Chapter Text
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The office was quiet in a comfortable way, each member doing their work (except for Dazai who was lazing on the couch and Ranpo who was eating snacks and reading the newspaper). Everything was alright until the black sedan pulled up in front of the agency building. Conveniently, Ranpo's desk was next to the window, and he almost dropped the newspaper as he saw the car. But what surprised him wasn't the car itself—it was the person coming out of it: familiar Port Mafia clothes, yet an unfamiliar figure, accompanied by a famous redhead. Ranpo's snack paused mid-air as his sharp eyes tracked every detail: the cut of the coat, the way the woman moved without hesitation, and most tellingly, Chuuya's posture—not protective, but deferential. That was wrong. Chuuya bowed to no one except the previous boss. Ranpo's fingers tightened on the newspaper.
Kunikida interrupted Ranpo's thoughts as he frowned. "Why is the Port Mafia here? Is there a meeting I don't know about?"
Ranpo answered, putting his glasses on to activate his ability. "No, this is completely random."
Dazai shrugged as he stood up from his place. "Oh well, nothing terrible will happen, right?" He went to open the door. Ranpo shouted to stop him but was too late. As the door opened, it revealed a woman smiling almost warmly, wearing a long black coat with a red scarf over it—the typical Port Mafia boss wear—with Chuuya Nakahara standing right next to her, scowling as he saw Dazai.
Were the agency surprised by the newcomers? Yes. But were they more disturbed as they saw Dazai tremble at the woman who stood in front of him? Most definitely. Yosano's hand instinctively moved toward the medical kit under her desk. She had never seen Dazai tremble. Not during the Guild battle, not during the cannibalization incident, not even when facing down armed terrorists. The sight turned her blood cold. Tanizaki and Kyouka exchanged uneasy glances. Atsushi, who had been quietly organizing files, felt his instincts flare—something about this woman set off every alarm in his tiger. Kenji, usually the first to offer a cheerful greeting, stayed frozen by the window.
Yosano's eyes darted between the two as Yuki said with the same warm smile, "Yo, Osamu-kun! Miss me?"
Dazai seemed to break out of his shock and put on a small smile that was just polite. "Yuki-chan, what a disturbing surprise."
As the other members started questioning who this 'Yuki' was, Ranpo said in an uncharacteristically calm voice, "She's Yuki Dazai, the new Port Mafia boss—and our colleague's older sister."
Yuki smiled knowingly and said, "Now you know quite the information, don't you? I presume you're Edogawa Ranpo-san, correct?" Ranpo nodded.
Kunikida frowned. "New Port Mafia boss? How does this happen?" His pen had stopped moving entirely, a rare occurrence. He was calculating—if the Port Mafia had a new leader, what did that mean for existing treaties, for territory lines, for the fragile peace Yokohama had barely managed to maintain? His notebook, usually filled with meticulous plans, suddenly seemed useless. There was no protocol for this. No ideal scenario that included a Dazai sibling wielding the most powerful criminal organization in the city.
But before Yuki could answer his question, Chuuya said, "The boss died and passed his will to her. I was a witness. Got a problem with that?" He crossed his arms, the glare he leveled at Kunikida carrying the weight of the Port Mafia's entire authority. Kunikida raised an eyebrow but held his ground. The two stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Chuuya's hand twitched at his side—not quite reaching for his glove, but close. The air grew heavy, thick with unspoken threats and older grudges.
Before anyone could say anything else, the President, who had been listening the whole time, spoke with a stern voice. "What brings you here, Ms. Dazai? I presume being the Port Mafia boss must have its difficulties. Hence, you didn't just come to say hello and walk away, did you?" His hand rested on the arm of his chair, not threatening, but ready. Fukuzawa had faced down many enemies over the years, but a Dazai he had never met—one who now commanded the entire underworld—was something else entirely. His golden eyes, calm and unreadable, studied Yuki with the precision of a master swordsman assessing an opponent before the first strike.
Yuki answered with the same seemingly innocent smile on her face. "Straight to business, are you, President? Well, I do indeed have a tight schedule, so I'll get straight to the point. I want to make a truce between the agency and the Port Mafia."
The agency went quiet. The only sound was the hum of the city outside. Then Yosano said loudly, "Huh?"
Yuki tilted her head. "Is something wrong?"
Yosano's voice rose angrily. "Of course something is wrong! After everything the Port Mafia did, you expect to waltz into a truce just like that? Well, you're wrong!" Her hand finally emerged from under the desk—empty, but clenched into a fist. She remembered every patient she'd patched up after Port Mafia attacks. Every scar. Every nightmare. The faces of those who didn't make it flashed behind her eyes. She could still feel the phantom warmth of blood on her gloves from operations that should never have been necessary.
But Yuki didn't flinch. Instead, she said calmly, because she had expected it, "I understand your anger, Dr. Yosano. Truly, I do. But the previous boss is dead. His grudges died with him. I am not him, and I did not come here to ask for forgiveness. I came here to ask for cooperation. There is a difference." Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on Ranpo, then Dazai, then finally settling on the President. "Yokohama is changing. If the two strongest forces in this city remain enemies, we will both be swallowed by what is coming. I am not offering friendship. I am offering survival." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter but no less firm. "You don't have to trust me. You don't have to like me. But you should know—I didn't want this position. I inherited a war that wasn't mine. And I am trying, in my own way, to end it before more people die. Including your people." Her eyes flickered to Dazai for just a moment—something unreadable passing between them, something that made her heart slightly ache—before returning to Fukuzawa. "That is all I came to say. The rest is up to you."
The office remained frozen. Outside, a seagull cried over the bay. And somewhere in the back, Dazai—for the first time in years—said absolutely nothing at all. His bandaged hands hung loose at his sides, but his knuckles were white beneath the wrappings. He wasn't looking at Yuki anymore. He was looking at the floor, at a crack in the wooden boards that he had never noticed before, as if it held the answer to a question no one else had asked.