Archive of Our Own

The Armed Detective Agency had returned to something resembling normal. Not normal, exactly. Yokohama was still carrying the scars of the catastrophe that had nearly swallowed it. There were buildings along the eastern streets whose windows had yet to be replaced, construction scaffolding climbing the sides of apartment blocks, and sections of pavement that had been hastily repaired after the fighting. Even the harbor seemed quieter than it had before.

But the city was alive. That was what mattered.

The Armed Detective Agency's office reflected that fragile return to routine. The familiar creak of wooden floorboards accompanied the movement of people across the room. Papers had once again begun to accumulate on desks. The smell of coffee drifted through the office, mixing with the faint scent of rain that followed Atsushi whenever he opened the window.

Kunikida was working. His glasses sat low on his nose as he reviewed a stack of reports, pencil moving steadily across the pages. Every so often, he glanced toward the couch.

Dazai was doing absolutely nothing. He had been doing absolutely nothing for nearly an hour. His coat was draped carelessly over the armrest, one leg hanging over the side of the couch while he stared toward the ceiling.

Kunikida's eye twitched. "Dazai." No response. "Dazai." A lazy hum. "You're supposed to be reviewing those reports."

"I reviewed them."

"You haven't moved."

"That doesn't mean I didn't review them."

Kunikida lowered his pencil. "Dazai."

The office door opened before he could continue. A courier stood outside. "Delivery for Dazai Osamu."

Dazai's eyes moved toward the door. That, in itself, was unusual. The courier stepped inside and approached him with a cream-colored envelope. It had to be an expensive one. Thick paper. Dark red wax. And an unfamiliar insignia pressed into the seal. He sat up. The lazy expression disappeared from his face. Only for a moment but Kunikida noticed.

The courier held the envelope out. "Sign here, please."

Dazai did. His eyes never left the seal. Once the courier had left, the office returned to its previous quiet. Dazai turned the envelope over between his fingers. The insignia belonged to a company rather than an individual.

Hoshikawa Conglomerate. He knew the name. Most people in Yokohama did. The Hoshikawa Conglomerate had grown considerably during the years Dazai had been away from the Port Mafia. Their interests stretched across shipping, technology, private security, medical research, and several industries that were best left unexamined.

Dazai broke the seal. He unfolded the letter. His eyes moved down the page. Then stopped. For several seconds, he said nothing.

Kunikida finally looked up. "What is it?"

Dazai folded the letter. "Nothing."

Kunikida stared at him. "That is obviously not nothing."

"It could be nothing."

"You just received a letter sealed with a corporate crest and spent the last thirty seconds staring at it like someone informed you of your impending execution."

Dazai smiled faintly. "How perceptive, Kunikida-kun!"

Kunikida pushed his glasses higher. "What does it say?"

Dazai didn't answer. Instead, he looked toward the window. Rain had begun to fall again. Thin streaks of water traveled down the glass, distorting the buildings across the street. The gray sky made the city look almost colorless.

He read the letter once more. It was an invitation. A formal announcement of a forthcoming marriage. A union between the Port Mafia and the Hoshikawa family. And the name of the groom was none other than Nakahara Chuuya. Dazai's fingers tightened around the paper.

Kunikida noticed. "Dazai." Silence. "What does it say?"

Dazai finally looked at him. "Chuuya-kun's getting married!"

Kunikida blinked. "What?"

"Apparently."

There was a pause. "To whom?"

Dazai looked back down at the letter. "The heir of the Hoshikawa family."

Kunikida's expression changed immediately. "The Hoshikawa Conglomerate?"

Dazai nodded.

Kunikida stood from his desk. "That isn't a simple marriage."

"No."

"The Port Mafia would gain access to Hoshikawa's resources."

"Yes."

"And Hoshikawa would gain direct influence over the Port Mafia."

"Exactly!"

Kunikida's brows furrowed. He crossed the room and held out his hand. "Let me see that."

Dazai gave him the letter. Kunikida read quickly. The more he read, the more serious his expression became. "This had to have been arranged by The Port Mafia's Boss."

Dazai's smile returned. It wasn't a particularly pleasant one. "Almost certainly."

Kunikida lowered the letter. "And you knew nothing about this?"

"Nope!"

"You haven't spoken to Nakahara recently?"

"Not recently enough. Why would we have?"

Kunikida studied him. There was something strange about Dazai's reaction. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't making jokes. He wasn't even pretending the situation was amusing.

He was simply staring at the letter. At Chuuya's name.

Kunikida knew enough about Dazai's past to understand that there were certain subjects he avoided discussing. Nakahara Chuuya was one of them.

"How long have you known him?"

Dazai's eyes shifted toward the rain-streaked window. "Long enough." without elaborating. Instead, he reached for his coat.

Kunikida immediately frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Where?"

"To see an old acquaintance."

"Dazai."

Dazai slipped his coat over his shoulders. "I'll be back."

"You can't just leave in the middle of—" The door closed behind him. Kunikida stared at it. Then at the letter still sitting in his hand.

He looked down at Chuuya's name again. Something about this was wrong. Not merely politically. And judging by the look Dazai had worn when he first read the letter, Dazai knew it too.

Outside, the rain had intensified. Dazai walked beneath the gray afternoon sky without an umbrella. The city moved around him. Cars passed over wet streets. People hurried beneath awnings. Somewhere farther down the road, construction machinery rumbled as another damaged building continued its slow reconstruction. Yokohama was healing.

His mind remained fixed on the letter. On the fact that Chuuya had apparently agreed to this. Or, perhaps more accurately— Had been made to agree. Dazai knows he’s made both Chuuya and Odasaku’s lives significantly harder and infinitely more dangerous with his decision of making them join the Mafia. And yet he doesn't regret either choice for a second even if one died and he abandoned the second.

He really is a shitty person. Chuuya is different to Osamu Dazai. For reasons he doesn’t care to explore. 

The Flags’ absence in particular has left an empty hole in Chuuya's heart that he tries to pretend isn't there but Dazai can see it clear as day. And he knows he'll never be able to fill that void for Chuuya, just as Chuuya hasn't been able to fill the emptiness in him. They are something to each other, but whatever that something is, it isn't enough to fix either of them.

Dazai stopped beneath the shadow of a building. He reached into his coat and pulled the letter out again.

The paper was beginning to curl from the rain. He stared at the invitation. Then at the Port Mafia insignia printed beside the Hoshikawa seal. His expression hardened. "Of all the ridiculous things..."

He folded the letter and returned it to his pocket. Then he began walking toward the one place in Yokohama where he knew he would find the answer.

The Port Mafia headquarters rose above the city like a black monument. Its upper floors disappeared into the low clouds, dark windows reflecting the stormy sky.

Dazai looked up at it from the street. For years, he'd considered the building a relic of another life. Now, for the first time in a long while, he found himself walking toward its doors. And this time, it wasn't because the Port Mafia needed him.

It was because Chuuya did.

He hadn't been here in years. Not properly. He had passed the building before. He had seen it from the harbor. He had occasionally caught sight of its upper floors through the windows of passing cars. But standing before it again was different.

There were memories buried in those walls.

He slipped his hands into his coat pockets. The letter was still there. The paper had become slightly damp around the edges. Dazai took it out and looked at it one last time. The invitation remained unchanged.

The familiar name seemed particularly irritating now.

Dazai folded the letter and put it away. Then he crossed the street. The guards at the entrance recognized him immediately. Their expressions were not welcoming for a traitor. He couldn't blame them.

One of the men stepped forward. "You can't come in."

Dazai smiled. "I was invited back anytime I wanted."

"You weren't."

"That's unfortunate!"

"You need to leave."

Dazai looked past him toward the enormous lobby. "Is Chuuya inside?"

The guard's jaw tightened. "You know you're not supposed to be here."

"I know."

"Then leave." Dazai sighed. "You people make everything so unnecessarily complicated."

He turned as though he were going to walk away. Then stopped. "Actually, before I go..."

The guard looked suspicious.

Dazai smiled. "When is the wedding?"

The man's expression changed. Just slightly.

That was enough. Dazai's smile disappeared. "So it's true."

Neither guard answered. They didn't need to.

Dazai turned back toward the building. This time, the guards didn't stop him. The doors opened. The lobby looked almost exactly as he remembered. Dark polished stone stretched beneath his feet, reflecting the soft gold of the overhead lights. Tall pillars rose toward a ceiling several stories above, disappearing into shadow. A massive staircase curved along one side of the atrium, its black railing gleaming beneath the lights.

Everything was immaculate. So quiet. Even the footsteps of the Mafia members crossing the lobby seemed muted by the architecture.

Dazai walked through it without hesitation. People noticed him. Some stared. Some immediately looked away. Others whispered.

He ignored them all.

The elevator doors opened. He stepped inside. As the doors closed, his reflection appeared in the polished metal. For a brief moment, he looked like someone else. Someone who had once belonged here.

Then the elevator began to rise.

Chuuya's office was on one of the upper floors. Dazai remembered that too. He stepped out of the elevator and found the corridor deserted.

The lights were dimmer here. The carpet swallowed his footsteps. Tall windows occupied the far wall, showing a distorted view of Yokohama beneath the rain.

Dazai walked slowly. He passed several closed doors. Then stopped. There was light beneath one.

He knocked. Nothing.

He knocked again. Still nothing.

Dazai opened the door.

Chuuya was sitting behind his desk. He didn't look up. "I told them I didn't want to see anyone."

Dazai closed the door behind him. "That's unfortunate."

Chuuya's hand stopped moving. Slowly, he raised his head. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Chuuya looked different. Not drastically. His hair was slightly longer than Dazai remembered. His coat hung over the back of his chair, leaving him in a dark vest and rolled-up sleeves. Several folders were spread across the desk.

He looked tired.

Dazai hated that he noticed.

Chuuya leaned back. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Dazai walked farther into the room. "I received a letter about my Dog."

"I know."

"Then you know why I'm here."

Chuuya's expression hardened. "Do I?"

Dazai took the invitation from his pocket and placed it on the desk. Chuuya looked at it. He didn't touch it.

"I figured you might've wanted to explain."

"Explain what?"

"This." Dazai tapped the envelope. "Your upcoming marriage."

Chuuya stared at him. Then looked away. "It's business."

"So I've heard."

"Then there's nothing to explain."

Dazai's smile was faint. "You're a terrible liar, Puppy."

"And you're a terrible person."

"That isn't relevant."

"It usually is."

Dazai moved around the desk.

Chuuya watched him carefully. "You shouldn't be here."

"Probably not."

"Mori won't appreciate you giving him false hope."

"He never does."

"The Agency won't appreciate it either."

"They'll survive, they've handled worst."

