why aren't you interested in her, anyway?”

“ Why do you need to know?” Akutagawa snaps back. 

“I'm just saying—” Atsushi pins his attention towards the fountain. “—she's pretty cute. And it's obvious that she's into you. Why did you turn her down?”

If looks could kill, he's probably dead from blood loss with how Akutagawa bore holes into his skull. “Must I answer that question, man-tiger? I'm going to give you a minute to think about it,”

Then it clicked. Like a cog turning into place after a delay. Atsushi cringes. “Oh, right.”

He's the attack dog of one of the most powerful organizations in the city. A mafia. A wanted man. The Ability User of Destruction and Disaster. The line between the substance of his work and the mundane experiences of life is drawn with utmost precision. Never to be bargained. Never to be erased. 

The thought never crossed Atsushi’s mind before. And now it's there to stay. 

“Apart from that,” Akutagawa faintly coughs. “I only tolerate her because of my sister. Fumi-san is the only companion Gin made—”

“That's Gin-san?!” Atsushi whisked his head to confirm what he just heard. Eyes wide, jaw hanging open. The image of the dangerous assassin leading the Black Lizard into mayhem and the memory of the dainty woman yesterday eating pasta overlapped until it made sense. “They're the same person?!”

Akutagawa’s piercing glare is an answer in itself. 

“Sorry,” Atsushi murmurs, pressing his lips into an apologetic thin line. It's his fault he failed to put the pieces together, but in his defense, who would have thought? 

“As I was saying.” Akutagawa clears his throat. “She’s the only companion Gin made outside of the organisation, so it’s not something to be taken lightly.” 

It’s barely there. Like a fleeting magic dust flickering in the air before it vanishes. But Atsushi caught it. Saw it. How Akutagawa’s eyes softened it somehow resembled grey clouds on a fine day. How the edge of his gaze became a little less sharp— a little more fond. And underneath it, lies the unmistakable glint of determination towards protecting something worth the violence.

His heart skipped a beat. Fuck.

“T-That explains the fake name.” Atsushi returned his focus back to the fountain. Keeping his composure cool and intact in the midst of the chaos in his mind, trying to process what’s happening. 

Akutagawa scoffs, back to his usual self once more. “Congratulations. I thought you’d ask a foolish question about that, too.”

“I won’t, Gaki-san.” Though Atsushi meant to mock, the name came out sounding foreign— unnatural. “That doesn’t sound right,”

“Indeed,”

Huh?

Silence to fill up their space.

Atsushi twiddles the long ends of his bangs too appear preoccupied. This is weird. It is weird. Sitting beside one another and not having the intent to claw each other’s throat out. It’s new. In a way that Atsushi got to see the mafioso in the light— away from the harsh darkness brought by his job. But this is also dangerous. Tiny cracks begin to mar the conception Atsushi created of Akutagawa, threatening to collapse under the things he’s starting to learn about the mafioso.

“Your scarf is out of place,”

Cold goosebumps rendered Atsushi frozen as he sensed his scarf being dragged upwards his nape. He glances at Akutagawa, only to find him already staring. 

Seeking. His eyes, grey like dying embers, are looking for something. A reason, an explanation— Atsushi doesn’t know—

His lashes fluttered when he felt Akutagawa’s cold palm through the scarf, fingers wrapping around his nape and staying there.  

Compliance. He was looking for compliance.

“I owe you.” Atsushi heard him say past the ringing in his ears. “So, I did what was necessary and shared relevant information. Now it’s your turn.”

Akutagawa’s grip tensed for a split-second. So that’s what it’s about. 

“I thought we talked about this.” Atsushi bows his head a fraction, eyelids slowly falling. The coldness against his hot skin sent ripples across his spine. 

“And as far as I can remember, our conversation was interrupted,” Akutagawa says. “I need to know everything,”

The fragile atmosphere teeters on the edge of restraint and something Atsushi can’t quite name. Like lightning threatening to strike the ground at any moment. 

“What’s in it for you?” Atsushi asks despite knowing the answer. It’s pointless to hide it from him— the very person tangled in the mess— but until everything’s settled, he’ll cling onto the illusion that he’s safe without help, that the hound will eventually leave him alone.

“I fail to understand what business the mafia has in a matter that concerns only you.”

And just like that, the hand on his nape felt twice as heavy.

Because Akutagawa’s right. Why do people get dragged into his own problems? The mafia. The agency. Why does Akutagawa— who had nothing to do with him— be obligated to protect him? Why can’t he protect himself in the first place? And Akutagawa’s supposed to do it just because he’s ordered to? And if he doesn’t want to, then what? There’s no one else capable of doing the job— they don’t have the luxury of time to find one— then what will happen to Atsushi?

It’s all the same. It all boils down to him being fucking weak. Useless and weak. And it’s fucking pathetic.

Atsushi accepts the imploding feeling in his chest. He accepts how his rib cage rattled, as if begging to be deconstructed. With a deep breath, he muttered, to Akutagawa, to himself, “I’m sorry.”

He is. He really is. If he had the chance to end it all now, so as not to burden anyone else, he’ll take his chances. 

“You’re—? What is it, man-tiger?” Akutagawa had let go of his nape, and yet Atsushi still can’t breathe properly. Instead, Akutagawa clutched his arm, tight and firm. “Spit it out.”

“C-Can’t.” Atsushi wheezes through his teeth. He heaves deep, sucks in shallow. Struggling to level his breathing, struggling to erase the constrictive ball in his chest, to cage the fluctuating anger and frustration within him. He shouldn’t let it out. He needs to calm down, brush it aside— ignore. He can’t blow up.

The world doesn’t need to see his hatred towards his own self.

“Jinko, you’re suffocating yourself. You need to breathe.” 

Breathe? Atsushi wants to breathe. He knows he’s drowning in empty air but he just. Can’t. Breathe. If he does, every fear, every sorrow and regrets— everything he’s ever felt would flood out in inextricable waves. He can’t do that. He should forget this. Forget everything. The hound. Akutagawa. He should run away. He needs to keep his friends safe. The city would be safer if he—

Something cold draped over his clammy, balled-up hand. And Atsushi bursts above the waterline, lungs filling up with air. He takes in deep, shuddering breaths. Shoulders rising like ships riding the waves. And in the midst of it, everything had a little more space.

Opening his eyes, Atsushi takes in his surroundings to ground himself. How the sunset hits the spouting water from the fountain. The green trees growing in a square plot. The indoor plants scattered across the plaza. The few people sauntering around the mall.

And as he turned his gaze to his side, he saw Akutagawa’s hand blanketing his own. It’s cold. A bit calloused. Cloaking Atsushi’s hand as if it’s trying to balance the heat.

“Have you settled your nerves?” 

Looking up, Atsushi couldn’t make something out of Akutagawa’s expression. Faint creases travel across the middle of his brows. Jaw clamped shut. His grey eyes fixed into something past Atsushi with an intensity of a storm that’s about to landfall.

He gulps. “Y-Yeah.”

“Good, because the hound is here,”

A sudden tremor bites Atsushi’s skin with the arrival of a familiar presence. His nape burned, bones succumbing to the well-known fear that he can’t shake off. He can sense the hound behind him. Ruby eyes drilling into his very soul.

Atsushi can’t move.

“I should’ve killed it the first time,” Akutagawa growls.

The air thickens with anticipation and bloodlust, pushing all of Atsushi’s blood against his ears. It doesn’t do him any good, because his senses are on high alert; he can hear the vibration of the hound’s paw hitting the floor as it approaches. Along with it, the crackling energy radiating off Akutagawa’s jacket— Rashoumon.

