Chapter Text
The bathroom reeked faintly of mildew and cheap soap. The flickering bulb above buzzed like an insect as Dazai Asami leaned heavily against the chipped sink, her trembling fingers wrapped around a plastic stick. Two glaring red lines stared back at her, mocking her, refusing to change no matter how many times she blinked.
“...You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered bitterly. Her palm pressed against her face, fingers digging into her temple as though she could grind the reality out of existence. “Why does everything have to be so damn hard?”
Her reflection in the cracked mirror was no comfort. Hollow eyes, dark circles, skin stretched pale and thin — she already looked half-dead. And now this. A child.
A laugh escaped her, sharp and dry, breaking halfway into a choke. She dropped the test into the sink and stared at it like it had personally betrayed her. “Pregnant. Brilliant, Asami. Absolutely brilliant.”
Her stomach twisted — nausea, nerves, exhaustion. She couldn’t tell anymore. All she knew was that the world outside was a battlefield, and she was dragging another life into it.
Curling forward, she pressed a bandaged hand to her still-flat stomach. “You’re really in there, huh?” Her voice shook. She hated herself for it. “Guess it’s just you and me now.”
Straightening, she shoved the mask back on — the sly grin, the too-casual posture. Vulnerability wouldn’t keep her alive. With a splash of cold water to her face, she forced out a chuckle.
“Fine. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”
And with that, Dazai Asami — eighteen, exhausted, and now one month pregnant — walked out, already calculating survival for two.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Agency was already alive with morning bustle when she slinked in, humming under her breath. She leaned lazily against Kunikida’s desk, grinning as if she’d been early.
“You’re late,” Kunikida snapped, closing his notebook with a thud.
“Eh? How cruel, Kunikida-kun. I arrived precisely when I meant to. The stars demanded it.” She pressed a hand to her chest with mock offense.
Kunikida’s brows twitched. “Don’t joke about work. We have a meeting today. And tomorrow—don’t forget—you’re presenting to the Mafia.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Even Ranpo stopped unwrapping his lollipop long enough to glance her way.
Dazai only smiled wider, lips curling like she’d been waiting for this. “Of course. Who better to charm our dear enemies than me? I promise to be dazzling. Maybe even diplomatic.”
“Diplomatic,” Kunikida repeated flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t even show up on time for breakfast. ”
“Oi, oi, don’t be so stiff,” Ranpo drawled from the couch, tilting his head with a knowing smirk. “Besides… Dazai-chan might surprise you. She’s good at hiding things.” His tone was teasing, but his sharp green eyes lingered on her longer than usual.
Dazai’s grin didn’t falter, though her shoulders stiffened just enough that he caught it.
Before anyone could push further, Atsushi stumbled through the door, panting out apologies for his tardiness. As he hurried to his desk, something caught his eye.
Dazai’s bag — draped over her chair, carelessly unzipped — revealed the outline of a worn, brown bunny plush. Its fur was smoothed from years of touch, one ear sewn carefully where it had once torn.
Atsushi blinked, tilting his head. “Uh… Dazai-san? Is that… yours?”
The office went still. Kunikida’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Yosano arched a brow. Even Fukuzawa looked up from his paperwork.
For once, Dazai moved too fast — zipping the bag shut in a sharp motion. She laughed lightly, waving the question away. “Oh, that? A child outside fell earlier. Poor thing dropped it. I simply forgot to return it.”
Atsushi, earnest as always, frowned. “Shouldn’t you… take it back, then?”
“Of course, of course,” Dazai said breezily, already standing. Her gaze flicked toward Fukuzawa. “presedint, may I?”
Fukuzawa’s quiet eyes studied her for a long beat before he gave a small nod.
The moment she was out the door, the mask slipped. Her lazy gait snapped into a sprint, long hair flying behind her as she tore down the street. She ignored the stares, ignored the tight ache in her chest.
She had one thought.
Sakura.
By the time she reached the daycare, lungs burning, she pushed through the doors with no hesitation. The faint smell of crayons and soap hit her at once — and then the sound of muffled sobs.
Her eyes snapped toward the corner of the playroom. A small girl with hazel eyes sat trembling, clutching at the empty space where a bunny should have been.
“Little crab…” Dazai whispered, clutching the plush to her chest before moving forward.