Chuuya sighed. He reached for the invitation and turned it over between his fingers. "The wedding is in twelve days."

Dazai's expression barely changed. "That's sooner than I expected."

"Yeah."

"Do you know him?"

"Who?"

"The groom."

Chuuya looked irritated. "The Hoshikawa heir?"

"Yes."

"I've met him."

"And?"

"He's fine."

Dazai stared. "Fine?"

"Yeah."

"That's all?"

"What do you want me to say?"

Dazai shrugged. "That he's awful."

"He's not."

"Ugly?"

"No."

"Annoying?"

"Not particularly when compared to you."

Dazai frowned.

Chuuya's mouth twitched. It was almost a smile. "You sound disappointed."

"I am."

"Why?"

"I was hoping you'd give me a reason to hate him."

Chuuya looked at him for a long moment. Then his amusement faded. "I don't need you to hate him."

The words were quiet. "This isn't about whether I like him." Chuuya looked down at the invitation again.

"Then what is it about?"

"What's best for the Mafia." Chuuya pushed himself away from the desk. "Mori wants Hoshikawa's resources. Hoshikawa wants access to the Port Mafia. Everybody gets something."

"Except you."

Chuuya didn't answer. That was answer enough.

Dazai's gaze shifted around the office. The room had changed since he remembered it. There were fewer personal belongings. More files. More evidence of responsibility. Chuuya had accumulated an entire life here while Dazai had been gone.

That realization was unexpectedly unpleasant.

Dazai looked back at him. "Did you agree?"

Chuuya's eyes met his. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

A silence settled between them. Chuuya eventually looked away. "Mori asked." That was all.

The Port Mafia wasn't an organization where refusing a request from its boss was particularly simple. Especially not when that request came wrapped in political necessity, even if one was an executive.

Dazai picked up the invitation. His fingers lingered on the edge of the paper. "What happens if you say no?"

Chuuya laughed once. There was no humor in it. "You already know."

Dazai used to. That was the problem now that he wasn't the consequence anymore.

The next morning, the Agency had a new assignment. Kunikida stood before the office's main table with several folders arranged in precise stacks. Atsushi sat nearby. Ranpo was eating a snack.

Dazai was nowhere to be seen.

Kunikida glanced toward the empty couch. "He hasn't returned."

Atsushi looked concerned. "Should we be worried?"

"No." Kunikida opened the first folder.

"We should be annoyed."

Ranpo continued eating. "He went to see Mr. Fancy hat."

Kunikida looked at him. "You knew?"

"Obviously."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

Ranpo shrugged. "Nobody asked."

Kunikida exhaled slowly. He turned to the files. "The Hoshikawa Conglomerate has been expanding rapidly over the last several years. Shipping, private security, medical technology, communications, infrastructure."

Atsushi leaned closer. "And now they're working with the Port Mafia?"

"Potentially." Kunikida opened another folder. "Officially, the marriage is being presented as a business alliance."

Yosano asked, "Unofficially?"

Kunikida looked toward the empty couch. "That's what we're going to determine."

The Hoshikawa headquarters stood on the opposite side of Yokohama. Unlike the Port Mafia's tower, it wasn't dark. It was bright. Almost aggressively so. The building rose from the financial district in a sweeping structure of glass and pale stone, its enormous windows reflecting the morning sunlight. Several connected towers formed a complex around a central courtyard filled with carefully maintained trees. The entrance was enormous.

Visitors passed through several layers of security before reaching the lobby.

There were no visible signs of the chaos that had recently struck Yokohama. No boarded windows. No damaged walls. No temporary repairs. The Hoshikawa Conglomerate looked untouched. As though disasters were things that happened to other people.

Dazai stood across the street with his hands in his pockets.

Kunikida approached him. "You disappeared."

Dazai smiled. "Good morning, Kunikida."

"Where were you?"

"Visiting an old friend."

"You were at the Port Mafia?"

"Perhaps."

Kunikida stopped beside him. His gaze followed Dazai's toward the building. "So this is where we're starting."

Dazai nodded.

Kunikida looked at the enormous headquarters. "What are we looking for?"

Dazai's expression became more serious. "Anything that explains why they're willing to marry their heir to a stinky Dog."

Kunikida frowned. "The political alliance isn't enough?"

"No."

"Why?"

Dazai looked through the glass façade. People moved inside the building like figures behind an aquarium wall. "Because Hoshikawa doesn't need the Port Mafia."

Kunikida turned toward him. "What?"

"They have money. Connections. Their own security network. Their own political influence." Dazai's gaze sharpened. "They're offering the Mafia something they could obtain elsewhere." He paused. "Which means they want something they can't obtain elsewhere."

Kunikida was silent. The implication settled between them. "What?"

Dazai smiled faintly. "That's what we're going to find out."

They crossed the street. Neither noticed the figure standing high above them. On the thirty-second floor of the Hoshikawa headquarters, a man stood beside an enormous window.

He watched Dazai and Kunikida enter the building. Then he looked down at the folder resting on his desk. Two photographs were clipped to the first page. One belonged to Chuuya. The other belonged to Dazai. Beneath them was a single line of text.

Primary objective: Nakahara Chuuya. A second line had been added underneath.

Secondary variable: Dazai Osamu.

The man smiled. And somewhere across the city, Chuuya was being measured for a wedding suit he had never wanted.

The Hoshikawa Conglomerate did not look like a place where secrets could survive. The lobby stretched beneath a ceiling several stories high, supported by slender columns of white stone that seemed almost too delicate to hold the weight of the building above them. Sunlight poured through the glass walls, falling across polished floors without finding a single crack or stain. Large arrangements of white flowers stood beside the reception desk, changed often enough that none had begun to wilt.

Even the air felt controlled. There was no dust. No clutter. No sound louder than the quiet hum of machinery hidden somewhere behind the walls.

Dazai disliked it immediately. Kunikida disliked it for entirely different reasons. "This place is ridiculous," he muttered.

Dazai glanced sideways. "I thought you'd appreciate the organization."

"I appreciate functional organization. This is excessive."

"You're jealous."

"I am not jealous of a building."

"You could learn something from it."

Kunikida adjusted his glasses. "I could learn that apparently some people have enough money to waste on decorative staircases."

Dazai looked toward the staircase. It was, admittedly, impressive. A wide spiral of pale stone curved upward around the center of the lobby, disappearing behind a suspended glass sculpture. The sculpture resembled dozens of interlocking rings, each one rotating slowly without touching the others. There was no obvious mechanism keeping it moving.

An ability, perhaps. Or newfound technology. Dazai's attention lingered on it. "Interesting."

Kunikida followed his gaze. "You think that's related?"

"I think people who spend that much money making a staircase look impressive usually have something they're trying to compensate for."

"That isn't evidence."

"No." Dazai smiled. "But it makes me feel better."

They continued toward reception. The receptionist was waiting for them. She had already received their names. That was the first thing Dazai noticed. The second was the security guard standing several meters behind her. The third was the small camera concealed within the decorative molding above the desk.

The Hoshikawa Conglomerate knew they were coming.

Dazai smiled. That made things more interesting. "Mr. Dazai. Mr. Kunikida." The receptionist stood. "Mr. Hoshikawa's office is expecting you."

Kunikida frowned. "We didn't make an appointment."

"No." Her smile never changed. "But we were informed that you would arrive."

Dazai's eyes narrowed slightly. "By whom?"

"I wasn't given that information." Of course she wasn't.

The receptionist gestured toward the elevator. "Thirty-second floor."

The elevator doors opened before either man touched the button. Kunikida stepped inside. Dazai followed. As the doors closed, their reflections appeared against the mirrored walls.

Kunikida glanced at him. "She knew we'd come."

"She said that. Are you starting to forget things, Kunikida-kun?"

"And they already knew what we were investigating."

"Probably."

"And you're smiling."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Dazai leaned against the wall. "Because now we know they're interested in us."

Kunikida sighed. "That isn't reassuring."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

The elevator began climbing. The numbers changed quickly. Eight. Twelve. Seventeen. Twenty-eight. Then thirty-two. The doors opened. The atmosphere changed immediately. The lower floors had been designed for efficiency. This floor had been designed for intimidation.

The hallway was enormous, with dark wood panels covering the walls and tall windows overlooking Yokohama. Beyond the glass, the harbor stretched beneath the afternoon sun, cargo ships moving slowly across the water. Dazai stopped. The view was beautiful.

Cranes moved between buildings.

Construction workers crossed temporary bridges. Entire sections of older buildings were covered in scaffolding. The city was recovering piece by piece. From this height, however, the damage looked insignificant. Almost beautiful.

Kunikida looked toward the harbor. "Funny."

"What?"

"The city looks so peaceful from here."

Dazai smiled faintly. "That's because we're too far away to hear it."

A door opened at the end of the hallway. A man stepped out. He wore a dark suit without a tie, his clothing expensive without appearing extravagant. His hair was neatly styled, and his expression was calm. He looked young. Not much older than Chuuya.

Dazai recognized him immediately. The Hoshikawa heir.

The man smiled. "Mr. Dazai."

Dazai's expression didn't change. "Have we met?"

"No." The man's smile widened. "But I know quite a bit about you."

Kunikida's hand shifted slightly toward his notebook. Dazai noticed. So did the man.

"I'm afraid introductions are overdue." He extended his hand. "Reiji Hoshikawa."

Dazai looked at the offered hand. "How unfortunate."

Reiji laughed. "I've heard you're difficult."

"You've heard correctly."

Kunikida stepped forward. "We'd like to ask you some questions concerning the proposed alliance between Hoshikawa and the Port Mafia."

"Of course."

Reiji stepped aside. "That's why I asked you to come."

Dazai's eyes sharpened. "You asked us to come?"

"Indirectly."

"Interesting."

Reiji walked down the hall. "Please."

The conference room was surrounded by glass. Not ordinary glass. The walls were completely transparent, giving everyone inside an unobstructed view of Yokohama. A long black table occupied the center of the room. At one end sat several representatives of the Hoshikawa Conglomerate.

At the other sat Dazai and Kunikida. There were no Port Mafia representatives. That seemed deliberate. Reiji sat across from them.

"The marriage has been described as a strategic alliance," Kunikida began.

"It is."

"What does Hoshikawa intend to gain from it?"

Reiji folded his hands. "Access."

"To what?"

"The Port Mafia's international network."

Kunikida wrote it down. "Financial resources?"

"Among other things."

"Ability users?"

A pause. Small. "Potentially."

Dazai leaned back. "And Chuuya?"

Reiji looked at him. "What about him?"

"What does Hoshikawa want from him?"

Reiji's expression became slightly more serious. "Mr. Nakahara is exceptionally valuable."

Kunikida's pen stopped as Dazai's smile disappeared. "Valuable."