Are they really going to do this? Here? Atsushi can’t feel his legs. He won’t be able to take all of Yosano’s belongings and bolt. And even if he did stay, what can he do? Cower in fear as he lets someone else risk their lives for him? Prove to himself that he’s weak?

His questions vanished at the squeeze of his hand. Akutagawa catches his gaze. “Let's do it.”

He can't. 

Someone touched their shoulder, and both men pulled their hands back, as if hot water was poured over them. 

Shit. 

“Don’t worry. He won’t do anything.” Dazai's eyes were locked on the enemy, sharp and taunting. A playful smirk ghosts his lips. Atsushi blinks at his senior, who seemed to materialise from thin air, before garnering the courage to look what’s behind him.

The hound has its bloodshot eyes pinned at him. Ears flicking. From the dark hallway across the vast mall. Its paw was about to step into the light, but as the minute passed, it never did. Instead, it remained in the shadows. Staying there. As if contemplating whether to push its murderous goal or fall back.

Atsushi’s mouth hangs ajar when the hound retreats completely. As if it had never been there in the first place. Nonexistent at that point in time and space. 

“I must say,” Dazai starts as the tension begins to ease. He props his palms on the backrest and leans his weight on it. “You left him with just enough damage to second-guess his actions, Akutagawa-kun.”

“Dazai-san.” Akutagawa fixes his posture in front of the man. Eyes carrying a bit of hope. “You—you knew?”

Dazai smiled. Atsushi would’ve guessed he was going to say something nice, if it weren’t for the utter disappointment reeking on his voice when he spoke. “Of course! I was there. How else would I know you couldn’t finish a simple job?”

Akutagawa lowered his head, throat bobbing as he swallowed. He looks… defeated, Atsushi thought. It doesn’t suit him— the slumped shoulders, the silence, the hesitancy. What could possibly be the reason why he’s hellbent on getting Dazai’s approval?

“Well, forget about it.” Dazai sighs and stands tall. “It’s a mistake to think you are capable—”

“I can do it.” was Akutagawa’s immediate reply, tone bold and firm. The glint of triumph flitting across Dazai’s features doesn’t go unnoticed. Atsushi furrows his brows at him. Is he…?

No. No. It would complicate things further—

“Are you sure? You know how I feel about people who bite off more than they can chew.” Dazai cocks his head to the side. For a second, Atsushi catches a glimpse of someone dangerous. Someone who shouldn’t be crossed. A mafia. He opens his mouth, the protest at the back of his tongue, but it won’t come out. How can he tell him that this is a bad idea?! 

Akutagawa nods. As if his decision is vouched by the gods themselves. “I will kill it.”

“You mean you two will kill him.” Dazai points a finger at him, then at Atsushi. He flashes his rows of teeth in a wide grin. “Another team-up! Isn't it exciting?”

Oh, no. Atsushi blanches. 

What was he thinking?! Why did he hide Akutagawa’s involvement under the guise of a mission? Why didn't he tell the truth? The mafia, what do they know? What will they do? They won't pull Akutagawa off active duty just for this matter… will they? 

But if Dazai comes back looking like he managed to get the winning numbers in the next lottery, does that mean their meeting went well? The Agency and the Port Mafia had an official agreement? Is this their agreement?

Atsushi ignores the urge to rip out his hair. This is wrong. It's going to be a disaster!

Akutagawa slips his hands into his jacket’s pocket, uncharacteristically cooperative— like he is in any other situation around Dazai. “What are the details?” 

“That's for your boss to clarify—” Dazai dismisses him with a flick of a hand, “—who, by the way, has returned. Go and meet him, he’s waiting for you.”

“Understood.” Like a robot being given instructions, Akutagawa rises to his feet. And as he does, the setting sun managed to kiss a part of his figure, casting sharp shadows across his face. Atsushi never got the chance to prepare himself at the sight of his grey eyes exploding into colors under the warm glow. Specks of blue and hints of green float over a pool of steel that carries power and unwavering determination. A silent promise to chase victory.

Were they always like that all along?

Carefully, wordlessly, Atsushi watches him leave, knowing that the next meeting between them might feel like the first.

Only this time, it’s not the fear of losing a leg that haunts him.

“Was Yosano-sensei stress shopping again?” Atsushi hears Dazai ask over the lapsed silence. A bandaged finger points at the heap of shopping bags. “This is way more than she usually buys— like, thrice as much.”

Atsushi stares intently at his senior, the illusion of a casual, normal conversation never quite taking shape. “Why?”

Dazai immediately drops any attempt to sweep the situation under the rug. His sharp eyes caged him in. Like a hunter trapping his prey. For a second, Atsushi regrets speaking up. “Do you really think he’d agree if he knew the truth?”

“Of course, he would—”

“He won’t.”

Atsushi blinks, the answer failing to sink into his ears. “...what?”

“You heard me.” Dazai averts his gaze. “To be honest, he might agree, but he’ll probably half-ass the whole thing— even if it costs him my approval.”

“Impossible,” Atsushi scoffs. “That’s his ultimate dream in life.”

Dazai just shrugs. “Both things can be true at once. Besides, I need him to behave as he normally would, or the entire operation might be compromised.” 

Operation? Atsushi frowns. “What do you mean?”

It doesn't make sense. The pieces aren't falling into place. Heck, the pieces are missing. The pieces are hidden by his secretive senior who doesn't want to enlighten him on what's happening! 

Both men see Yosano from afar, walking towards them with a drink in hand. And that's when Dazai grabs the top of Atsushi’s head, light yet firm, as if he wants to ensure he won’t run away at his next words.

“Why do you think you keep running into him lately? Because of fate? Destiny? Divine intervention?” Dazai snorts, tone deep and cutting. “Unless those are Ranpo-san’s aliases, then no. It’s all part of the plan.”

A cold, overwhelming weakness sweeps over Atsushi’s bones and muscles, rendering them numb, his mind struggling to process what he’s hearing. He gulps, hard and slow, and utters over the slight tremble of his lips. “What…?”

“Every move, every decision has to be made carefully. One slip-up, and the enemy will catch on that we know what they’re up to. That’s why I need you to get along with Akutagawa-kun, too.”

For a moment, Atsushi wonders if the enemy Dazai’s pertaining to is still the hound… or someone else. Someone who can pull more strings to achieve their goal. Someone who won’t hesitate to sacrifice everything if it would mean victory will be theirs. Someone like… Dazai.

No, Dazai is better than any enemy they have out there. Atsushi’s certain of it.

As his nerves simmer down, Atsushi sits a little straighter, heart carrying a bit more courage. He has a major role in this operation; he needs to do whatever he can to ensure it will all work out. “Okay. Okay. What are we going to do?”

It was so easy—telling to himself that he can do this. That for the operation, he can handle being around Akutagawa. Until he can hear Dazai’s demonic laugh as he says. 

“You're going to live together!”

Chapter Text

Sitting inside the meeting room with the whole agency at first thing in the morning tells Atsushi it's going to be a long day. 

It will be a long day. After the little stunt Dazai pulled at the mall yesterday, Atsushi expected his senior had more surprises in store for them— for him— otherwise he wouldn't call for a meeting if he didn't. But seriously, what could possibly be worse than what Atsushi already knows? He will live with Akutagawa. 

Now, Atsushi tried his best to trace the thought process it took to come up with such an absurd idea. He stayed up all night to rationalize the operation, whatever it may be, but he just can't find sense in it. Sure, it would guarantee his protection, but can't they just pursue the hound from the get-go? Why do they have to live together? That won't do anything. In fact, it would endanger Atsushi’s life, because it would be easier for Akutagawa to stab him to death when he learns about the truth. Which Dazai asks him not to tell. 