But a staff member blocked her way, arms crossed.
“Dazai-san,” the woman said flatly, “your daughter has been crying nonstop. Hitting herself. She’s feverish. She can’t stay here like this.”
Dazai’s smile flickered but stayed plastered on. “Ah? That’s unfortunate timing,” she said lightly. “I can’t take her yet. I have an important meeting.”
The woman’s frown deepened. “Then you’ll need to pay more. Extra care isn’t free. Twenty percent more, half of today’s shift rate, on top of what you already owe.”
Dazai’s grin thinned. For a heartbeat, her eyes were sharp, cold — but then Sakura’s sobs echoed from the hall, and the fight drained from her shoulders.
“…Fine.” She pulled out bills, slipping them into the woman’s hand. “But she stays until I’m back.”
Satisfied, the staff called for Sakura.
“Mommy!” the little girl wailed the moment she saw her, stumbling forward.
Dazai dropped to her knees, hugging her tight, pressing the bunny into her arms. “Shhh, little crab. Mommy’s here. See? I didn’t forget.”
Sakura clung to her desperately, refusing to let go until the staff pried her away. Even then, her arms stretched, reaching for her mother until she disappeared back into the playroom.
Dazai lingered, hands still frozen midair, smile gone. Only when her daughter was out of sight did she straighten again, mask sliding smoothly back into place.
The Agency was waiting.
Flashback
The rain poured down in relentless sheets, cold and heavy against the rooftops, clutching a tiny, shivering body against her chest.
Her thin coat clung to her like a second skin, the threadbare hem soaked through and dripping. Stray strands of her hair—long, tangled, and dark as ink—stuck to her face and shoulders, heavy with rain.
“Shhh… Sakura, it’s alright. It’s alright, sakura.” Her voice shook, stripped of its usual teasing lilt.
But the little girl only wailed louder, thrashing in her mother’s arms, tiny fists beating against her own head in panicked rhythm.
“No, no, don’t—stop that—!” Dazai dropped to her knees, pinning the small hands gently but firmly, heart twisting at the sight of hazel eyes swollen with tears. “Please, I can’t—just… Please stop crying.”
Her hair slipped forward, nearly brushing the concrete as she bent over her daughter. For the first time in a long while, her mask cracked. She was scared. Frustrated. Weak.
A curse slipped out, sharp and bitter. “Why… why does it all have to be so damn hard?”
She pressed her forehead to Sakura’s, closing her eyes as the cries pierced the night. No clever tricks, no sweet words could calm her. And all Dazai could do was hold on—hold on and pray her daughter’s sobs would burn themselves out before the world came crashing down on them both.
And yet—when she opened her eyes, she was staring directly into hazel. Hazel, warm and unfamiliar. Hazel that didn’t belong to her.
Her chest lurched. The only thing she remembered from that night—the father’s gaze seared into her like a scar she couldn’t carve away.
Present Day
The ADA’s meeting room sat in stiff silence. Fukuzawa leaned forward, his calm voice anchoring the atmosphere.
“Tomorrow we meet with the Port Mafia. This is dangerous ground. Dazai—you’ll lead.”
The others glanced at her. She leaned back lazily, one arm hooked over the back of her chair. Her coat hung too loosely from her shoulders, frayed at the edges, and her long hair spilled forward in a curtain, hiding most of her face until she brushed it back with her pen.
“Right, right,” she sighed. “Here’s the thing—you already know Mori. Smiles, politeness, the occasional creepy chuckle. But it’s all theater. He’ll hand us honey, and expect us to drink poison at the same time. The trick is not pretending he’s honest… it’s deciding which lies we can afford to swallow.”
Kunikida scowled, scribbling furiously in his notebook. “You mean we walk in prepared to compromise with deceit.”
Dazai tilted her head, lips curling in mock amusement. For a flicker, her eyes darkened—brown shading into a red too sharp to be natural—before she masked it with her usual grin. “Exactly. Compromise is survival.”
Ranpo, sharp as ever, caught the shift. His gaze lingered on her longer than it should have before flicking away.
But Dazai felt it—behind the polished smirk, behind her smooth tone—the echo of hazel. Always hazel. Sakura’s eyes staring back at her in every shadow.
Her pen stilled in her hand.