"His ability is extraordinary."

"You don't know anything about his ability."

"I know enough."

"No." Dazai's voice was quiet. "No you don't. You know what you've been told."

Reiji regarded him. "And you know him personally."

"I do."

"Then perhaps you understand why the alliance is beneficial."

Dazai's gaze hardened. "You're talking about my Dog like he's an asset."

Reiji didn't answer. That was answer enough. Dazai stood.

Kunikida glanced up. "Dazai—"

"I've heard enough."

Reiji remained seated. "You haven't asked the most important question."

Dazai stopped. "What?"

"Why him?" Reiji looked toward the windows. The sunlight had begun to fade. Yokohama's buildings were turning gold beneath the evening sky. "The Hoshikawa Conglomerate has been interested in the Port Mafia for years," he said. "But we have never needed them badly enough to involve ourselves directly."

Dazai listened.

"The vampire crisis changed that."

Kunikida's expression tightened. "The instability exposed weaknesses in Yokohama's existing power structure. Several organizations suffered substantial losses. The Port Mafia was one of them."

Reiji's eyes moved back to Dazai. "But Mr. Nakahara survived." He watched in case Dazai had something to add. He said nothing. "More than survived, actually. He emerged as one of the most strategically important figures within the organization."

Kunikida looked down at his notes. "So the marriage is an attempt to secure his loyalty."

"No." Reiji's answer was immediate. "It's an attempt to secure the relationship between Hoshikawa and the Port Mafia."

Dazai's gaze sharpened. "And Chuuya is convenient."

"Yes."

The honesty was almost refreshing. Dazai walked toward the windows. He thought of Chuuya sitting alone in his office. The wedding documents. The invitation. Twelve days.

Dazai turned around. "One more question."

Reiji waited.

"Does Chuuya want this?"

For the first time, Reiji's expression faltered. Only slightly. "I'd guess so."

Dazai's smile returned. It wasn't friendly. "I see."

Across the city, Chuuya was discovering exactly how little his opinion mattered. The Hoshikawa estate occupied an entire hillside overlooking the harbor. It wasn't part of the company's main complex. That would have been too ordinary. Instead, the estate sat behind enormous iron gates and a long stone wall covered with climbing ivy. A winding road led through carefully maintained gardens, past ornamental trees and stone fountains, until the house itself appeared beyond them.

It looked like something transplanted from another century.

White stone walls. Tall windows. Dark wooden balconies. A slate roof stretching over several connected wings. Warm light glowed from behind the windows as evening settled over the grounds. Beautiful. Expensive. Cold.

Chuuya hated it. He sat in one of the drawing rooms while a tailor adjusted the sleeve of his jacket.

"Hold still, please." Chuuya stared at himself in the mirror. The suit was dark. Perfectly fitted. Expensive enough that he didn't want to know the price. He tugged at the collar.

"It's too tight."

"It's tailored specifically to you."

"I can still breathe."

"Then it's acceptable."

Chuuya glared at the tailor through the mirror. The man wisely said nothing. A door opened behind him.

Reiji entered. "The dinner will begin shortly."

Chuuya didn't turn around. "Can't wait."

Reiji smiled. "You don't have to sound so enthusiastic."

"I'm trying my best."

Reiji stepped closer. For a moment, he studied Chuuya's reflection. "You look good."

Chuuya's expression remained flat. "I know."

That earned a quiet laugh. "You're difficult."

"Been told that."

Reiji leaned against the doorway. "I spoke with the Agency today."

Chuuya turned. "What?"

"Dazai and Kunikida."

His heart gave an irritating little jolt. Chuuya immediately ignored it. "What did they want?"

"They asked questions about the alliance."

"Of course they did."

"Your former partner seemed particularly interested."

Chuuya's expression hardened. "He's not my partner."

Reiji raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say he was."

Chuuya looked away. "Whatever."

Reiji watched him for a moment. Then he said quietly, "Do you really dislike him?"

Chuuya's eyes snapped toward him. "Who?"

"Dazai."

Chuuya looked toward the window. "No." He corrected himself. "I don't dislike him."

Reiji smiled slightly. "Then what is he?"

Chuuya didn't answer. The question followed him long after Reiji left the room.

Night had settled over Yokohama by the time Dazai returned to the Agency. Most of the office had emptied. Only a few lamps remained lit.

Kunikida was still working. Of course. He didn't look up when Dazai entered quietly. "What did you find?"

Dazai removed his coat. "Nothing."

Kunikida stopped writing. "Nothing?"

"Nothing useful."

"You're lying." Kunikida looked up.

Dazai crossed the room and placed a folder on the desk. Inside were photographs. Financial reports. Shipping records. Names. Locations. Connections. And one document marked with the Hoshikawa family seal.

Kunikida read it. His expression slowly changed. "What is this?"

Dazai sat on the edge of the desk.

"The real contract."

Kunikida looked up. "The marriage contract?"

"Part of it."

"Part?"

Dazai nodded. "The version announced publicly is only the first layer."

Kunikida scanned the pages. There were clauses concerning business ownership. Political cooperation. Security agreements. Access to Port Mafia facilities. And then— One section had been blacked out. Kunikida frowned. "Why is this redacted?"

"It wasn't redacted." Dazai's voice was quiet. "It was deliberately omitted from the copy we received."

Kunikida looked at him. "What does the missing section say?"

Dazai didn't answer immediately. He looked toward the windows. "It concerns ability research."

Kunikida's expression hardened. "And Chuuya?"

Dazai's eyes remained on the harbor. "His name appears in the original."

The room went silent.  And somewhere in the Hoshikawa estate, beneath warm lights and expensive chandeliers, Chuuya sat at a long dining table surrounded by people discussing his future as though he weren't there. Neither of them knew yet what the missing clause contained.

But Dazai had learned something far more worrying important.

The wedding wasn't simply about the Port Mafia gaining power. The Hoshikawa family wanted Chuuya for a reason. And whatever that reason was, they had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep it hidden.

Morning arrived slowly over Yokohama. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the city beneath a pale, washed-out sky. Water clung to the windows of the Agency in thin trails, catching the weak sunlight whenever it managed to break through the clouds.

For once, Dazai was awake before everyone else. He stood beside one of the office windows with a cup of coffee he had no intention of drinking.

Below, the city was beginning its morning routine. Trains moved between buildings. Delivery trucks crowded the streets. The city had become cautious. Dazai understood the feeling. His gaze drifted toward the horizon. Somewhere beyond the buildings was the Port Mafia headquarters. And inside of it was Chuuya.

"You're brooding."

Dazai didn't turn. "Good morning, Kunikida."

"It's eight in the morning."

"Precisely."

Kunikida placed a stack of papers on his desk. "You've been standing there for twenty minutes."

"Have I?"

"Yes."

Dazai took a sip of his coffee. It had gone cold. He grimaced. Kunikida noticed. "That's what happens when you forget about it."

"I was thinking."

"That's usually when you're at your most troublesome."

Dazai smiled. He reached into his coat and pulled out the documents from the previous night.

Kunikida's expression became serious. "Did you find anything else?"

"Not yet."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Going back."

Kunikida looked at him. "To Hoshikawa?"

"No." Dazai folded the papers. "Chuuya."

The Port Mafia headquarters looked different in daylight. The darkness of night had hidden much of its architecture, but beneath the morning sky, the building appeared even more severe. Its black exterior absorbed the weak sunlight instead of reflecting it. Narrow windows stretched upward in perfect rows, interrupted only by occasional terraces and reinforced sections of glass. The building had survived the recent crisis largely intact.

The same couldn't be said for the surrounding city. Construction barriers lined the street several blocks away. A neighboring building had scaffolding wrapped around half its façade, and the distant sound of drills echoed through the morning.

The Mafia headquarters remained untouched.

Dazai entered without being stopped. He had expected resistance. Instead, the guards simply watched him. That was worse. Someone Mori had clearly given orders. He rode the elevator upward.

This time, when the doors opened, Chuuya was already waiting. He leaned against the wall at the end of the corridor, arms folded. "You've got some nerve."

Dazai stepped out. "Good morning to you too."

"I told you not to come back."

"And yet you waited for me! Such a good dog."

"I was making sure you didn't wander into the wrong office."

"How considerate."

Chuuya pushed away from the wall. "Come on."

He walked past him. Dazai followed. Neither spoke until they reached the office. Chuuya opened the door and stepped inside. Morning light filled the room. The curtains had been pulled open, revealing the harbor beyond the windows. The sea was calm, almost unnaturally so after the storm. Cargo ships moved slowly across the water while gulls circled above them.

Chuuya walked toward his desk. "You've got five minutes."

"That's not very hospitable."

"You don't deserve hospitality."

Dazai smiled. "I missed you too."

Chuuya's hand stopped on the desk. "Don't." The word was so quiet that Dazai's smile faded. Chuuya looked toward the window. "You don't get to do that."

"Do what?"

"Walk back in here and act like nothing happened." Chuuya's jaw tightened. "You left me."

"I know."

"You disappeared."

"I know."

"You went to the Agency of all places."

"I know."

"And now you show up because I'm getting married?"

Dazai looked at him. "Yes."

The bluntness of the answer seemed to catch Chuuya off guard. For several seconds, he simply stared. Then he laughed bitterly. "At least you're honest about something."

Dazai moved toward the desk. "I found something."

Chuuya's expression changed. He reached for the documents. "What?"

"The Hoshikawa contract."

Chuuya scanned the pages. His brows drew together. "I've already seen this."

"Not this version." Dazai placed another document beside it.

Chuuya looked down. His eyes moved across the page. Then stopped. "What the hell?"

"Exactly."

A clause had been added to the original agreement. It concerned Hoshikawa's ability research division. And directly beneath it was Chuuya's name.

Chuuya's fingers tightened around the paper. "They can't—"

"They can."

"No."

"Chuuya." His eyes lifted. Dazai's voice was unusually serious. "They're not interested in the marriage." Chuuya stared at him as he continued. "They're interested in you."

Outside, a ship's horn sounded across the harbor. The noise rolled through the city and disappeared between the buildings.

Chuuya looked back at the document. "What do they want?"

"I don't know."

"Then why are you here?"

Dazai stepped closer. "Because I intend to find out."

Chuuya laughed under his breath. "Of course a leech like you would."

"What?"

"You always do this."

"Do what?"

"Decide something is your problem and then make it everyone's problem."

Dazai's expression softened. "Perhaps."

Chuuya looked at him. There was frustration in his face. But underneath it was something else. Something Dazai recognized. Fear. For what might happen to the people around him. Dazai had seen that expression before. Years ago, when they were younger. When neither of them knew how to admit they were worried about each other.