Atsushi swallows a groan and thumps his forehead onto the table. That's another problem. Why would Dazai hide it from him? The whole set up, what is its purpose?

Something’s off. 

“Good morning, starshine!” 

He slumps on his cheek to acknowledge Dazai kneeling on the office chair next to him. One hand on the arm rest and the other on the edge of the table. He pushes himself to spin it around for no apparent reason. After he completes two turns, he shoots Atsushi a tooth-rotting grin. “I reckon the earth did not say hello to you?”

“I wish you didn't, too, actually.” Atsushi sits up straight as Dazai comes to a halt. Despite his response, the invisible yet palpable light radiating off Dazai’s being remained intact. Like a giant halo that was never quite there. Ah, Atsushi hoped it would wilt a bit. Somehow, that drags Atsushi’s mood further in the mud— not to mention the fact that Dazai seems to enjoy seeing him suffer. What a nice senior. 

“Oh, really? Perhaps you'd like to receive a good morning from someone else instead?” Dazai cackles and throws his head back, only to shriek when he momentarily loses his balance. The chair rattles and jerks in an attempt to keep him upright. And as he recovered, the pesky light he had vanished. Thank god. 

Across the table, Atsushi hears Kunikida sigh in disapproval. His eyes are still glued to his laptop, fingers tapping incessantly against the keyboard, yet his command remains whole. “Dazai, quit it.”

Surprisingly, Dazai didn't complain and got off the chair. Hands raising in surrender. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever it takes for you to hand over the case to me.”

“I won't,”

They're still fighting over that? 

“What's this meeting about, anyway?” Yosano, who's sitting beside Kunikida, rests her elbow on the arm rest so she could lean her head against it. She throws a warning glare at Dazai. “I swear if this is one of those pranks you pull to waste our time, Dazai. I swear I’ll cut you, limb by limb.”

“Yosano-san,” Ranpo calls. Despite Kunikida in the middle, he manages to slide a chocolate bar in her direction. With a huff, Yosano takes it and tears the edge. From beside Atsushi, Tanizaki speaks. “Could you give us some, too, Ranpo-san?”

“Don’t wanna.” Despite Ranpo’s refusal, he picks the tiny bars from his mound of sweets and passes it over. Atsushi smiles a little. Most of the time, Ranpo refuses to share his snacks since he ‘bought it with his own money’ and that ‘they should buy their own’. In rare moments like this, Atsushi finds him endearing. Tanizaki thanks him and hands one to Naomi and one to Kyouka. Atsushi catches Ranpo giving one to Kenji sitting on his other side, too.

“I’m good.” Atsushi told Tanizaki when he handed him his chocolate. Atsushi leans a bit to glance at their guest today. An adorable calico cat lounges on Naomi’s lap. “I’m worried he might pounce and steal a bite, though.”

Naomi runs a gentle hand across the cat’s fur as she uses her teeth to peel the wrapper. “This-h baby? Nonsense. He’sh the most well-mannered cat-h I’ve taken care of!”

The cat meows and attempts to claw at the chocolate. Naomi shrieks and pulls the treat away from the feline, frowning. “Hey! I vouched for you! Behave!”

Atsushi chuckles a bit and averts his attention back to Dazai. His senior stands at the end of the table, the whiteboard stretching behind him like a blank canvas waiting for instruction. In his hand was a marker he loosely fiddled with across his fingers. His posture is rigid. Expression neutral. A composed intensity clings to the air around him. And when their gazes met, a shiver ran down Atsushi’s spine.

What are they going to talk about?

“Alright, let’s start.”

Eerie coldness enveloped the whole room at the timbre of Dazai’s voice. Yosano raises a brow before adjusting herself in her seat, sitting straight with her hands folded neatly on the table. Kunikida stopped typing. Ranpo freezes midway from reaching a new chocolate. The silence that follows accentuated the faint sound of the marker cap popping open.

“Nothing we discuss in this room will be recorded for security reasons, so I need you to pay close attention.” Dazai proceeds to write on the board. “Do I make myself clear?”

A collective hum of agreement buzzed among them, the precaution setting uncomfortably under their skin. When Dazai finishes, there are four key topics written across the board: The Black Hound of Death, The Great Purge, The Mafia, Man-tiger: Nakajima Atsushi.

Somehow, seeing his own name written alongside critical personalities made his stomach churn.

“As we all know, the Great Purge happened two hundred years ago,” Dazai scribbles. “It began in the continents of America, when a long series of tragedies were traced back to therianthropes losing control of their ability and going savage. With the government turning a blind eye, the people handled it themselves. An eye for an eye, a life for a life— but it doesn’t matter whose life will be taken, as long as they can justify the killing.”

Dazai turns to his colleagues, eyes grim. “It started with victims seeking revenge for their lost families. Then others joined— friends, neighbors, strangers who wanted to settle the score. Not long after, an alliance had formed— swearing to wipe out every therianthrope so the same calamity would never happen again.”

“Then, the same thing happened in Europe, Africa, Australia, Asia— here. In Japan.” For each continent, he jabs the blunt end of the marker on the table for emphasis. “Therianthropes went rabid, which convinced many that it’s their true nature and joined the alliance. People killed. Were killed. Guilty or innocent, it didn’t matter as long as it satisfied their broken sense of justice. When it ended, the global casualty reached up to roughly a quarter million.” 

Atsushi’s aware of this fact— of the numbers, of what happened. But hearing it from someone else, especially from Dazai, reminds him of the harrowing amount of blood shed out of violence, hate, and prejudice.

“That’s history.” Dazai faces the board once more. “At least, the version of history that is easier to understand,”

Everyone shifted in their seats. Yosano leans towards the table, shoulders drawn tight. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, Dazai writes something on the board. William Benjamin Howard.

“While I was gone, I did some digging and learned who established the alliance— the ringleader. The government made sure no one could trace his existence, but the book Atsushi found had the truth.” Dazai taps the space beside the name and draws an arrow that points towards another key topic. “It was the user of the ability: Black Hound of Death.”

Tanizaki raises his hand. “I’m confused, is this Howard the one who’s after Atsushi?”

He yelps when Naomi hits him in the arm. “Nii-sama, you’re not listening! He’s the ringleader of the alliance. His flesh had long become fertilizer for the plants.” She glances at Dazai with a confident smile. “He’s probably the ancestor of the guy chasing after Atsushi, right?”

“He is. Thank you, Naomi-chan.” Dazai nods. “So, you get the gist. Someone from the lineage of bigoted hooligans responsible for the Great Purge wants to kill Atsushi-kun for being a tiger. And his ability seems almost impossible to contend with.”

Ranpo sinks into his seat and speaks up. “This is getting bo-ring. Tell us the exciting part already,”

Exciting part? Atsushi blinks at his seniors.

Something along the edge of being sinister and pure enthusiasm glosses over Dazai’s features. With the marker, he strikes the board with a loud snap! “William Benjamin Howard shouldn’t have any ability,”

What?

Kenji hums in awe and asks. “How do you know all this stuff, Dazai-san?” 

Dazai tilts his head a bit, as if the question is self-explanatory. “I went to America.”

“HA?!?!”

The whole room erupts in disbelief. Yosano almost stood up. Kunikida’s mouth hangs ajar while his brows furrow. Tanizaki is speechless beside Atsushi. The cat in Naomi’s lap snickers. All while Ranpo seems unimpressed by the general reaction. 