The meeting carried on. Kunikida rattled off checklists, Ranpo slouched with his lollipop, Fukuzawa’s presence steady as stone.
Then Dazai’s phone buzzed.
She flicked it open under the table, expression smooth as glass. A chuckle slipped out as if she’d just read a bad joke. “Oh, don’t mind me—just an old friend pestering me.”
She stood casually, hands stuffed in her pockets, coat dragging against the floor as she strolled out humming.
But when the door shut behind her, the mask cracked.
“Hello?” Her voice dropped low, sharp.
On the other end, the daycare staff sounded nervous. “Ms. Dazai, Sakura’s fever spiked. She won’t stop crying. We need you to come pick her up immediately—she can’t stay here.”
Her stomach dropped. Breath caught in her throat. “Fever…? How high?”
“She’s burning up. We’ve tried, but she’s inconsolable. You need to come—now.”
The call ended. Dazai’s body jolted forward before she even realized she’d moved. She pressed a trembling hand to her face, then forced herself to breathe, smooth her hair, and relax her shoulders. Calm. Untouchable.
She pushed back into the meeting room.
“Apologies for the interruption~,” she sang, almost too cheerfully. “But… heh. Turns out, I need to step out. Urgently.”
Her grin faltered. Just for a second, enough for Fukuzawa to notice.
He studied her. Quiet. Then gave a simple nod. “Go.”
The room stilled. Everyone turned as Dazai—usually lounging, teasing, dragging her feet at the prospect of real work—sprinted. She didn’t even bother with her coat.
“Dazai…?” Atsushi whispered, bewildered.
But she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her.
Her usual lazy shuffle was gone—her boots slammed against pavement, every stride eating the distance.
Her thoughts spun.
She can’t breathe right—what if it’s her lungs? She was fine this morning. Fever means infection, what if it spreads, what if I lose her—
By the time she skidded up to the daycare, her lungs burned. She shoved the door open, nearly colliding with a staff member.
They were waiting. Sakura bundled in her coat, her bunny clutched tight in trembling hands, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. The staff hovered, awkward and guilty.
“She wouldn’t stop crying for you,” one said. “We’ve already packed her things. You need to take her home—immediately.”
Dazai dropped to her knees in front of Sakura. “Baby Crab…”
The girl’s hazel eyes lifted, wet and glassy, then widened. “Mama!”
She collapsed against Dazai’s chest, clutching her so tight it hurt. Dazai wrapped her arms around her, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her composure from shattering.
“I’ve got her,” she said lightly, though her voice trembled. Rising, she held Sakura close, one hand pressed to the back of her fever-hot neck.
But before she could leave, the staff cleared their throat.
“We… need to be honest with you. You can’t bring her back tomorrow. Not with a fever this high.”
Dazai froze.
Her smile stayed, thin and sharp. “Tomorrow…?”
“Yes. She’ll need to stay home until she’s recovered.”
Her heart plummeted. Tomorrow—of all days. The Agency’s meeting with the Port Mafia. Mori. And Chuuya.
She turned her face, hazel eyes burrowing into her shoulder, bunny tucked between them. Dazai swallowed hard, masking the quake in her voice.
“Of course. I’ll… make arrangements.”
She walked out into the evening, carrying Sakura’s small, fever-hot body against her chest. And for the first time in years, Dazai Osamu felt cornered.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The apartment door clicked shut behind her, and silence fell heavy over the dim little space.
Dazai kicked off her shoes and set Sakura gently on the futon. The girl clung to her bunny, half-asleep, her cheeks flushed red from fever.
Dazai crouched down, brushing damp bangs away from her forehead. She’s burning up.
She pressed a cool cloth against Sakura’s skin, her mind already racing.
Tomorrow. Mori. Chuuya. The Mafia.
Her hands trembled, betraying her calm façade.
She stood abruptly, pacing the narrow floor, her coat swishing at her ankles. Every step felt like walking on a knife's edge.
If she skipped the meeting—Mori would notice. And Mori noticing meant questions. Questions meant digging. And if Mori dug too far…
Her chest tightened. The memory flashed—the only thing she remembered of that night. Hazel eyes. Eyes that now stared back at her every morning when Sakura smiled.