He had always hated it. He hated it even more now. "You don't have to do this," Dazai said.

Chuuya scoffed. "I've been doing things alone for years."

"I know."

"Then stop acting like you can fix it."

Dazai went quiet. "I can't." His eyes were lowered toward the contract. "But I can make sure they don't hurt you."

Chuuya stared at him. Something in his expression shifted. Then he looked away again. "You're an idiot."

"That's not very romantic."

"I wasn't trying to be."

Dazai smiled faintly. The tension eased. Only slightly. That afternoon, he returned to the Agency with a new folder.

Kunikida was waiting. "Well?"

Dazai placed it on the desk. "They want Chuuya."

"We established that yesterday."

"No."

Dazai opened the folder. "They want something specific."

Kunikida read the first page. His expression tightened. "Ability research."

"Yes."

"Do you know what kind?"

"Not yet."

Kunikida flipped through the pages. "There are references to singularity research."

Dazai's eyes narrowed. "Anything else?"

"Artificial ability enhancement." That caught his attention. Kunikida continued reading. "Ability extraction."

Dazai's expression went completely blank.

Kunikida looked up. "That's impossible."

"It shouldn't be."

"Abilities can't simply be extracted."

"Usually."

Kunikida stared at him. "Dazai."

"I know." He closed the folder. "We need to find out what Hoshikawa knows about Chuuya."

"And how?"

Dazai stood. "I have an idea."

Kunikida sighed. "I already hate it."

Dazai smiled. "I haven't told you yet."

"That has never stopped me from hating your ideas."

That evening, Chuuya stood alone on the balcony of the Hoshikawa estate. The grounds below were illuminated by small lights hidden among the gardens. Water moved quietly through a stone fountain. Trees swayed gently in the evening breeze.

Beyond the estate walls, Yokohama glittered. The harbor lights stretched across the water.

Chuuya rested his hands against the stone railing. His phone vibrated. He glanced down. A message. From an unknown number. You should ask what happened to the previous candidates.

He stared at the screen. A cold feeling settled in his stomach. He looked toward the enormous house behind him. Every window was illuminated. Every room looked warm. Inviting. Safe. For the first time, it looked like a cage.

His phone vibrated again. Another message. Do not trust Hoshikawa.

Chuuya's eyes narrowed. He typed a response. Who are you? The message showed as delivered. No reply came.

Instead, somewhere inside the estate, a door closed.

Chuuya looked up. The warm lights of the house remained unchanged. But suddenly, he had the unmistakable feeling that someone was watching him. He turned toward the darkened gardens. Chuuya slipped his phone into his pocket before retreating to his room.

The Hoshikawa estate was quiet after midnight.

Beyond the tall windows of the western wing, the gardens had disappeared into darkness. Only the small lamps lining the paths remained visible, their reflections trembling across the glass whenever the wind moved through the trees.

The rest of the estate had gone to sleep. Reiji had not. His office occupied the highest floor of the western wing. Unlike the immaculate rooms downstairs, it was almost entirely dark. Bookshelves covered two walls from floor to ceiling, interrupted by locked cabinets and several enormous paintings whose subjects had long since faded into obscurity.

A single desk lamp illuminated the papers before him.

Reiji sat behind the desk. He wasn't reading the financial reports. He was looking at a photograph. It was old. The edges had yellowed, and the image itself was slightly grainy. A laboratory. White walls. Metal equipment. A row of observation windows. And, sitting behind one of them, a small boy. Seven years old. Messy orange hair.

A hospital gown hanging loosely from his shoulders.

His expression was furious. Even then, he had hated being watched.

Reiji's fingers rested against the photograph. He had been nine when he'd first seen him. Nine years old, standing beside his father in that same laboratory while the adults discussed an experiment they believed he was too young to understand. They had called the child Prototype A2-5-8. Reiji had never forgotten him.

The boy had fought every attempt to restrain him. He had screamed at researchers. Broken equipment. Refused to cooperate. And then, when his ability had finally surfaced and he successfully became a vessel for Arahabaki— The entire laboratory had changed.

The adults had become frightened. Reiji had been fascinated.

Corruption. Not simply an ability. A force that seemed to exist beyond ordinary human control. Something capable of destroying its user alongside everything around them. Reiji remembered standing behind the observation glass, staring. His father had called it dangerous. The researchers had called it unstable.

Reiji had thought it was beautiful. Not the child. The impossible contradiction of it.

A human being carrying something that should have been impossible for a human body to contain. He had wanted to understand it. Then he had wanted to control it. Eventually, he wanted both.

Reiji opened another drawer. Inside were files. Dozens of them. Some were decades old. Some were recent. At the top of one folder was a photograph of Chuuya as a teenager. Another showed him during a Port Mafia operation. Another showed him standing beside Dazai. Reiji's expression darkened at that one.

He disliked the photographs involving Dazai. Not because Dazai had ever been part of the original experiment. He hadn't. But because Dazai possessed something Reiji had spent years trying to obtain.

The ability to stop Corruption. The ability to reach Chuuya when no one else could. The ability to touch him without being destroyed.

Reiji closed the folder. His attention returned to the most recent photograph. Chuuya was older now. Twenty-two. No longer the furious little boy behind laboratory glass. He had grown into someone striking. The sharp line of his jaw. The copper of his hair. The confidence in his posture. The unmistakable intensity of his eyes. Years had refined what the laboratory had first introduced to Reiji as an impossible scientific anomaly.

Chuuya was valuable. Rare. Unique. And, above everything else— Uncontrolled.

That was what Reiji could not tolerate. He stood and crossed the room. A locked cabinet occupied the far wall. He entered a code. The lock clicked. Inside were old laboratory records. Reiji removed the oldest file.

The pages were covered in handwritten notes. Reiji stopped at the final page. There was a photograph attached to it. The seven-year-old Chuuya sat inside the containment chamber. His hands were clenched into fists. His eyes were fixed directly on the observation window. Directly at Reiji.

Reiji remembered that moment perfectly. The first time their eyes had met. Chuuya had looked furious. Reiji had smiled because he understood that he had just witnessed something no one else possessed. Something the Hoshikawa family could use. Something that, if properly controlled, could become the most devastating weapon Yokohama had ever seen.

Reiji returned the photograph to the file. "You're still the same," he murmured. He closed the cabinet. "But you're still refusing to understand."

His reflection stared back at him from the glass. For years, Chuuya had belonged to the Port Mafia. Before that, he had belonged to sheep. Before that, the laboratory. Reiji intended to correct that. The engagement wasn't merely a business arrangement. It wasn't even primarily about the Port Mafia.

The marriage would place Chuuya inside the Hoshikawa family. It would give Reiji access to him. His medical records. His ability. His schedule. His movements. His cooperation. And, eventually, Corruption itself. The thought brought a faint smile to Reiji's face. He imagined Chuuya standing in one of the Hoshikawa laboratories again.

Only this time, there would be no restraints.

No frightened researchers. No observation glass. No possibility of escape.

Chuuya would walk into the room willingly. Because he would believe he had chosen to. That was the difference between control and captivity. The latter could be resisted. The former could be disguised.

Reiji returned to his desk. He opened a second file. This one contained information about Dazai. Mainly a history of his relationship with Chuuya. Dazai was the variable he hadn't anticipated. He had known Dazai would investigate. He had expected curiosity. What he hadn't expected was how quickly Dazai had begun pulling apart the carefully constructed layers surrounding the marriage. And worse— Dazai understood Chuuya.

That made him dangerous.

Reiji closed the file. Outside, the first hint of dawn had begun to brighten the horizon. The estate remained silent. Perfect. Untouched. Controlled. Exactly as he wanted it.

Reiji looked once more at Chuuya's photograph. "You've spent your entire life running from people who wanted to use you." His thumb brushed the edge of the photograph. "You've mistaken freedom for safety." A pause. "And now you're going to learn the difference."

He placed the photograph face-down. Reiji had no intention of allowing Dazai Osamu to take him away a second time.

Two days before the wedding, the Hoshikawa estate stopped pretending to be a home.

Chuuya had noticed it gradually. At first, it had been little things. A servant appearing whenever he wandered too far from the main halls. A door that had been unlocked the previous morning now requiring a key. A security guard standing at the eastern entrance, where there had previously been nothing but two ornamental trees and a long stone path leading toward the gardens.

Then the cameras appeared. Small, nearly invisible things tucked into corners of ceilings and beneath the overhangs of balconies. They were discreet enough that most people probably wouldn't notice them.

Chuuya did. He noticed everything. Especially when he was being watched.

He stood at one of the enormous windows overlooking the estate grounds, one hand resting against the cool glass. Beyond it, the gardens stretched beneath a pale afternoon sky. Carefully trimmed hedges formed perfect geometric patterns around stone pathways. White flowers grew in deliberate clusters, every branch and shrub maintained with almost unnatural precision.

The gates were visible from here. Tall iron bars surrounded by stone walls. Two guards stood beside them.

Chuuya stared for several seconds. Then he turned away. His footsteps echoed across the marble floor as he crossed the room. He had tried leaving earlier. He had told one of the attendants that he wanted to go into the city. The answer had been immediate. Mr. Hoshikawa has requested that you remain on the property until the wedding. Requested.

Chuuya had nearly laughed. Instead, he'd asked why.

The attendant had lowered their eyes. For your safety. That phrase was beginning to piss him off. Everything was apparently for his safety. The reinforced windows. The guards. The locked doors. The restrictions on his movements. The sudden insistence that he have an escort whenever he went outside. Even his schedule had become someone else's property. Breakfast at eight. Tailor at ten. Meeting at noon. Fitting at two. Dinner at seven. Rest afterward. No unscheduled visitors. No leaving the estate. No unnecessary contact with the Port Mafia. No Agency visitors without prior approval. Chuuya stopped in the middle of the hallway.

His jaw tightened. "Fuck this." His voice was quiet.

The estate swallowed the words. He continued walking. The main corridor opened into the central atrium, where sunlight filtered through a massive glass ceiling. A decorative staircase curved around the room, its dark wooden railing polished until it reflected the light.

People moved through the space below. Servants. Security. Hoshikawa employees. Everyone had somewhere to be.

Everyone except him.

Chuuya descended the staircase. Halfway down, he noticed Reiji standing near the bottom. He looked perfectly composed. Dark suit. Gloves. Hands folded behind his back. Not a single strand of his hair out of place. He looked less like a man preparing for his wedding and more like someone overseeing the opening of a new corporate branch.

His eyes followed Chuuya as he descended. "You seem restless."

Chuuya reached the bottom step. "Yeah." He didn't bother hiding it. "I wanna leave."

Reiji's expression barely changed. "I know."

"Then open the fucking gates."

"No."

