Chapter Text
The footsteps echoed against the dimly lit alleyway as Kunikida sprinted through the dark streets. His target—a hooded figure with quick and precise movements—darted ahead, avoiding obstacles like a shadow slipping through cracks. Kunikida's breaths came hard and fast, but he didn’t stop running. His principles demanded justice, and he wasn’t about to let some criminal escape.
The figure suddenly came to a halt at a dead end. A wall loomed before them, high and unscalable. Kunikida slowed, catching his breath, pulling his revolver, and pointing it at the person’s back.
"End of the line," Kunikida said, voice cold and sharp. "Turn around, hands where I can see them."
The figure turned slowly, deliberately. The hood obscured their face, but there was an unsettling calmness in their posture. They chuckled, a mocking sound that made Kunikida’s skin crawl.
"You really are relentless, Kunikida Doppo," the person said, their voice filled with amusement. "Chasing me down like this. For what? To feel a sense of control? To feel important?"
Kunikida’s eyes narrowed, "Who are you, and what’s your game?"
The figure took a step forward. Kunikida tensed, his grip on the gun tightening. But the person merely tilted their head, as if sizing him up.
"If only there was someone out there who truly loved you," they said, their tone dripping with pity and disdain.
Kunikida’s chest tightened at the words. He glared at the figure, his anger rising.
"What are you trying to say?" he growled.
The figure chuckled again, raising a hand and flicking their finger in the air. A strange sensation prickled through Kunikida’s chest, and his breath hitched.
"I’ve just planted a flower inside your lungs," the person said, their tone unnervingly casual. "Hanahaki. You know what that is, don’t you?"
Kunikida’s blood ran cold.
"What?" he demanded.
The figure continued, ignoring his shock. "It’s your choice: suffer and die slowly, or live. If you want to live, you’ll need surgery to remove the plants. But in doing so, you’ll lose your ability to feel love for that person, or people?" They paused, smirking. Their voice dropping into something sinister. "This is a curse, not an ability. No one can nullify it. If that was what you were thinking."
Kunikida staggered back a step, his breath ragged. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. "What the—how do you know?!"
The hooded figure smirked, the curve of their lips visible beneath the shadows. "Oh, I know more about you than you think, Kunikida Doppo."
And then, just as sudden as they appeared, they were gone. One moment standing before him, the next, vanished into thin air.
Kunikida stood frozen, the faint echo of their words ringing in his ears. A curse. Hanahaki. Love.
Dazai’s (his coworker) face flashed in his mind. And then Chuuya’s (an executive of the enemy organization who he had fallen in love with when he kept meeting him in the ADA and PM monthly meetings).
The two people he likes . He knows they won’t return these feelings of his. This is why he won’t tell them about this condition.
"No," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Not now. Not ever."
His hands clenched into fists as he turned and began walking back toward the main streets. His steps were heavier, slower than before. He couldn’t let anyone know—especially not Dazai or Chuuya. And yet, he already knew hiding it wouldn’t be easy. Ranpo, with his intelligence, would likely figure it out in an instant.
But he wouldn’t let them see. He wouldn’t let anyone else see.
Kunikida glanced at his hand as if expecting to cough out petals already. His chest tightened—not physically, not yet, but emotionally. The burden of what lay ahead loomed like a storm on the horizon.
He sighed, shoulders slumping for the briefest moment. Then he squared them again, determination hardening his expression. He would handle this. Alone. Like he always did.