“Oh, and I got bits and pieces from the book. Isn’t that right, Atsushi-kun?” Dazai eyes Atsushi. It took Atsushi a few seconds to break past the shock. “I don’t… know? I just read the first half,”

“Eh. The important details were in the back, but really— what kind of lunatic starts from the end?” Dazai shrugs. Atsushi wanted to tell him that he would (did), but kept his mouth shut as Dazai straightened his stance once more. “As I was saying, Howard shouldn’t have any ability. That only means he got— no, stole it from someone else.”

He fishes something out of his coat’s pocket and pins it on the board. It’s a photo of the hound back at the mall. Despite the blurred take, its eyes resemble two shining rubies in the shadows, oozing of barely restrained rage and hatred. 

“If you look closely, the hound wears a collar.” Dazai points at the dark area just underneath the hound’s eyes. Atsushi may not see it clearly in the photo, but the memory of the beast running after him multiple times supplied him the mental image of what it looks like. The thought makes his nape tingle.

Using the marker, Dazai encircles the photo and draws two arrows that head in the opposite direction. He writes under an arrow. “By nature, that collar draws out a reasonable transformation based on the user’s intent. It was initially owned by a lineage of farmers, and they used it to turn into a horse to till soil, or a bird to patrol the fields, and whatnot.”

He rakes his gaze across the room. “Seems harmless, but here’s the thing— the collar only works right if you’re a descendant of that lineage. Anyone else tries to use it, and something’s bound to go wrong.”

Kunikida rumbles. “That explains why you can’t cancel the ability, and why the hound’s presence can tamper the performance of ability-users near it,”

“Precisely!” Dazai grins and notes blindly under the other arrow. Surprisingly, his penmanship is still somewhat neat. “Howard’s anomalous descent short circuits the totality of the transformation. His goal, his twisted logic, his unstable emotions— it all adds up. That’s also where the fear stems from when you’re face to face with him.”

Atsushi’s eyes widened. The fear…

He gulps when Dazai’s gaze lands on him. “It’s possible to overcome it, Atsushi-kun.”

Atsushi blinks, hands tightening into fists under the table. The words float in his head, echoing, encouraging. But no matter how Atsushi wanted to believe that he can, a part of him, deep inside the recesses of his soul, something whispers that he can’t. Because how could he? Every time the hound attacked, all he could think of was to run, hide— don’t get caught. You’re going to die. Don’t die. Not once did it cross his mind to stand up against it. To stay and fight. Despite having grown stronger, his first instinct is to cower and make a fool of himself.

Now, knowing that this fear— this fear that isn’t even his own— can be conquered, why is he still afraid?

Yosano waves her hand. “What I’m getting is— the ability is the collar, and we just have to rip it off to take the enemy down?”

“You make it sound easy, but yes, that’s pretty much the plan.” Dazai sighs. “Unforetunately, with the package of inconveniences he brings, we’ll have a hard time,”

Atsushi’s eye twitches when Dazai snickers like a witch, the air around him foreboding something wicked. Even though he’s aware that they will inevitably talk about this— even though he knows this is the reason they’re having this meeting in the first place, Atsushi can’t help but worry how his senior will deliver the narrative. Surely, it won’t be that bad, right? After all, this is a very serious meeting.

Dazai stretches both his arms wide and announces. “But worry not, there is someone who can handle it. Someone immune to the hound’s effects. Someone who can go toe-to-toe with him and sweep an easy win. Someone who can and will guarantee Atsushi-kun’s safety until all of this is over,”

Dazai encircles the mafia on the board. “A member of the Port Mafia. Now, take a wild guess which lucky member gets to be Atsushi-kun’s bodyguard.”

It is that bad. It’s worse. Atsushi gulps as his skin crawls with heat, lips slightly quivering. He doesn’t know why he feels like this— all anxious and embarrassed moments before the whole agency discovers that he and Akutagawa will live together until the mission is complete, that is. So what? It’s a normal plan. In fact, it’s a great plan. No matter how unreasonable it seems. Until the hound strikes, Atsushi has some sort of protection, which is Akutagawa. Sure, it’s humiliating on Atsushi’s end, but once he overcomes his fear, he’ll be the one who’ll tear the collar off the hound’s neck. No matter what angle he looks at it, he can’t find any reason to be anxious and embarrassed. But he still is. What is wrong with him?!

“I don’t have time for your games, Dazai.” Kunikida warns and hovers his fingers over the keyboard, ready to resume his work.

Dazai clasps his hands together, smiling. “Whoever gets it right won’t be getting any calls from me about my suicidal tactics for a whole month.”

“Hirotsu Ryuurou.” Kunikida’s glasses sparkles in interest as he drags his laptop shut.

“Wrong,”

“Ozaki Kouyou.” 

“Nope.”

“Nakahara Chuuya,”

“Still no. You’re quite impulsive today, Kunikida-kun.”

“The crazy bomber?” Yosano slumps on the table with her arms sprawled across the wood, clearly apathetic. Dazai shakes his head. “Come on, people. Who's the first mafia you think of when I say Atsushi?”

“Akutagawa.” Kyouka murmurs softly. 

Suddenly, the whirring of the air conditioner sounds louder than before. Atsushi hangs his head low, cheeks warming in the absence of immediate reaction from his coworkers. 

“Wait… are you serious?” Tanizaki asks after a long beat. Kunikida groans in defeat. “Of course, it would be the attack dog. Why didn't I think of him?”

As Atsushi wills the heat to dissipate, he looks up to Dazai. “That's correct, Kyouka-chan! Your reward is now in effect,”

Kunikida complains. “You never bother her in the first place. What's the point?”

“To give you something to mope in the shower.” Dazai smirks and meets Atsushi’s gaze. Atsushi gulps, his senior wears this zealous expression that entails more mischief. He's enjoying this. 

“Isn't that a bit…. counterproductive?” Naomi questions as she pets the cat. “Atsushi-kun might be safe from the hound, but chances are he might not be safe from… Akutagawa. We all know how he is. How did you convince him to do it?”

Dazai props his palms on the edge of the table, eyes shining. “I have my ways. Trust me, they will get along. Just don't mention anything about bodyguards and stuff around him so he won't tear this place to the ground,”

“Why would we be anywhere close to him?” Tanizaki mutters to himself. Not low enough, apparently, since Dazai picked it up. Atsushi wishes he didn't. The answer is obvious, so painfully obvious that Atsushi wonders why Tanizaki even asked. How else would that be possible other than—

“Akutagawa will lounge in the office,”

“WHAT?!”

Dazai frowns at the collective bewilderment. “You do get that a bodyguard’s job is to follow their person everywhere at all times, right? Atsushi-kun works here. Of course, Akutagawa will be here, too.”

Like a lightbulb flicking on, Atsushi watches in horror as an epiphany struck Yosano in the flesh. She abruptly freezes, before a surge of energy pushes her to sit straight, eyes widening as if something just snapped into place in her mind. Atsushi doesn’t have to guess what she’s thinking. It’s written on the wide, manic grin that slowly splits across her face. She caught on. She caught on.

“By all times…” she begins, choking to keep her emotions at bay. “You mean— twenty-four seven, seven days a week?”

“Yes,”

Yosano exhales sharply, a startled laugh slipping through. “That means they’re going to live together. Under the same roof.” 

Atsushi’s blood went south. Down to his feet, trying to run off through the miniscule space under his toenails. His heart thrashes against his throat, clambering to leave his mouth so it won’t have to sit through the torture. And when his soul failed to magically escape his mortal body, he opted to flop on his seat instead. Letting his body dip into the cushion as his hands flounder, torn between covering his face or his ears. He can’t do this! 