The answer was so calm that it made Chuuya's irritation sharpen. He stepped closer. "You're really starting to forget who you're talking to."

"I haven't forgotten." Reiji's gaze moved briefly toward Chuuya's hands. Then his eyes returned to his face. "That's precisely why you're staying here."

Something cold settled in Chuuya's stomach. He stared at him.

Reiji continued. "The closer we get to the ceremony, the greater the possibility of interference. Your enemies know where you are. The Agency has already investigated the estate twice. The Port Mafia has increased patrols throughout the district."

"Because they're looking for me."

"Yes."

"Because you locked me in here."

"Because you're valuable and loved." The word hung between them.

Chuuya's expression hardened. There it was again. Not person. Not partner. Not even future husband. Fucking. Valuable. Like something with a price tag.

Chuuya stepped past him. Reiji didn't stop him. That almost made it worse.

"Where are you going?" Reiji asked.

"My room."

"Your room?"

Chuuya stopped. Slowly, he looked back. "Yeah."

A faint smile touched Reiji's mouth. "Of course."

Chuuya continued upstairs. He didn't look back again.

His room was larger than most apartments. That was the problem. There was too much space for no expensive bottles of wine. Too much silence.Too many beautiful things he didn't care about. The room had been decorated specifically for him. At least, that's what he'd been told. Dark wood furniture. A large bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A private sitting area. A balcony overlooking the gardens. Even a bar stocked with expensive liquor other than whine he hadn't touched. Everything had been selected according to his supposed preferences, except the fact that he hadn't selected any of it.

Chuuya walked to the balcony doors. He tried the handle. Locked. He stared at it. Then he tried again. His eyes narrowed. He looked around the room. A tiny red light blinked from the corner of the ceiling. A camera. Chuuya's mouth flattened. He grabbed the nearest chair.cFor one brief second, he considered throwing it. Instead, he set it back down.

"Don't give them a reason." He muttered it to himself. That was the problem with cages. Eventually, you started policing your own behavior.

Chuuya walked over to the desk. There was a stack of wedding documents waiting for him. His name sat across the top of every page. He flipped through them. Ceremony arrangements. Financial agreements. Security protocols. Property considerations. Confidentiality clauses. Then— His fingers stopped. One page. A section he'd seen before. The language was deliberately vague. Something about medical cooperation. Chuuya's eyes moved slowly across the paragraph.

His stomach twisted. He remembered Dazai's voice. They want you for a reason.

At the time, he'd thought it was paranoia. Now he wasn't so sure. He set the document down. Then something beneath it caught his attention. A second sheet. Not part of the wedding contract. A technical document.

Hoshikawa research terminology. Chuuya didn't understand all of it. But he understood one word. Corruption.

His breathing stopped for half a second. He picked up the paper. There were diagrams. Old dates. References to experiments. Chuuya stared. His fingers tightened around the page. He didn't remember much from when he was seven. The room suddenly felt smaller. The ceiling seemed lower. He felt studied. Measured. Observed. Just like before.

His hand slowly lowered.

Rain had settled over Yokohama by nightfall. It tapped softly against the tall windows of the Port Mafia headquarters, turning the city beyond them into a blurred arrangement of silver lights and dark silhouettes. The harbor was almost invisible through the weather, save for the occasional glow of a ship moving slowly through the mist.

The headquarters itself was quiet.

Most of the organization had been preparing for tomorrow's ceremony. Security had been doubled. Vehicles had been inspected. Routes had been changed. Several of the executives had already been informed that Mori would be unavailable for most of the following day.

The wedding was supposed to be a political event. A show of cooperation between two powerful organizations. A carefully constructed symbol of stability after the vampire crisis. But Mori sat alone in his office as though none of that mattered. A cup of tea rested untouched beside his paperwork.

Elise sat on the sofa across from him, swinging her legs idly. She had been unusually quiet for several minutes. Finally, she looked up. "You're acting weird, Rintarou."

Mori smiled. "Am I?"

"Yes." Elise narrowed her eyes. "You're smiling too much."

That earned a small laugh. Mori leaned back in his chair, fingers loosely folded together. "Tomorrow is going to be quite interesting."

"Because Chuuya is getting married?"

"Not quite."

The rain continued against the glass. Mori's gaze shifted toward the city. The Hoshikawa estate was somewhere beyond the rain, hidden behind layers of wealth and security.

Tomorrow, everyone would expect Nakahara Chuuya to stand beside Reiji Hoshikawa. The Port Mafia would watch, Hoshikawa would celebrate. And Dazai— Mori's smile widened. "Especially Dazai."

Elise tilted her head. "What about him?"

Mori didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached toward a folder on his desk. It was thin. Almost insultingly thin for something that had required months of preparation. He opened it. Inside was the marriage contract. Not the version Hoshikawa had shown Chuuya.

The real one.

Mori tapped one particular paragraph with his finger. "They made a rather amusing mistake."

Elise leaned forward. "What mistake?"

"They assumed the contract was about Chuuya."

"It is."

"Partially."

Mori turned the page. "There are several conditions attached to the marriage. Political cooperation. Financial agreements. Access to certain resources."

He paused. "And a replacement clause."

Elise blinked. "A replacement?"

Mori nodded. "The Hoshikawas wanted Chuuya badly enough that they agreed to unusual terms."

His voice remained pleasant. Almost conversational. "They wanted his ability. His cooperation. His records. Eventually, they intended to gain enough control over his circumstances that refusing them would become nearly impossible."

Elise frowned. "That's creepy."

"Very." Mori smiled.

"But greed makes people careless." He turned another page. "The original contract permits the designated groom to be replaced under certain circumstances before the ceremony is finalized."

Elise stared at him. Then slowly, understanding crossed her face. "You're replacing him?"

"No." Mori's eyes gleamed. "I'm replacing Chuuya's groom."

Elise's mouth fell open. "With who?"

Mori didn't need to answer. Elise stared at him for several seconds.

Mori smiled. "Exactly."

The plan had begun long before the wedding invitations were printed. Mori had watched the Hoshikawa family approach the Port Mafia with their proposal. He had watched Chuuya's expression when he'd been informed. He had watched Dazai's reaction when he heard. That reaction had been the most useful piece of information of all.

Dazai could pretend not to care. He could joke. He could smile. He could turn almost anything into a performance.

But Mori had known him too long. There were certain things Dazai could never hide completely. Chuuya was one of them.

"He'll interfere," Elise said.

"Almost certainly."

"And Hoshikawa will be angry."

"Extremely."

"And Chuuya?"

Mori's expression softened slightly. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether Dazai arrives before Chuuya signs anything additional."

Elise looked toward the contract. "You already changed it?"

"I didn't change anything." Mori's smile became almost mischievous. "I merely ensured that the original terms would be interpreted correctly."

He had arranged for the necessary legal witnesses. Prepared the documents. Made certain the Port Mafia's representatives understood what would happen. And, most importantly, ensured that Dazai would have access to the information at precisely the right time. Mori had no intention of forcing Dazai to marry Chuuya. That would be far too crude. He intended to put Dazai in a position where the choice became obvious.

And tomorrow— Dazai would make it himself.

Elise kicked her feet lightly against the sofa. "So you planned all of this just to make Dazai marry Chuuya?"

Mori looked genuinely thoughtful. "Not just that."

He closed the folder. "Hoshikawa is dangerous." His tone had changed. The playful quality disappeared. "They've been investigating Chuuya for years. Their interest in Corruption predates this marriage proposal."

Elise stopped swinging her legs.

Mori continued quietly. "They've been waiting for an opportunity to place him somewhere they could control." He glanced toward the rain-covered window. "Tomorrow, they believe they're finally getting that opportunity." His smile returned. "They're wrong."

The clock on the wall moved past midnight. Tomorrow was no longer tomorrow.

Mori stood and walked toward the window. Below, Yokohama glittered beneath the rain.

Elise came to stand beside him. "What happens after?"

Mori glanced down at her. "After what?"

"After Dazai becomes the groom."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "Ah." He looked back toward the city. "Then the real problem begins."

Because Mori knew something neither Hoshikawa nor Dazai fully understood yet. A marriage could change an alliance. It could change the balance between the Agency and the Port Mafia. It could expose Hoshikawa's plans. But it could also force two people who had spent years circling each other to finally stand on the same side of something. And Mori had no idea whether that would make Yokohama safer or considerably more dangerous.

He picked up his tea. It had gone cold. "We'll see which one it is," he said quietly.

Elise didn't push her questions any further.

The Armed Detective Agency had been awake since before sunrise. The office, usually filled with the ordinary sounds of paperwork, arguments, footsteps, and Ranpo complaining that everyone else was making too much noise, had become a makeshift planning room. Maps covered the central table. Photographs of the Hoshikawa estate had been spread across the surface.

Kunikida stood at the head of the table with his notebook open, several pages already filled with tightly organized handwriting. "The ceremony begins at eleven." His pencil tapped once against the paper. "The estate will begin admitting guests at ten. Security will be increased considerably before then. We have roughly three hours."

Yosano leaned against the edge of the table, arms folded. "And our objective?"

"Stop the marriage before the ceremony is completed." Kunikida's expression was severe. "Preferably without starting a conflict between the Port Mafia and Hoshikawa."

Ranpo sat in a chair nearby, eating a snack as though they were discussing an ordinary afternoon case. "They're going to start one anyway."

Kunikida frowned. "That isn't helpful."

"It is if you stop pretending this is just a wedding." Ranpo tossed another piece of candy into his mouth. "Hoshikawa has been researching Chuuya for years. The marriage is the easiest way they've found to get him somewhere they can monitor him constantly."

Yosano's expression darkened. "And you're certain?"

"Obviously." Ranpo looked almost offended by the question. "They've been hiding information in the contract. They have surveillance throughout the estate. They've restricted Chuuya's movements. And somebody has been accessing old records related to his ability." He paused. "There's something underneath that mansion."

Kunikida's fingers tightened around his notebook. "Then we need to get Nakahara out."

"Exactly."

He turned toward the others. "The plan is simple. Yosano and I approach through the eastern entrance. Atsushi and Tanizaki will create a diversion on the western side. Kenji will remain outside with the vehicles."

"What about Dazai?"

Kunikida looked toward the couch. Empty. The chair beside the window. Empty. Dazai's usual desk. Empty. His expression slowly became more irritated. "He was supposed to be here."

Yosano raised an eyebrow. "You didn't notice?"

"I noticed five minutes ago."

"You should've noticed twenty minutes ago."

"I have been trying to organize an operation."

"Which is exactly why you should've noticed."

Kunikida slammed his notebook shut. "He knew we were meeting at six."

Ranpo shrugged. "He isn't coming."

Kunikida stared at him. "What?"