“No, no, no…” She dug her nails into her palms, muttering under her breath. “This is impossible. Why does it have to be tomorrow? Why can’t the world ever make things easy, just once?”
Her dead-brown eyes darkened, a sharp red flickering in their depths as she leaned against the wall, trying to think.
Options. She needed options.
She could leave Sakura alone—but the thought of her baby crying, sick and terrified, breaking down without her, made bile rise in her throat.
She could ask someone from the Agency—but only Fukuzawa and Ranpo knew Sakura even existed. Everyone else thought she was the same old Dazai.
Or… she could risk bringing Sakura with her.
The idea alone made her stomach twist. Mori, seeing Sakura, Mori realizing—
Dazai sank to the floor, clutching her knees. She bit down on her lip so hard it stung.
On the futon, Sakura whimpered, shifting restlessly in her fevered sleep. Instantly, Dazai crawled over, pulling her close, whispering against her hair.
“I’m here, Crab. Mama’s here.”
She kissed the top of her head, but her eyes were still locked on the shadows creeping across the wall. Tomorrow was coming, and she didn’t know how to fight this battle.
A sharp knock rattled the door.
Dazai froze where she sat beside Sakura, who was curled against her feverishly warm chest. Her heart skipped. Nobody should know where she lived.
“Dazai,” came Kunikida’s voice, firm and muffled through the door. “Open up. We need to talk.”
Her stomach dropped. How the hell—
She scrambled up, smoothing her hair, forcing her usual lazy grin onto her face before cracking the door open. “Kunikida-kun! What a surprise. To what do I owe this charming late-night visit? Did you come to confess your love?”
His scowl was sharp, but not angry—more searching, suspicious. “Cut the act. You rushed out of the Agency today like your life depended on it. I followed you here. You’re hiding something, Dazai.”
Her laugh was too quick. “Hiding something? Oh, you flatter me. Maybe I’ve got a stash of alcohol in here. Want a drink?” She wedged herself in the doorway, blocking his view.
But Kunikida’s eyes narrowed. He pushed past her. “I’m not in the mood for your games.”
“Kunikida—wait—!” Dazai hissed, panic flashing through her.
Too late. His gaze landed on the futon. On the small bundle beneath the blankets, hazel eyes peeked out weakly as Sakura stirred and clutched her bunny tighter.
“…Mama?” The tiny, fever-heavy voice broke the silence like glass.
Dazai’s mask nearly shattered.
Kunikida froze, his expression caught between disbelief and shock. Slowly, he turned back to Dazai.
The air in the room felt like it cracked.
Dazai crouched by Sakura immediately, stroking her hair, hiding behind a crooked grin. “Ah, you found me out! Babysitting duty. Poor kid’s parents dumped her on me—what a tragedy, right?”
For a second, Kunikida almost believed her. Until his eyes darted between them—the same delicate features, the same lines of their faces. But those eyes—hazel, bright even through the fever.
“…Don’t lie to me.” His voice was firm now, steady but low.
Dazai tilted her head, feigning innocence, though her hand trembled where it rested on Sakura’s hair. “Now, Kunikida-kun, would I really lie to you?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “…She’s yours.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Dazai let out a weak, humorless laugh. “…And what if she is?”
“Then why the hell didn’t you say anything?” His jaw clenched, but his tone wasn’t cruel—only tight with frustration. “You’ve been hiding your own child from the Agency. From all of us. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is—for you and for her?”
Dazai’s grin faltered. Her eyes dropped, shadows cutting across her face. “…You really think I had a choice?”
The words hit harder than any denial. Kunikida’s shoulders stiffened, and his anger bled into quiet guilt. “Dazai…”
She finally looked up, her eyes dead brown with that faint, haunted red glow. “Fukuzawa knows. And Ranpo—he figured it out himself. You’re the third. Congratulations, Kunikida-kun. You’ve earned a place in my secrets.”
The bitterness in her tone made him ache.
He exhaled slowly, kneeling down by the futon. His gaze softened as he took in Sakura’s flushed cheeks and shallow breaths. “She’s sick.”
Dazai stiffened protectively, pulling Sakura closer.
“She needs proper care,” Kunikida continued, calm but resolute. “Yosano should see her.”