“More like under a slab of concrete, to be honest. An apartment a few blocks from here was all we could afford.” Dazai shrugs.

What apartment?! 

Atsushi peeks through the gaps of his fingers as Yosano throws her head back and lets out a shrieking cackle. Her shoulders shake as her palm hits the table with a loud smack! Atsushi buries himself further in his seat. “Oh— this is— this is going to— waitIcan’tbreathe—”

“You can if you’d stop laughing,” Ranpo advises.

Yosano wheezes out a few steadying breaths, chest heaving to supply enough oxygen for her to breathe through it all, but the second she catches Atsushi staring at her, she erupted all over again. She waves an apologetic hand, the other proceeds to wipe the beading tears from the corner of her eyes. “Sorry— sorry— it’s just— hah, it’s just amusing. What are you thinking, Dazai?”

“The most foolproof way to trap the enemy,” Dazai responds coolly.

Yosano finally recovers with a forced exhale. “Hah. This is going to be a disaster.” Atsushi uncovered his face at the unexpected statement from his senior. Finally, someone who has the same sentiment as— “But yeah, it makes sense. Good call.”

There’s no hope for him.

“Wait, wait!” Atsushi’s comically curved back arched from the chair as he sits properly. He trains his gaze across the room. Looking for any hint of hesitation so he could insist that the plan is downright insane. There’s nothing. All of them are looking at him like this is the most logical plan ever created. All of them are looking at him like he’s the one who’s gone insane.

Well, he might as well be.

Against his better judgement, instead of a counterargument, he gulps before asking. “Are you guys… comfortable with this?”

“Kid, we should be the ones asking you that,” Kunikida answers and sighs. “But whether you are or not won’t change the plan. Still, we can at least make it a little easier for you.”

“Akutagawa will be here.” Akutagawa will be a part of our everyday lives. A mafia. An enemy. The impending reality weighs heavy on Atsushi’s tongue. Even though he’s aware it’s for his own sake, even though he already knows the agency understands what needs to be done, he couldn’t help but think he’s unintentionally placing a burden on them— a burden they shouldn’t carry, for it is Atsushi’s.

He’s being selfish again.

“Honestly, having a mafioso in the office seems scary.” At Tanizaki’s confession, Atsushi turns to him and finds him scratching his cheek with a pensive expression. “It’s scary because it’s Akutagawa, at the same time, it’s… relieving, I guess? Akutagawa is a dangerous man, but he’s also powerful, competent, and rational— even when he’s… violent most of the time. And now that the agency and the mafia have agreed to some sort of truce, I don’t really see him as a threat— at least not around the office. If anything, having him here feels like an extra layer of protection.”

Atsushi blinks in surprise. He… hadn’t seen the situation that way.

Naomi raises her hand. “Same here! As long as it’s not that obnoxious blonde, I’m good!”

Obnoxious blonde?

“Don’t worry about us, Atsushi.” Yosano sets her elbow on the table and props her cheek on her hand with a smirk. “We’re not the ones who’ll be waking up next to Akutagawa and sharing breakfast like some happy couple,”

Atsushi stopped functioning then and there.

Scorching heat engulfs his whole body, sinking in his joints and locking them in. His lips quivered once, twice, but nothing came out. And in his suffering, Yosano and Dazai screeches out a loud cackle.

“Atsushi-kun looks like a tomato,” Ranpo muses.

“You’re making this too easy—” Dazai wheezes as Yosano coughs out another booming laugh. “Look at— look at how red he’s getting! Oh my— don’t you have— anything to say to defend yourself— hah— Atsushi?”

What else is there to say? How can he even talk when all he could do is imagine the vision Yosano planted in his brain and pray that he forgets it?! Everything burns hotter!

“Stop picking on the poor kid.” Kunikida fends them off with a scowl. “You’re adults, act like one,”

Dazai tips his head towards Kunikida, swallowing a snicker. “Are you jealous they get to have their own apartment and we don’t? Do you want to wake up next to me and have breakfast together that badly, Kunikida-kun?”

“No. I want to choke you to death and stuff you in a suitcase to be thrown in the middle of the ocean.” Kunikida snipes with his jaw clenched.

“Sorry, but I’m not that kinky,”

Kunikida’s brow twitched as the air around him became dark and threatening— dousing Yosano’s chortle and Atsushi’s whole-body blush. His glasses glint dangerously, and in a calm, levelled tone, he asks. “Are we done here?”

For a second, Atsushi felt as if the President was in the room.

“Okay, fine.” Dazai raises his hands in defeat and whispers. “Killjoy,”

“I heard that.”

“Anyway.” Dazai ignores Kunikida as formality returns in his stance. He addresses the whole room. “I called this meeting so everyone’s clear on what we’re dealing with and how we’re handling it. If even one of us fails to see the whole picture, things could turn for the worse. So, I expect everyone to be nice or, at the very least, tolerate Akutagawa-kun starting on Monday. Understood?” 

Atsushi could only nod along with the others. Weakly. Hesitatingly. Already accepting that this would be his present— his reality. That the moment he exits this room, he needs to set aside his reservations and do everything in his power to make the situation easier for everyone— especially for Akutagawa. He has to— needs to— to compensate for the trouble he brought. 

At some point, Dazai adjourned the meeting, told him to stay back, and the squeaks of chairs being dragged onto the tiles resonate through the walls. Atsushi remains unmoving, his breathing shallow, as though he's trapped in his own tiny pocket of space that's continuously shrinking while the others leave. When the door clicks shut, Atsushi looks up to his seniors, Dazai and Kunikida, standing before him. Their towering figures made him feel smaller in his seat. Powerless. The thought leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat as he gulps. 

“Are you ready?”

Atsushi blinks at Dazai, shoulders tensing. “Yes.” No, but I have no choice.

“We need you to be,” Dazai reinforced, cold and absolute. “Everything— everyone depends on you.”

Atsushi nods, because what else can he do? This is his obligation. This is his penance for wanting to live. How could he refuse something that he inherently deserves?

“That’s why you can’t let Akutagawa-kun find out anything about the collar. Nor the original plan.”

Here they go again— hiding the truth and making things complicated. Atsushi couldn’t filter out the frustration bursting through his tongue. “What’s the point? He’s already part of this. What difference does it make if he knew?”

It’s one thing to carry out the plan, it’s another to keep secrets— crucial information— from his supposed-to-be ally. He doesn’t understand. He wants to. From the get-go, he wants to understand the whole picture. But Dazai doesn’t let him. Why? They’re the centre of this operation, wouldn’t it be more logical if they’re aware? Why is it only Atsushi? Why can’t Akutagawa know? 

What does Dazai know that no one else does?

Bone-chilling goosebumps sweep through Atsushi as Dazai tips his chin upwards while looking down at him. Try as he might to hold eye contact, the animus concentrated in those brown eyes forced Atsushi to turn his head away— mind wary that he’s staring straight into something dangerous. Someone dangerous.

“Akutagawa-kun won’t know,” Dazai declares. “Not yet.”

The timbre of his voice is deep, reeking of finality— of warning not to push further. Atsushi didn’t. Instead, his nails dig into the edges of the cushion. Lips trembling in an effort to keep his tongue from biting back. He wants to. God, he wants to. 

Moments of tension pass, the coldness of the room eventually blankets over their skins burning of unspoken retaliation— of repressed worries. Suddenly, a warm palm ruffles the top of Atsushi’s head. He blinks up at Kunikida, surprised. His senior pretends to study something on his laptop braced against his arm. “Let’s go. I need you to help me with something.”