Ranpo continued eating. "He left sometime during the night."

"How do you know?"

"I looked."

That wasn't an answer. Kunikida knew better than to ask for one. He reached for his phone. He called. Nothing. Straight to voicemail. His expression became increasingly grim. "He's deliberately ignoring us."

"Probably."

Yosano sighed. "That idiot."

Kunikida looked around the room. "We cannot allow one missing detective to derail the operation."

Ranpo finally looked up. "You're assuming he's missing."

Kunikida paused. "What else would you call it?"

Ranpo smiled faintly. "Depends on where he went."

The plan continued without him. Routes were assigned. Vehicles prepared. Weapons checked. Communication channels established. Every detail that could be controlled was controlled. Except Dazai. And that was precisely what bothered Kunikida.

Dazai didn't simply disappear. Not without a reason. Not when Chuuya was hours away from being married.

Kunikida stared down at his phone again. Still nothing. He had expected Dazai to object to the plan. He had expected him to make some ridiculous comment. He had expected him to insist that he had a better idea. Instead, there was nothing. That absence felt wrong.

Ranpo watched him. "You should stop worrying."

"I'm not worried."

"You're worried."

"I'm concerned about operational reliability."

"Same thing."

Kunikida ignored him.

Outside the windows, Yokohama was beginning to wake. Cars moved along the streets below. People hurried beneath umbrellas. The city had no idea that somewhere within that big estate on the West, Chuuya was waiting. Waiting for someone. Anyone.

At nine-thirty, the Agency convoy departed. Kunikida sat in the passenger seat of the first vehicle, watching the city pass by. His phone remained in his hand. Nothing. He tried one final time. Straight to voicemail.

Kunikida lowered the phone. "Dazai..." The name escaped under his breath.

He hated the feeling settling in his chest. Because Dazai wasn't simply absent. He had vanished at the exact moment everyone expected him to act.

The wedding was beginning. The Hoshikawa estate had never looked more beautiful. That was the first thing Chuuya noticed. Every window had been polished until the morning light poured through unobstructed. White flowers lined the enormous staircase, their arrangements carefully positioned beneath the chandeliers. The gardens had been transformed into something almost unreal, with rows of pale blossoms leading toward the ceremonial hall.

Guests moved through the mansion in formal clothing. Executives. Politicians. Representatives from organizations that had spent years pretending they weren't interested in the Port Mafia. Everywhere Chuuya looked, there were cameras. Eyes Security. He stood at the end of the ceremonial hall, dressed in the suit Hoshikawa had prepared for him.

His expression was flat. His hands were clenched at his sides.

Across the room, Reiji stood beneath the enormous floral arrangement that served as the backdrop for the ceremony. He looked completely at ease. "You're quiet."

Chuuya glanced at him. "Nothing worth sayin'."

Reiji smiled faintly. "The ceremony will be over soon."

Chuuya's eyes narrowed. That sounded less reassuring than Reiji probably intended.

A bell rang somewhere in the estate. The guests began taking their seats. Chuuya looked toward the enormous doors behind him. For just a second, he wondered whether the Agency had actually managed to get through the security. Then the doors opened. Not for them. For the officiant.

Chuuya's shoulders dropped slightly. Of course. He had known better than to expect anyone to arrive in time.

The ceremony began.

Outside the estate, a black vehicle screeched to a stop.

Kunikida stepped out before it had fully settled. "Move!"

The Agency scattered. Security personnel immediately reacted. The carefully constructed perimeter erupted into confusion as the Agency forced its way toward the eastern entrance.

Kunikida glanced at his watch. Eleven-oh-three. Too late. "Where is Dazai?!"

No one answered.

He clenched his jaw. "Damn it!"

Inside, the officiant continued speaking. Chuuya barely heard a word. His attention had shifted to the doors. Something felt wrong. The room seemed to be holding its breath.

Reiji noticed. "Is something bothering you?"

"Yeah." Chuuya stared toward the entrance. "I've got a bad feelin'."

Reiji's expression remained composed. "There's no reason to be nervous."

"I ain't nervous." Chuuya's eyes narrowed. "I'm annoyed."

The doors exploded open. Not violently. Someone had simply kicked them wide enough that they slammed against the walls. Every head in the room turned. A familiar figure stood in the doorway.

Bandages. Dark coat. Messy brown hair. That beautiful infuriating smile. Osamu Dazai. For several seconds, Chuuya simply stared.

Dazai looked around the room. "Sorry I'm late."

The silence was absolute. Chuuya's eyes widened. "Mackerel."

Dazai's smile grew. "Slug."

Reiji stepped forward. "This is a private ceremony."

"I know." Dazai walked into the hall. "I'm here to stop it."

The room erupted into whispers. Reiji's expression finally changed. Only slightly. But enough. "You have no authority here."

"Actually, I do." Dazai reached into his coat. He removed a folded document and looked over to the shorter groom, noticing how Chuuya's eyes immediately fixed on it. Dazai held it up. "The original contract."

Reiji went still.

Dazai unfolded the paper. "And according to the terms Hoshikawa agreed to, the designated groom can be replaced prior to the ceremony under specific conditions."

Reiji's face hardened. "That clause does not apply."

"Oh, it does." Dazai smiled. "Quite beautifully, actually."

He walked farther into the room.

Kunikida's voice suddenly came through the communication device hidden beneath his collar. "Dazai!"

Dazai ignored it. His eyes never left Reiji. "You wanted a political alliance." He held out the contract. "You wanted my Dog." His gaze shifted toward Chuuya. "And you were so busy making sure nobody could interfere that you forgot to consider who might be willing to take his place."

Realization slowly crossed his face. "No."

Dazai smiled. "Yes."

Reiji's voice became dangerously quiet. "You cannot simply replace the groom."

"Of course I can."

Dazai stepped beside Chuuya. "That's the funny part." He placed the contract on the ceremonial table. "The paperwork has already been filed."

The room fell silent again. Reiji looked down. Then his eyes widened. His gaze snapped toward Dazai. "You..."

Dazai's smile disappeared. For the first time that morning, he looked completely serious. "You wanted to put Chuuya in a cage and off his leash." His voice was quiet. "You should've checked who was standing outside it."

Chuuya looked at him. Something unreadable passed across his face.

Dazai turned toward the officiant. "Now, about that ceremony." He gestured toward the empty space beside Chuuya. "I believe you have a replacement groom."

Outside, the sound of security alarms began echoing across the estate. Kunikida and the others were getting closer.

Chuuya, for the first time in days could breathe. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Dazai's usual grin returned. "Not at all."

"You disappeared all damn morning."

"I was busy."

"You hijacked a wedding."

"Technically, I prevented one."

Chuuya stared at him.

Dazai stepped closer, lowering his voice so that the surrounding commotion faded into the background. "I told you I wouldn't let them take your choices away."

Chuuya's expression shifted. The anger didn't disappear. But something beneath it softened.

Dazai looked toward the contract lying on the table. Then he reached for it and folded it neatly. "I don't want this because of the contract."

That made Chuuya pause.

Dazai's expression was unusually serious now. "I don't want you because Mori arranged it. I don't want you because Hoshikawa wanted you. And I certainly don't want some ridiculous piece of paper deciding where you belong." He held the contract loosely between two fingers. "I want you to choose."

Chuuya said nothing.

Dazai took a breath. Then, without the theatrics that usually accompanied anything remotely serious from him, he asked, "Chuuya, will you marry me?"

The question seemed almost absurd after everything that had happened. They were standing in the middle of someone else's wedding. The flowers were still arranged around them. The guests were still watching. Hoshikawa's representatives looked as though they were collectively suffering a nervous breakdown.

And somehow, Dazai sounded completely sincere.

Chuuya stared at him for a long moment. "You planned this?"

"Some of it."

"Mori planned some of it."

"Unfortunately."

"And you just decided you'd rather marry me than let that bastard have his way?"

Dazai's expression became quieter. "No." He shook his head. "I decided I'd rather marry you than spend another day pretending I don't care where you end up."

Chuuya's eyes widened slightly.

Dazai glanced away, almost embarrassed by his own honesty. "I know I'm difficult."

"That's putting it mildly."

"I know."

"And you're insane."

"Frequently."

"And you're asking me this in front of half of Yokohama."

"Yes."

Chuuya rubbed a hand over his face. "You're an idiot."

Dazai smiled faintly. "Probably." Then his expression turned earnest again. "I'd spend the rest of my life proving that I can be whatever you need me to be." He looked directly at Chuuya. "If being beside you means swallowing my pride, then I'll do it. If it means following your lead, I'll follow. If it means putting myself at your feet and being your most loyal dog for the rest of my life, then so be it."

Chuuya blinked.

Dazai's voice dropped. "I don't want to be the man you tolerate because a contract says you have to." He paused. "I want to be your husband."

The hall remained silent. Then Chuuya looked down at the wedding band that Hoshikawa had prepared. He removed it. For a moment, he simply held it between his fingers. Then he placed it on the table.

"No." Dazai's face fell even when Chuuya immediately added, "Not that." He pointed toward the ring. "I'm not wearing anything they picked for me."

A small smile appeared on Dazai's face.

Chuuya looked at him. "If we're doing this..." He sighed. "...we're doing it our way."

Dazai's smile widened. The wedding was officially ruined. There was no polite way to describe it. The flowers were still intact. The musicians were still standing beside their instruments. The guests remained seated in stunned silence.

But the ceremony itself? Dead. Completely, spectacularly dead.

Dazai looked delighted. Chuuya, on the other hand, looked like he was considering throwing him through one of the enormous windows. "You."

Dazai blinked innocently. "Me?"

"You." He pointed directly at Dazai. "You just proposed to me in the middle of somebody else's wedding."

Dazai nodded. "Yes."

"After breaking into the estate."

"Yes."

"After rewriting a fucking marriage contract."

"Technically, Mori did most of that."

"You're still involved!"

"Very involved." He watched how Chuuya's eyebrow twitched. Dazai smiled. "You're welcome."

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU."

Dazai immediately ducked behind Chuuya. "See? This is exactly the sort of behavior I'm marrying into."

"Get out from behind me!"

"No."

"Dazai!"

"No!"

Chuuya reached backward, attempting to grab him by the collar. Dazai slipped sideways.

Chuuya caught his sleeve. Dazai caught Chuuya's hat. They froze.

Chuuya slowly looked at the hat in Dazai's hand. Dazai slowly looked at Chuuya. "Give it back."

"I've always thought this hat would look better on me."

"You'll look better six feet underground."

"Such affection!"

"Give me my hat!" Dazai held it above his head.

Chuuya lunged. Dazai moved. Missed. A nearby floral arrangement did not. The entire thing came crashing down.

