Chapter Text
When Yosano saw the sun creep upon the mouth of the alleyway she was slumped over in, her eyes flitting open, a splitting migraine pounding at her skull, blurring her vision, the only thing on her mind was getting some advil and hoping Kunikida wouldn’t hit too hard when she was late for work. Sure, she didn’t normally get so sloshed when out for a drink that she’d awake slumped over a dumpster in a desolate alleyway somewhere in the lower districts, but she’d be lying if she’d said it’d never happened before.
She groaned as she pushed herself up, still clad in her wrinkly work clothes, her collared shirt askew, her tie wrapped about her waist and hitched into a frankly embarrassing knot. She’d opted for slacks that night instead of her usual skirt because she was on field, if she remembered correctly, trying to fix up some mess that one of the port mafia members got Dazai and Atsushi tied into, as always.
She rubbed at her temples, grimacing before standing up, her feet sore from running around the day before, even in her well worn work boots, cracking her neck and shoulders. It was only once she actually stepped out into the main streets that branched out from the mouth of the alleyway that she really realized she had no clue where she was.
It hardly looked like Yokohama, the air too fresh, the presence of the looming buildings that housed the mafia unfounded, the smell of ever-present ash absent. She paused, recalibrated, compartmentalized, only for a moment, blinking as she scanned the street. Everyone seemed generally peaceful, meretricious bodies taking leisurely walks with groceries in hand, or wrangling kids or driving or fetching coffee. She moved silently and quickly, with no particular route in mind other than to find a map somewhere, if it was a part of Japan that got tourists often she could find one with probable ease- even though she had no clue how she managed to stray so far away from her city.
It only took her a few moments to find a Katsudon and Ramen shop that looked just about as authentic as a Mcdonalds, stepping in and scanning the place for a map, she found that she couldn’t spot one. Sighing, she went up to the counter, grabbing her wallet from her pocket. She was thirsty anyway, and some water and Ramen would surely help her godforsaken headache, besides, she was normally quite responsible with keeping her phone charged, she could search up where the hell she was there instead of asking, probably better that way anyways.
“Afternoon, some Tonkotsu ramen and water, please,” Yosano said tiredly, handing her a crumpled 1,000 yen note and plopping down in one of the chairs, checking her pockets, hoping she still had her phone in them. Normally she didn’t bring her phone with her, didn’t need it, that’s all, only her wallet, but luckily- since she was in her work slacks- her detective agency-assigned phone was tucked right next to her wallet in her front pocket. She grabbed it, flipping it open and pulling up a map of her general location and blinking,
'How on earth did she get to Musutafu?’
More importantly, where the fuck is Musutafu. Musutafu doesn’t exist. Musutafu has never existed, so why in the F. Scott Fitzgerald- fuck, Dazai’s habits of swearing in the names of the agencies rivals is getting to her- is she in some magical-ass place called Musutafu? Fuck, that hangover must really be getting to her, huh?
She knew where nearly all the countries and major cities were in japan, she studied them, back in the war. Shizuoka. Musutafu was near Shizuoka, which neighbored Yokohama; Thank god. She blinked at the map, some of the names were changed, names of countries she knew, places she knew.
'Christ, where the hell am I?’
She paused, sighed, and set her phone down. One thing at a time, and this hangover buzzing in her head was her top priority, so before she figured out whatever multiversal-time travel-magic shit this was, she was going to eat her goddamned food and drink her water and just sit for a singular, peaceful moment.
She ate her food silently as she scanned the area, sharp eyes studying each and every difference from wherever here was to Yokohama. First of all, she thought, fighting not to gape, people were a tad… odd looking… here; To put it simply. She saw a man with a hammer for a head. She needed Ibuprofen. Badly. Despite their physical oddities, their clothes seem to be relatively normal, a tad modern compared to the people of Yokohama, but regardless, the only odd outfits she’d seen were on the TV hung on the wall of the shop, showing off a superpowered fight.
Secondly- and on the former note-, abilities. So many of them. It seemed like near everybody had them, like my god, so many people. The people on the news, relaying the fight seemed to have them, the people in the shop she was in occasionally used theres. A man, with short hair and tanned skin, using some sort of telekinetic power to lift the spoon to his mouth as he spoke over the phone. A woman, stirring her soup with an extra arm she had. Another man, and his child, the man using his long hair to keep his child next to him, black strands wrapping around the child's wrist to help the toddler feed itself.
The abilities seemed odd, sure, there were people the agency came in contact with, people with odd abilities that seemed near useless or moronic, but those occurred so occasionally that they nearly never even saw people with abilities like such. Normally they were useful, normally they were powerful. These people… they didn’t seem very powerful, they seemed, well, they seemed near normal.
Yosano blinked, sighed internally, and finished her noodles. Alright, she relayed her situation. Well, she was in an unknown place in Japan, she had two sticks of cinnamon gum- Ranpo's favorite- her phone, wallet- which contained around 2,700 Yen, her regular ID, Agency ID, and concealed carry agency license- both her gloves in her front left pocket, and her hair-clip in her right along with all her other items.
She sighed, unwrapped a piece of cinnamon gum, stuck it in her mouth, and made an effort of methodically compartmentalizing her thoughts to calm herself.
Alright, first of all: She was not at home. Objectively, there was no way this was the same Japan she was from, or if it was, there was no way it was the same timeline. Secondly, regular civilians are ability users here. Thirdly, she was woefully unprepared in possibly every way.
Fourthly, the agency could not help her. If she was unprepared for this situation, the agency was even more so. They didn’t know where she went, when she was, or how to get to her. Fine, then, she was on her own, wouldn’t be the first time.
She sighed, long suffering, and thought hard about a long term solution. She needed an income, couldn’t be a doctor again- she would need to go to university, couldn’t be a police officer, minimum wage wouldn’t be nearly enough to pay for a place to live, food, bills, and the like.
Alright, illegal way it is, then. It’s not like this is her real home anyways.
.
.
.
No one is coming after me.
.
Fuck.