It was obvious he’s keeping the moment from tipping over. None of them pointed it out; it was plain that the conversation was finished— should be finished. Without another word, Atsushi stands, and Dazai takes a certain distance as they exit the room. Any lingering strain that clings onto them gradually diffuses. Yet the aftermath of the half-coherent discussion continues to bubble inside Atsushi in hot waves. Even as he carries on with his work, it remains there. Constant. Intense. Waiting to erupt.

“Has someone told you before how quiet you get when you’re upset?”

“I’m not upset.” Atsushi roughly exhales while he fills a cup of water from the communal kitchen. Kunikida stands by the door, hands clasped behind his back. The morning went by with his senior giving him physical labour to keep his head occupied. But even then, Atsushi still can’t get rid of the itch pestering his system. He needs to do something— say everything— but he can’t. He doesn’t even know what he should do. When the day ends, he’ll go back to the dorm, but instead of doing his usual after-work routine, he’ll pack his essentials. Dazai will walk him to the apartment by tonight. 

“Your eyes shift into your tiger form sometimes when you’re distraught,”

At Kunikida’s remark, Atsushi gulps his drink, a few drops trickle down his scarf in his haste, and rubs his eyes. The tiger in him roars gently. She seems entertained by Atsushi’s plight; he often wonders which side she’s really on. Unlike his transformation during missions, minor switches like this are almost impossible to control. 

“Kunikida-san.” Atsushi wipes the corner of his mouth, setting the cup down on the table. “You should go and do your, uh, responsibilities.”

I’m fine. He’s not. But Kunikida doesn’t need to concern himself about that. His senior had done enough for him already.

“Your eyes are still golden.”

Shit. Atsushi abruptly turns away, hands instinctively pulling his scarf higher up his nose; it barely reaches his chin. “It’s just the nerves— it’ll go away, eventually. I’ll be okay.”

He casts a glance at Kunikida, who bears no sign of moving from his spot. He stood there, unmoving. His poise doesn’t exude the usual authority when he requires Atsushi to act professional, to think rationally. No. It’s something else. Something Atsushi knows but doesn’t want to acknowledge. Something Atsushi wants to run away from but just can’t.

“I know you will be, kid.” Kunikida heaves a breath, lenses flickering to hide the worry in his gaze. “But right now, you’re not. And I want to help—”

“No!” Atsushi immediately exclaims, horror rattling across his bones at the mere thought of it. His heartbeat ramped up against his ears, joints bracing for something he can’t see. And when he registers Kunikida’s startled look, he coughs to play it off. “I-I mean— I appreciate it, but no— I, uh— I’ll manage.”

O-kay. Atsushi admits that didn’t sound convincing. Ugh, what is wrong with him?!

Kunikida pinches the bridge of his nose, glasses shifting with the gesture. A quiet sigh catches in his throat. Atsushi fidgets with the longer strands of his bangs as he sets his eyes towards the floor— towards the distance between them. He knows Kunikida’s intentions are genuine. He’s aware that his senior’s concern doesn’t stem from pity or obligation. 

But what if it is?

Something ugly pulled against his stomach.

“Look, kid.” 

A pair of brown dress shoes appeared in his line of sight. When Atsushi tips his chin upwards, he finds himself under the full weight of his senior’s probing stare. Atsushi gulps, breath spilling out in weak, uneven bursts. The scarf around his neck felt more constricting than usual.

“I won’t insist if you currently don’t want my help— or anyone’s help for that matter.” Kunikida says, hunching a bit in defeat. “But you have to understand— this mission won’t work if you do things alone,”

Huh?

Atsushi blinks as a reassuring hand settles on top of his head. Warm fingers cards through his hair. “The enemy’s different from the ones we’ve fought before—” Kunikida offers a small, comforting smile, “— that’s why you have us. That’s why the mafia and the agency set aside their differences to cooperate. In times like this, we look after each other’s backs. Because if we won't, then who will?”

Kunikida pulls his hand away and tucks it in his pocket. His stance carries absolute confidence and pride, Atsushi can't help but try and cling onto it. “We’ve done it before— we’ll do it again. And we will win this, too.”

Hearing such words coming from his senior feels like a wave washing over his rattled nerves. Smooth and deliberate. However, in its wake, something remained— resisted the current. A heavy feeling that persistently tugged his gut downwards. 

“I just…” Atsushi trails off, shoulders instinctively curling in on himself. “I wish I could see things the way Dazai-san does,”

He might have been more open towards the operation had Dazai told him everything he wanted to know. Why the hound specifically wants him. Why Akutagawa can't learn the whole truth. Why they have to execute this elaborate mission when there could be other, more straightforward methods. One that doesn't include Akutagawa doing extended charity work for Atsushi. 

“Even if you did, do you think it’ll make a difference?”

Kunikida casts his gaze aside, throat bobbing as he swallows. “I'll admit; I think our strategy is unnecessarily complex for your hound problem. If it was up to me, I'd orchestrate a trap to lure him so Akutagawa can finish the job. Quick and simple. But if it’s all based on the result I want, it will fail— regardless of whether I share Dazai’s sentiments or not.”

He catches Atsushi’s eyes once more. The frame of his glasses bends sharp shadows across his features. Once again, Atsushi feels like Kunikida is looking into something he shouldn’t see. “I understand you’re quietly hoping for another way to do this. But you should know by now— Dazai isn’t the type to drag you into a plan just for the fun of it. He has his reasons.”

“I'm sorry.” The apology bubbles out of Atsushi in a weak voice. He doesn't know what compelled him to say it, or why his mouth moved before his brain could process the words. He's just— sorry. Even if he has no idea what he did wrong. 

Kunikida props a hand on his hip, shoulders drooping as he exhales deeply. His posture reminds Atsushi of a parent contemplating how to properly reprimand a child. “Don't be. Kid, there's nothing for you to apologise for. My point is— you need to trust Dazai. But if you're still skeptical, I suggest you go and talk to him about it.”

At that, Atsushi quietly scoffs. “Yeah, as if he'd ever give a straight answer,”

“What's the harm in trying?” Kunikida shrugs. He turns and walks out the door. But before he completely leaves Atsushi’s line of sight, he adds with a smirk. “Do it. This is the first time you'd ask questions instead of just blindly following orders. Consider it as a lesson for your specialised detective training program.”

“I don’t recall signing up for that!” Atsushi yells to an empty doorway. With an exasperated sigh, he leans his lower back against the counter and stares at the ceiling. Ever as always, the scarf feels tight in all the weird places. He had to adjust its position for a good minute until his neck was comfortable. Despite having worn it for what seems like forever, the sensation remains foreign to Atsushi— or at least that’s how he wanted to keep it. Unfamiliar. Extrinsic. Something that he wouldn’t associate with himself permanently.

What for? All of this will come to an end, anyway. 

But this is happening now. From here on out, his life will be intertwined with Akutagawa— in this small hollow of time where circumstances have forced them to be together. Atsushi wishes he could skip to the part where they’ve won already. Where both of them walk in opposite directions without looking back, because all that binds them is their abilities. Their capacity to take down the enemy. Nothing else. Nothing more.

He will do this. He doesn’t have a choice. But can he face the version of Akutagawa that exists outside the horrors of his job? Is he ready to learn them—

Atsushi shakes his head. What is he thinking? There wouldn’t be anything to learn to begin with. Akutagawa will always be a mafia. No matter what he does, no matter what he wears, no matter where he lives— the shadow of his sins will always haunt him and everyone around him. And who says Atsushi should do something about it? He’s not obligated to do crap for that arrogant bastard! The only thing he’ll do is refrain himself from punching Akutagawa in the nose.

