Chapter Text
The death of Osamu Dazai was not something one joked about. Unless you were Osamu Dazai, in which case you “joked” about it, which is to say you looked out upon your private island and hoped a meteor would strike you in the head. You told those from the port Mafia that it was only a matter of time, but since you had been saying that for the past six years, everybody figured your common sense was instead the one to die.
“I think I’m going mad.” You would whisper to yourself, drinking something you legally couldn’t and didn’t have much a taste for, anyway.
Out, far out, Dazai could see boats approaching. They seemed so small, far off enough that they probably wouldn’t arrive until the afternoon of the coming day.
He watched them, though they didn’t seem to move, the boats were just barely in his line of vision. They were modern and white, he couldn’t remember how much he’d paid, but they’d probably cost him a fortune. Not that he would’ve cared, his wealth was acquired through Mori’s unending jobs. Each cent was worth a person’s life, and it had taken oh so many to afford the pretty little mansion he sat on the roof of.
Leaving the mafia after the death of Odasaku had proved to be one of the most challenging things he’d ever done. So difficult, in fact, that he had given up halfway through.
He felt shame for not honoring Oda’s final wishes, but saving people just wasn’t what he was meant to do.
So instead, Dazai had simply separated himself. Mori could order him from afar, but he wouldn’t be associated, he would leave his position as an executive and only do work ordered directly to him. It was tedious and tiring, but at least he didn’t have to walk by the Lupin bar, or think of going to Ango for information anymore.
He would never have to walk by that bar again, if his plan worked out.
Never have to remember how he ignored the final words of Oda.
Because by the end of the week, he was going to be dead.