A dozen guests stared. One of the flowers landed directly on Dazai's head. He paused. Then smiled. "Beautiful."

Chuuya covered his face. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I absolutely do."

"No, you don't."

"Shut up."

The doors suddenly burst open again. Kunikida stormed into the hall. "Dazai!"

Dazai brightened. "Kunikida-kun!"

"You absolute—" Kunikida stopped. He looked around.

The ruined decorations. The abandoned ceremony. Reiji standing rigidly near the altar. Chuuya attempting to retrieve his hat. Dazai wearing said hat.

Kunikida closed his eyes. He took a slow breath. "I leave you alone for several hours."

Dazai nodded. "Yes."

"You infiltrate a private wedding."

"Yes."

"You somehow become the groom."

"Yes."

"And you're wearing Chuuya's hat."

Dazai looked down at it. "Yes."

Kunikida's eye twitched. "Why?"

Dazai smiled. "Because it looks cute."

Chuuya's head snapped toward him. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

Dazai immediately tossed the hat back. "Nothing."

Chuuya caught it. "That's what I thought."

Kunikida stared at the two of them. Then at the contract. Then at the ceiling. "I should have stayed in bed."

The situation became even worse when Ranpo finally entered. He took one look at the hall. "Oh." He popped another snack into his mouth. "You actually did it."

Kunikida turned. "You knew?"

"Of course."

"You knew Dazai was going to do this?!"

Ranpo shrugged. "I figured it out yesterday."

Kunikida's expression became murderous. "And you didn't tell us?"

"No."

"WHY?!"

Ranpo smiled. "Because it was funny."

Kunikida looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had brought him to the Agency.

Dazai had barely waited for the officiant to retreat before he drifted back toward Chuuya, apparently deciding that the complete destruction of Reiji Hoshikawa's wedding plans wasn't enough entertainment for one morning. "So," Dazai began pleasantly.

Chuuya immediately looked suspicious. "So what?"

"We're getting married."

"We are not."

Dazai blinked. "But Chuuya said we'd do it our way."

"I said if we did it."

"You didn't say no."

"I haven't said yes either!"

Dazai recoiled as though he'd been struck directly through the heart. One hand flew dramatically to his chest. "Chuuya is rejecting me."

"I'm considering it!"

"That's basically a yes."

"It is absolutely not!" Chuuya's voice echoed through the ceremonial hall.

Several guests turned. Dazai didn't seem remotely embarrassed. Instead, he glanced toward the ceremonial table, where the abandoned ring still rested inside its velvet box.

"Then I'll make it easy." He picked it up.

Chuuya's expression changed immediately. "No."

Dazai paused. "No?"

"I'm not wearing that." Chuuya's gaze dropped toward the ring. The irritation in his expression wasn't playful anymore. "That was picked for Hoshikawa's wedding."

Dazai studied him for a moment. Then he closed the box. "Fair." He tossed it casually back onto the table.

The nearby attendant nearly had a heart attack.

Chuuya blinked. "...That's it?"

"That's it."

"No argument?"

"Nope."

"You're agreeing with me?"

Dazai smiled. "Don't sound so frightened."

"That is frightening."

Dazai laughed softly. Then he extended his hand. "Come on."

Chuuya looked down at it. "What?"

"If Chuuya doesn't want their ring, we won't use their ring."

"We?"

"We're doing it our way, remember?"

"You are getting way too much mileage out of that sentence." Nevertheless, Chuuya placed his hand in Dazai's.

The officiant looked between them with an expression suggesting that he'd stopped understanding the ceremony twenty minutes ago.

"You are both consenting to proceed?"

Dazai answered immediately. "Yes."

Chuuya glared sideways at him.

Dazai waited.

That was what finally did it. He didn't answer for Chuuya. Didn't make another joke. Didn't tug him toward the altar. He simply stood there, holding his hand loosely enough that Chuuya could pull away whenever he wanted.

Chuuya stared at him. Then exhaled. "...Yeah."

Dazai's eyebrows rose.

Chuuya's glare sharpened. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"Your face did."

"My face is delighted."

"Your face is annoying."

"And you're marrying it."

"Keep talking and I'm changing my answer."

Dazai immediately turned toward the officiant. "Please continue before he realizes he has standards."

"Dazai!"

The officiant hurried. There were no proper vows prepared for this. No matching rings. No carefully planned procession. Somehow, it suited them better. When the officiant reached the exchange of rings, he hesitated.

Chuuya folded his arms. "We're skipping that."

"Actually..." Dazai turned toward him.

Chuuya immediately narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"I've thought of a replacement."

"No."

"You haven't heard it."

"I know you." Dazai took Chuuya's left hand before he could retreat. "Oi—"

Dazai lifted it. Chuuya stopped. His irritation faltered when Dazai bowed his head toward his hand. His fingers rested carefully around his wrist. His head lowered until his lips seemed about to brush Chuuya's ring finger.

Chuuya's eyes widened. A faint flush climbed into his face. "What the hell are you—"

Dazai bit his ring finger. Hard. Chuuya jerked backward with a sharp yell, snatching his hand against his chest. A small cut had opened where Dazai's teeth caught, enough for a spot of blood to appear. Silence consumed the hall.

Chuuya stared at his hand. Then at Dazai.

Dazai smiled. "There. Now you don't need a ring."

Chuuya's eye twitched. "You—" Dazai took one cautious step backward. "You fucking—" Another step. "DAZAI!"

Dazai bolted. Chuuya went after him. "You BIT me at our WEDDING!"

"You refused the ring!"

"THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU REPLACE IT WITH YOUR TEETH!"

"I improvised!"

"I'M GONNA IMPROVISE YOUR FUNERAL!"

Dazai ducked behind the officiant. "Chuuya, please! We're married now! Think about our future!"

"We've been married for TEN SECONDS!"

"And already you're chasing me! How devoted!"

Chuuya lunged around the officiant. Dazai darted the opposite way.

"GET BACK HERE!"

"No!"

Across the room, Kunikida stared at them. His face had gone completely blank. "They're going to be unbearable."

Ranpo, who had somehow acquired refreshments during the ceremony, nodded. "Definitely."

Yosano watched Chuuya chase his brand-new husband around the altar. "They already are."

Kunikida pushed his glasses higher. "Should we stop them?"

"No," Yosano said.

Ranpo shook his head. "Absolutely not."

Another furious shout echoed through the estate. "Dazai!"

"Yes, dear?"

"I'M DIVORCING YOU!"

"But Chuuya, we haven't even taken wedding pictures!"

Kunikida closed his eyes. It was going to be a very long marriage.

Yokohama had survived another year. This was perhaps more impressive than it sounded. The city had an unfortunate habit of becoming the battleground for supernatural disasters, criminal organizations, government conspiracies, international incidents, and—on one particularly memorable morning—a wedding that had nearly become all four at once.

Yet Yokohama remained.

The buildings damaged during the vampire crisis had long since been repaired. Construction scaffolding had disappeared from most of the waterfront. New glass reflected the afternoon sunlight where shattered windows had once been covered with plywood.

The harbor glittered beneath a cloudless sky. Ships moved lazily across the water. Cars filled the streets. People crowded cafés and storefronts. Life continued.

The Hoshikawa Conglomerate, however, had not recovered quite so gracefully. Officially, the company had undergone significant restructuring. That was what newspapers called it. The reality was considerably less elegant. The underground laboratory beneath the Hoshikawa estate had been discovered shortly after the wedding. The Armed Detective Agency had recovered years of research records, including files concerning ability users and experiments Hoshikawa had never been authorized to conduct.

The government became involved. Then the Special Division. Then several very angry families whose names appeared in Hoshikawa's records. And then the Port Mafia had discovered precisely how long Hoshikawa had been collecting information on Nakahara Chuuya.

After that, things became complicated. Nobody ever explained exactly what Mori meant when he informed the Agency that the Hoshikawa matter had been handled.

Kunikida had asked. Mori had smiled. Kunikida had decided he didn't want the answer.

Reiji Hoshikawa disappeared completely from Yokohama's political circles. The laboratories were dismantled. The research was seized. The estate was emptied. And the Hoshikawa Conglomerate fractured into several smaller companies that suddenly became extremely uninterested in ability research.

The mansion itself remained abandoned. Its enormous windows gathered dust. The gardens grew wild. Vines crawled across the walls that had once been meticulously maintained. Whatever cage Reiji had imagined building for Chuuya had become nothing more than an empty house. Their nullifying walls had also lost it's power, and the research for it was forgotten.

Chuuya never went back. He didn't need to. That part of his life was finished.

Unfortunately, another problem had replaced it. His husband.

One year after the worst wedding Yokohama had ever witnessed, Nakahara Chuuya was standing in the Armed Detective Agency office. He was furious. Again.

"Osamu." Silence. "Osamu." Nothing. Chuuya's eyebrow twitched. "Osamu, I know you're in here."

Kunikida didn't look up from his paperwork. "He's behind the couch."

A betrayed voice emerged from the floor. "Kunikida-kun!"

Chuuya immediately rounded the couch. Dazai was crouched behind it. Their eyes met.

Dazai smiled. "Hello, Puppy."

Chuuya grabbed his collar. "Found you."

"How romantic."

"Why is my car parked three blocks away?"

Dazai blinked. "Your car?"

"My car."

"The little red one?"

Chuuya's grip tightened. "You know damn well which car."

"Hm." Dazai looked thoughtful. "I may have borrowed it."

"You don't have a license."

"Technicality."

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE."

"Another technicality."

Kunikida's pen stopped. Slowly, he looked up. "You drove here?"

Dazai smiled. "No."

Kunikida relaxed. "I had Atsushi drive."

Somewhere across the office, Atsushi suddenly became extremely interested in the wall.

Chuuya turned. "Weretiger."

Atsushi stiffened. "I didn't know he didn't ask!"

"You thought I gave him permission?!"

"He said you were married!"

"THAT DOESN'T MEAN HE OWNS MY CAR!"

Dazai raised one finger. "Legally, marriage does occasionally affect shared property—"

Chuuya whirled around. "Finish that sentence."

Dazai lowered his finger. "I love your car."

"That's what I thought."

Marriage had changed absolutely nothing. This was the conclusion reached by everyone who knew them. Dazai still annoyed Chuuya deliberately. Chuuya still threatened him. They still argued over meaningless things with the intensity of international negotiations. They still somehow worked together with terrifying efficiency whenever something actually mattered.

The Port Mafia and Armed Detective Agency had developed an unofficial system regarding their marriage.

Nobody asked questions. Nobody attempted to understand it. And under absolutely no circumstances did anyone volunteer to mediate an argument.

Kunikida had tried once. Once. He still refused to discuss it.