Still… despite his conviction, a small part of him reluctantly accepts that he’s not ready.

The day passed in some sort of a vivid blur. To Atsushi, it was too short and too long at the same time. Fleeting and infinite. Their meeting this morning rested in the far corners of his memories, as though it had happened a long, long time ago. His small conversations with his fellow detectives meshed into a large incoherent flop that Atsushi can't quite remember. The numerous trips back and forth to the ground floor and the office while carrying heavy boxes was a task that Atsushi quickly finished in hindsight. And yet, eating his lunch took forever. Typing on his laptop felt like time wasn't moving forward. Sitting on his desk while everyone else went on about their normal day made him wonder if he was dreaming. 

He's not. Of course, he's not. 

With the sky painted purple and orange, Atsushi quietly walks beside Dazai with a backpack weighing on his shoulders. It doesn't hold much— just his clothes, the book, and other stuff he deems are important. 

The soles of their shoes click against the pavement. One after the other. Oftentimes, their footsteps fall in sync, but Dazai seems committed to prove a point— so he alters his stride to break it. Atsushi is still lost on how they're making it this far, considering they haven't spoken a word to each other ever since they left the office. Dazai was just… there. He's not exactly ignoring Atsushi, but he's not acknowledging his presence either. 

Externally, Atsushi keeps his leveled gaze ahead, entertaining himself by counting how many cars have driven past them. Internally, he's screaming his throat raw. He has an idea what Dazai wants him to do. It was painfully obvious. Still, he can’t bring himself to make the first move. Not because it would hurt his pride; his tongue is stiff against the roof of his mouth from agitation.

What the heck is he even supposed to say? 

Atsushi swallows a groan, tilting his head to the side so Dazai can’t see him digging his teeth onto his lower lip to spur himself into talking. It's now or never. 

“So, what does the apartment look like?”

To some extent, he expected his pathetic question to be lost in the space between them— and he’s fine if they left it at that. Instead, to Atsushi’s relief (or dismay) hears his senior snort. “Decent. Though I’d appreciate it if you stop beating around the bush,”

Atsushi twists his neck so quickly that he feels a vein getting dislocated. “I wasn’t—! This isn’t like that! I’m genuinely curious!”

Not entirely the truth, but it’s not a complete lie either. Unfortunately, he figures Dazai deems his words hollow and empty with how he just raises a brow, amusement ghosting his features. It should be a harmless gesture, but for some reason, Atsushi feels taunted— goaded into spurring a reaction. Before he knows it, his heart is already falling out of his sleeves.

“Can you please drop whatever act you're doing? I get all of this, but at the same time, I don't, and it's frying everything inside me, okay? It's just— I think— I think I'm gonna throw up. Let's go back. Go home. Seriously, I can't do this—”

“But you are doing it.”

“Because I have no choice,” Atsushi retorts, slightly out of breath, willing his feet to walk forward instead of succumbing to the urge of running in the opposite direction. He groans towards the sky. “What is going on with my life?”

Dazai laughed. “You act like this is the first time I’ve given you crazy missions,”

Atsushi huffs, ignoring the rising heat up his chest. His senior continues. “If I distinctly remember, you didn’t complain when I once ordered you to pretend to be a couple. What’s the difference?”

Why did he have to bring that up?! Atsushi had long buried that memory! He covers his mouth and fakes a cough. He wishes it covered the heat reaching his cheeks. “Because I know the reason why we need to do it,”

“And you think this mission isn’t specific enough? Come on, Atsushi-kun. What’s the real reason why you’re so reluctant to do this, hm?”

Fear surges down Atsushi’s spine in tiny goosebumps, muscles tensing at the question— as if Dazai found the perfect scheme to lay his nerves bare. Free for him to pull and tweak in whichever way he pleases. Atsushi swallows hard, teeth grinding as he struggles to voice out his answer— his purported notion where his misgivings stem from. The need to hide things from Akutagawa, the need to live together; the need to do all of this. Nothing came out— or was that even his answer in the first place?

One by one, streetlights began to light up as the sun finally left the horizon. 

The breeze is colder. Cars of all sorts continue to pass them by. Hushed conversations of people drift across the space. And still, Atsushi remained quiet. Why would he?

Dazai already knows what he won’t say.

Both of them stopped in front of a four-storey apartment building. While it’s generic white in color, Atsushi appreciates the trees and wild flowers bordering the property. Though it’s only a short walk from the agency, the place sits away from the district’s usual crowd and noise. Atsushi glances at Dazai when he makes no move to enter the premises. And if Atsushi’s being honest, he wishes he doesn’t. But that’s not possible.

“Keep your eyes forward.”

At the command, Atsushi stands straighter and obeys. He watches as Dazai takes several steps before looking over his shoulder. “I mean it, Atsushi-kun, you have to look at what's in front of you.”

The wind blows between them, nipping at their skin and tousling their hair. Dazai holds Atsushi’s gaze, cold and heavy, a distinct flicker glinting beneath the surface. However, before Atsushi could try and decipher what Dazai meant with his odd advice, his senior proceeded inside the building, forcing him to follow suit.

Atsushi ignores how his nape tingles underneath the scarf.

Inside, he finds Dazai already standing inside the elevator, arm preventing the doors from closing. Surprised and a bit confused, Atsushi briefly bows at the clerk behind the reception and walks over. 

“You act like you own the place,” Atsushi remarks as the elevator climbs. Dazai chuckles. “I kinda did.”

“What does that even mean?” The elevator opens on the fourth floor, Dazai is the first to exit. “When it was a laundering front,”

Atsushi trails beside him, brows furrowed. “Huh?”

“Wait, actually, it still is.” Dazai hums to himself. “But now with several real tenants, I think.”

What the hell. Atsushi’s eyes nearly bulged out of its socket. His neck almost breaks as he scans the silent hallway, the innocent nameplate on each door, finally settling at the unit Dazai’s trying to open with a key. Atsushi immediately leans over his senior and whispers. “This building is owned by the mafia?!”

What the hell?!

“You think they’d just let their precious attack dog loiter around enemy territory without gaining an edge?” Dazai pushes the door open and turns on the lights. He glances back at Atsushi, who remains dumbfounded and frozen in his spot. “What are you waiting for? Go inside. Don’t tell me you’d want me to escort you all the way to the bedroom?”

Dazai beckons him with a dismissive flick of a wrist. Atsushi swallows and stands before the doorway— fingertips cold on the edges and feet heavy on the floor. Even though the interior appears normal, Atsushi can’t shake off the unease of something going wrong the second he enters. 

He takes a step, anyway.

The distance Atsushi made— not more than a metre— felt like a distant path he wouldn't be able to retrace. Now, Dazai was left out in the hallway, with hands in his coat’s pockets, looking at Atsushi with this mix of pride and concern that should be encouraging. Instead, a strange type of fear consumes Atsushi entirely. Too quickly.

“I don’t know what to do.” The words tumble out of him as his fists clenched at his sides. “If Akutagawa arrives, what should I—”

“Just do what you’ve always done,” Dazai cuts him off. “Trust me. Don’t think too much about it.”

But all we do is deck each other at any given chance.