“No.” The word came sharp, almost panicked. “If Yosano knows, then everyone—”
“Dazai.” His tone sharpened, but it carried no cruelty, only conviction. “This isn’t about appearances. This is about her health. You know Yosano can help. Don’t let your fear put her at risk.”
For once, Dazai had no comeback. She bowed her head, the silence answer enough.
Kunikida adjusted his glasses, voice quiet but firm. “…I’ll keep this secret. But I’m not leaving you like this. You’re exhausted, and she needs more than you can give right now. Let me help.”
Sakura stirred again, coughing softly. Her hazel eyes fluttered half-open, landing on him this time. “Mama… who’s that?”
Dazai brushed her hair back. “Just… a colleague, crab.”
Kunikida’s voice was gentler than she’d ever heard it. “…A friend.”
And for the first time, Dazai didn’t argue.
“Dazai…i think we should get yosano its for the best”
“...fine..”
____________________________________________________________________________
Sakura lay curled on the futon, cheeks flushed with fever, bunny clutched tightly to her chest. Her breaths came shallow, uneven.
Dazai sat cross-legged beside her, one hand pressed lightly to the child’s forehead. Too warm. Far too warm. She chewed her lip, shoulders tight with a tension she never showed anyone else.
The door slid open softly.Kunikida stepped inside, his usual clipped efficiency dulled by concern. Yosano followed, kneeling on the other side of the futon. Her sharp eyes softened when they fell on Sakura.
“She’s burning up,” Yosano murmured, brushing damp hair back from the girl’s forehead. “Why didn’t you call me sooner, Dazai?”
Dazai forced a crooked smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because I knew you’d scold me, of course.”
Yosano exhaled slowly, not rising to the bait. “Hold her steady.”
Dazai obeyed, and Yosano examined Sakura carefully, gentle for once. When she was finished, she sat back with a sigh. “It’s a fever. High, but manageable if you stay on top of it. She needs fluids and rest. No daycare.”
Kunikida adjusted his glasses, his voice unusually quiet. “We have the Port Mafia meeting tomorrow. If she can’t go to daycare, what will you do?”
Dazai’s smile faltered, but only for a second. “I’ll… figure something out.”
Yosano rested a hand briefly on Dazai’s shoulder, firm but not unkind. “Don’t try to do everything alone. Ask for help.”
For a moment, the mask nearly slipped. But Dazai only nodded, muttering, “Yeah. Help. Right.”
The next day, the Agency gathered across from the Port Mafia. The air was stiff, sharp with danger. Mori sat at the table like a king on his throne, every gesture precise, every smile unsettling.
Kunikida had taken Dazai’s place at the head of the Agency’s side, his voice steady as he read through their terms. Ranpo lounged in his chair, though his lollipop clicked sharply against his teeth. Fukuzawa’s calm presence anchored them all.
But the absence at the table was glaring.
Mori’s gaze slid toward the empty chair, his smile widening. “Strange. Dazai always did enjoy these little games of wit. And yet she leaves you to speak in her place?”
Kunikida’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Our terms stand. With or without her.”
Mori chuckled softly, his amusement carrying just enough venom. “Oh, but without her… it all feels so dull.”
The Port Mafia’s executives shifted subtly, tension rippling through the room. The Agency held their ground, but the atmosphere wavered—chaos threatening to slip through the cracks.
At that very moment, Dazai was standing at the daycare doors, Sakura bundled in her arms.
The staff frowned when they saw her, shaking their heads. “She can’t come in with a fever this high.”
“She’ll sleep it off,” Dazai said lightly, her voice smooth but fraying at the edges. “I’ll pay extra.”
They hesitated. Money exchanged hands. Finally, one of them sighed, taking Sakura gently.
“She can stay, but if she gets worse, we’ll call again.”
Dazai lingered a heartbeat too long, watching her daughter clutch the bunny even in her sleep. Then she forced herself to turn and walk away, every step heavier than the last.
By the time she reached the Agency’s meeting room, she was late. Very late.
The door creaked open, and every head turned.
Her coat was wrinkled, hair unkempt, dark circles under her eyes. But she still managed that lopsided grin, even as Mori’s eyes lit up with predatory interest.
“Ah,” Mori purred. “There you are. Late… and looking rather unlike yourself.”
Dazai tilted her head, smirk sharp but tired. “…Miss me, Mori-san?”
The room grew colder.