Ranpo maintained that the marriage had actually made them worse. Yosano agreed. Atsushi had once made the mistake of asking Chuuya what married life was like.

Chuuya had stared into the distance for several seconds before answering, "Exhausting."

Dazai, standing behind him, had immediately said, "Wonderful."

Chuuya had kicked him. So, yes. Nothing had changed.

Except, some things had. Small things. Things neither of them discussed. Dazai had learned exactly how Chuuya liked his coffee. Chuuya had learned when Dazai's jokes meant he genuinely didn't want to answer something. There was always a spare coat hanging beside Chuuya's. There were two sets of shoes beside the apartment door. Two toothbrushes. Two schedules that rarely matched. Arguments over groceries. Arguments over laundry. Arguments over who had forgotten to lock the door. Dazai frequently claimed that Chuuya was too short to reach certain shelves. Chuuya frequently demonstrated that gravity manipulation made shelves irrelevant.

Their home wasn't quiet. It wasn't particularly organized. It certainly wasn't peaceful. But it was theirs. That mattered when they shared kisses after shifts while watching television in their living room.

That evening, they walked along the harbor. The sun had nearly disappeared behind Yokohama's skyline. Buildings stretched upward in dark silhouettes while thousands of windows gradually illuminated one by one.

The water reflected everything. Gold. Orange. Blue. The city looked nothing like it had one year ago.

Neither did they. Chuuya walked with his hands inside his coat pockets. Dazai wandered beside him. For once, neither was talking.

Eventually, Dazai glanced sideways. "One year."

Chuuya sighed. "Unfortunately."

"You've survived an entire year married to me."

"Barely."

"I'm impressed."

"So am I."

Dazai smiled. They continued walking. Then Dazai's gaze dropped toward Chuuya's hand. There was no wedding ring. There never had been. Chuuya had remained stubborn about that. Dazai had never asked again. The ridiculous bite from their wedding had healed long ago, leaving nothing behind except an increasingly exaggerated story Dazai enjoyed telling whenever somebody asked about their ceremony.

Chuuya caught him looking. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I was remembering our wedding."

Chuuya stopped walking. "Osamu."

"The flowers were beautiful."

"'Osamu."

"Kunikida looked furious."

"Samu."

"And then there was the wonderfully touching ring ceremony—"

Chuuya grabbed his scarf. "You bit me!"

Dazai laughed. "You refused the ring!"

"Those two things are not connected!"

"They are in my heart."

"I hate you."

Dazai's laughter softened. The harbor breeze moved between them.

Chuuya released his scarf.

Then Dazai looked across the water. "Would you do it again?"

Chuuya glanced at him. "What?"

"Knowing everything." No teasing this time. No exaggerated expression.

Chuuya looked away. The answer should have been difficult. Their marriage had begun as a disaster. It shouldn't have worked. Maybe that was precisely why it had.

Chuuya shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "...Yeah."

Dazai turned toward him.

Chuuya immediately pointed at him. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

Dazai's smile appeared. "I haven't said anything."

"You're about to."

"I was merely going to say—"

"Don't."

"—that Chuuya loves his wonderful husband."

Chuuya kicked him in the shin.

Dazai stumbled dramatically. "Violence! On our anniversary!"

"You had that coming!"

"After one entire year, Chuuya still mistreats me!"

"Keep yelling and there won't be a second!"

Dazai straightened. "You said there'd be a second."

Chuuya froze.

Dazai's grin became enormous. "Chuuya."

"Shut up."

"You said—"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID."

Dazai laughed. Chuuya started walking faster. Dazai followed. And beneath the lights of Yokohama, their argument disappeared into the sounds of the city. At least, it did for another three blocks.

Then Chuuya stopped so abruptly that Dazai nearly walked straight into him.

"Ow— Chuuya, warning."

"Shut up." Chuuya wasn't looking at him.

His attention had caught on a storefront tucked between a quiet café and an old bookshop. It was smaller than the glittering luxury stores closer to downtown. Dark wooden framing surrounded broad windows glowing with warm golden light. The lettering painted across the glass had faded slightly with age, and inside, narrow display cases stood beneath hanging lamps.

Jewelry.

Dazai followed Chuuya's gaze. Then he looked at Chuuya. Then back at the shop. His eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Don't."

"I haven't said anything."

"Your face did."

Dazai's mouth curved. "My face is delighted."

"Your face is about to get punched."

Chuuya should have kept walking. Instead, his eyes lingered on one of the displays. There weren't enormous gemstones or absurdly decorative bands. Most of the pieces were simple. Clean. Practical. Chuuya flexed his left hand inside his glove. One year. They'd been married for an entire year without rings.

At first, it had been stubbornness. Chuuya had refused Hoshikawa's ring because it belonged to a ceremony that hadn't been his. Afterward, neither of them had bothered replacing it. More importantly, Dazai hadn't pushed. That was probably the only reason Chuuya could stand here considering one now.

"Chuuya."

"No."

"You haven't heard the question."

"I know the question."

"Then?"

Chuuya stared through the window another moment. "...We can look."

Dazai went completely still. Chuuya immediately regretted everything. Slowly, Dazai turned toward him.

"Chuuya."

"Don't make this weird."

"We're buying wedding rings."

"We're looking."

"On our anniversary."

"Osamu."

"Together."

"I'm leaving." Chuuya turned.

Dazai caught the back of his coat. "No!"

"Let go!"

"You can't give me happiness and immediately take it away!"

"You're making a scene!"

"I've waited a year!"

"You never even asked!"

"I respected your boundaries!" That stopped Chuuya for half a second. Dazai looked unusually pleased with himself.

Chuuya scowled. "...Don't sound so proud of doing the bare minimum."

"But it worked."

"You're pushing it." Still, Chuuya opened the door. A small bell chimed overhead.

The interior smelled faintly of polished wood. Glass cabinets stretched along the walls, filled with rings resting against dark velvet. Warm lighting caught against gold, platinum, and silver, sending tiny reflections across the ceiling.

An older jeweler glanced up from behind the counter. "Good evening."

Chuuya nodded.

Dazai smiled. "We need wedding rings."

"We're looking at wedding rings," Chuuya corrected.

"For ourselves."

"'Samu."

"We've already been married a year."

"Osamu Dazai."

"We had an unconventional ceremony."

Chuuya grabbed his sleeve. "Stop telling strangers our life story."

The jeweler appeared to be fighting a smile. "Do you have anything particular in mind?"

"Durable," Chuuya answered immediately. Dazai looked at him. Chuuya ignored him. "Really durable."

The jeweler nodded. "Do you work with your hands?"

Dazai made a thoughtful noise. "You could say that."

Chuuya gave him a warning look before continuing. "They can't scratch easily. Or bend." He pulled off one leather glove and set it on the counter. "And nothing bulky."

The jeweler glanced at the glove. "Because you wear these often?"

"Every day." Chuuya turned his bare hand slightly. "I don't want something catching against the leather every time I put them on."

That eliminated quite a few options. Anything raised was immediately rejected. Decorative edges? No. Large stones? Absolutely not. Wide bands? Chuuya tried one and removed it within seconds. "Hate it."

Dazai leaned against the counter. "You've worn it for four seconds."

"And I've hated all four."

Eventually, the jeweler brought out a pair of narrow, low-profile bands made from a highly durable metal alloy. The edges were smoothly rounded, while the brushed finish meant the inevitable tiny marks of daily wear wouldn't stand out. Chuuya picked one up. It was surprisingly light. He slipped it onto his finger. Then flexed his hand. Nothing pinched.

He pulled his leather glove back on. His fingers curled. Opened. Curled again. The ring remained almost completely unobtrusive beneath the leather. Chuuya's expression changed.

Dazai caught it instantly. "That one."

Chuuya looked at him. "What?"

"You like it."

"I didn't say that."

"You did the Chuuya thing."

"What Chuuya thing?"

Dazai mimicked his concentrated expression.

Chuuya shoved his shoulder. "Shut up."

Dazai laughed. Then he tried the matching band. The simplicity suited him strangely well. He looked down at it. For once, the joke didn't immediately arrive.

Chuuya noticed. "You like it?"

Dazai turned his hand beneath the light. "Yeah."

Chuuya looked down at his own. "...Yeah."

That was that. They left the store twenty minutes later. The city had grown darker around them. Streetlamps reflected across the pavement, and the harbor wind had become colder. For several steps, neither said anything. Chuuya kept glancing at his hand. The ring was mostly concealed beneath his glove. Exactly what he'd wanted. Something that wouldn't interfere when he fought. Something durable enough to take the punishment of their work without becoming a scratched-up mess after a week. Something delicate and narrow enough that the leather of his gloves wouldn't press irritatingly against it. But whenever he moved his hand, he could feel the faintest pressure around his finger.

There. His.

Dazai was staring at his own ring too.

Chuuya caught him. "You're being weirdly quiet."

"I'm admiring it."

"You've been staring for five minutes."

Dazai lifted his hand. "It means Chuuya is officially stuck with me."

"We were already legally married."

"Yes, but now I have evidence."

"You have a marriage certificate."

"Paper burns."

Chuuya stared at him. "You concern me."

Dazai lowered his hand. Then his gaze drifted toward Chuuya's glove. "Does yours bother you?"

Chuuya flexed his fingers. "No." A pause. "Actually..." He examined his hand. "...I barely feel it."

Dazai smiled. Not the enormous, irritating grin. Something smaller. "Good."

Chuuya looked at him. That single word landed differently. Because Dazai hadn't chosen something flashy for him.

He hadn't insisted on tradition. He hadn't tried to replace Hoshikawa's ring immediately or make Chuuya wear something uncomfortable simply because married people were supposedly expected to. They'd waited until Chuuya wanted one. And when he finally did, they'd chosen something that fit into the life he already had instead of demanding that he change for it.

Chuuya looked away. "...Quit smiling."

"I'm happy."

"Disgusting."

"We have matching rings."

"I noticed."

"Matching wedding rings."

"Osamu."

"Like a proper married couple."

"We've been married for a year!"

Dazai lifted his hand beside Chuuya's.

The bands caught the streetlight at the same time. "Now everyone will know about my husband."

Chuuya looked at their hands. Then at him. A smirk tugged at his mouth. "Good."

Dazai blinked.

Chuuya shoved both hands into his pockets and continued walking.

It took Dazai approximately two seconds to recover. "Chuuya!"

"Don't."

"You said good."

"I know what I said."

"Chuuya wants everyone to know he's married to me!"

"Keep yelling and I'm throwing that ring into the harbor!"

Dazai immediately curled his fingers protectively around it. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna test that theory?"

"No!"

Chuuya laughed and continued down the waterfront. Dazai hurried after him.

Their rings. A year late. Which, for Soukoku, was practically right on time.