“Besides, someone will come help you adjust to your new set-up. You’ll be fine.” Panic torches Atsushi’s nerves as Dazai assumes his stance to leave. Everything closes in— the walls, the ceiling, his ribs— the floor is turning— his nape feels too hot. Is this it? Dazai will just leave him here? Alone? What if the hound strikes at this very moment? Can’t he tell Dazai to stay until Akutagawa’s here? He can’t— Dazai is too far away—

“I—” Atsushi falters half a step, eyes widening a fraction as his hand reaches out before stopping short. Dazai notices his lapse, eyes squinting and gleaming sharp, but Atsushi is intent on pretending it never happened. He immediately straightens his posture, plastered a smile on his face that he wishes seemed genuine enough, and bows deep. 

“Thank you, Dazai-san,”

Atsushi kept his trembling fists hidden, throat bobbing as he swallowed, hoping his fear wouldn't bleed out of his system in ugly fluxes. He stands back up, smile growing crooked— unnatural, joints growing stiff. “I’ll see you at the office!”

Before his whole visage collapses in front of his senior, Atsushi pushes the door shut. Knuckles turning white on how he grips the knob. He lightly thumps his forehead on its surface, evening out his breathing with his eyes closed. Tremors still rack his fingers, and he flexes them erratically to get rid of it. As he does, his backpack gradually slides off his shoulders, falling towards the ground with a dull thud. But even then, his body aches from carrying something else entirely.

What has gotten into him? He shouldn’t trouble Dazai because of his fear. It’s not even his fear; the hound is to blame. There’s some sort of mechanism that instilled this type of fear within Atsushi. He wasn’t like this before— he gets scared, that he’d admit, but not to this extent. It’s irrational. It’s ridiculous. It’s—

“You should get some rest before Akutagawa-kun gets here.”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of footsteps that gradually faded away. Dazai had just left.

Atsushi puffs out a large breath, nerves finally calming down. It’s okay. He can do this. Just do what they’ve always done: try to cripple the other for absolutely no reason. Got it. It would’ve been easier if the mission didn't require them to get along.

Picking up his backpack, Atsushi neatly tucks away his shoes at the genkan and absorbs the whole appearance of the apartment.

Upon entry, the dining area and kitchen lie to the right— complete with all the necessary equipment— while the living room rests to the left, furnished with a coffee table, a lone couch, and a television mounted on the wall. The whole place feels untouched, as if it hasn’t been lived in for quite some time. It doesn’t look new, yet it doesn’t look old either— just still, clean, and oddly preserved. 

Atsushi begins to roam around, opening the stove, inspecting the washing machine, and turning on the sink to see if they have no defects. Further down the hallway, Atsushi spots two doors. He figures that would be their rooms. Would it be fine if he picks his own now? Akutagawa may find it unfair, though. Eh, it’s not worth picking a fight for.

“Crap.” Atsushi mutters and lays a hand on his stomach as it growls. Food— did the mafia stock up the apartment on food? He’s allowed to eat them, right? Afterall, he and Akutagawa are partners for this mission. He marches to the fridge, hoping he’d at least find eggs. There’s nothing.

“Seriously?” Atsushi groans and checks the pantry and cupboards. He almost laughs to find dishes, mugs, and cooking tools but there’s no food. Not even canned ones. Is this a joke?

Defeated and hungry more than ever, Atsushi settles his backpack on the coffee table and plops on the couch. With both hands folded neatly on his belly, he stares blankly at the ceiling. Should he go out and buy something to eat? Is that even safe? He couldn’t possibly text Dazai to come back and bring him food…

Well, he’ll just sleep it off. 

As his eyelids flutter shut, he reimagines the warm feeling of eating chazuke on a cold day.

It didn’t last long, though.

Atsushi returns to the unfamiliar place. Moonlight hangs high behind him, bright and cold, spilling long shadows across the floor. The tiger appears at his side without a sound, her tail brushing against him like a silent vow of protection. Ahead, in the depthless void, a pair of ruby eyes glimmer— hungry, unblinking, and all too familiar. Try as he might, his feet remain nailed on where he stands. The tiger growls a warning, yet the eyes never falter. Atsushi takes it as a sign that something is bound to happen. Something dangerous. Something he couldn’t run away from.

A loud crash jolts Atsushi awake. His body reacts before his mind does— muscles tensing as he sits upright, breath caught in his throat— as instinct braces him for whatever danger might be near. His thoughts lag behind, heavy with dizziness and disorientation, trying to make sense of everything. He’s in the apartment. He dozed off to forget about his hunger, then—?

“What…?” Is he seeing this right? Atsushi frowns, mouth slightly agape at the scene in front of him.

Rashoumon is thrashing in the living room, several tendrils charged with red energy whips in the air like a mad storm trapped in a glass bottle. The root of it all, Akutagawa, is pinning someone on the wall with a deep scowl.

“Hey…” Atsushi mutters, before the gravity of the situation falls upon him. He springs from the couch at once, moving to settle the chaos. “Hey!”

What is happening?!

“Look at what you did, you woke him up.” the guy says, as if his limbs aren’t already getting red from how Rashoumon’s gripping them. He grins, canines flashing, as strands of his long, blond hair obstructs his face. “You never changed, did you?”

“You—” Akutagawa snarls as Rashoumon grows larger, filling the entire space of pure violence and animosity it almost reeked of death. Before it could escalate past the point of no return, Atsushi grabs his shoulder firmly. “Let him go.”

The guy hums in agreement. “Listen to your partner, Ryuu. Let me go.”

“Stay out of this, man-tiger.” Akutagawa orders with a glare. Atsushi scoffs. “Do you really expect me to do that? Let him go, or I’m aiming for your neck.”

“I’d like to see you try,”

“Oh? You think I wouldn’t? Why are you even harassing him in the first place?”

“It doesn’t concern you. Back off.” the mafioso tries to pry his hand away.

“No, I’m here, so it does concern me.” Atsushi shouts. “Let him go!”

“One more word from you and you’re the next thing I’m throwing against the wall,”

“Excuse me?”

Both men turn towards the guy, who miraculously managed to free himself from Rashoumon. The silver, spike earrings that adorn his ears glint softly as he smooths the wrinkles on his shirt and vest. “I’m okay now, so… you can stop— fighting or whatever.”

“Tch.” Akutagawa huffs before easing himself on the couch with controlled annoyance. Rashoumon quietly retreats back to his coat. “I’m giving you one minute to leave.”

The guy barks out a laugh, utterly indifferent to the other’s behavior. “Yeah, yeah. I just brought your partner something to eat since I remembered you have no food here. You’re always territorial,”

Atsushi blinks as the guy acknowledges him with a loose smile. “You’re the Nakajima Atsushi, huh? Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, but…” Atsushi trails off. “Who are you?”

The stranger closes in, and it’s only then Atsushi catches the faint, black roots threading through the blond. “You can call me Issa. I was sent here to assist you guys on the mission.”

A beat of panic struck Atsushi’s heart. If he’s here for the mission, then he’s the one Dazai’s pertaining to earlier. He’s a mafia, too? How much does he know?

“Your assistance is unnecessary.” Akutagawa states flatly. Issa shrugs at him. “The boss says otherwise. Besides, it would be rude of me as the landlord to just leave you be.”

And by that, Atsushi guesses he’s the fake landlord, because this is a relatively fake apartment only serving as a front so they can launder money. He internally sighs, could this get any more complicated?

Akutagawa rises to his feet, gaze sharp, Rashoumon already rolling through his coat’s fabric in threatening waves. “Your one minute is up. Leave now.”

“I heard you the first time.” Issa waves his hand in surrender and makes his way to the door, stopping by the genkan to wear his shoes. He turns the knob and looks back, a fleeting expression crossing his face— one Atsushi can’t quite decipher.

“Nakajima-san.” he calls. “Look after my brother, will you?”