Chapter Text
The towering windows reached all the way to the ceiling, granting a view of Yokohama and its sprawling cityscape.
That’s where the kings of Yokohama met on that fateful day. To strike a deal that would be cemented in its history as the day it all began.
The same person that four years ago, Dazai Osamu had walked out on. Renouncing this life and everything it stood for, all because of a man who deserved more than this world ever gave him.
And now he sat, next to the President of the Armed Detective Agency, on the opposite end of a meticulously polished desk, upon the request of his former mentor. The man who had built Dazai Osamu into what he was today and then no sooner had tossed him out.
It was like walking into the lion’s den.
Or perhaps, it was like being home.
But the tragedy seemed to lie with the figure standing behind Mori, positioned like a sentinel at the boss's right-hand side, with his intense gaze locked onto Dazai's every move.
Nakahara Chuuya.
A momentous day where two generations of Double Black crossed paths, but really, there were only two people in there.
A crafty bastard who pulled more strings than anyone could truly comprehend and the man who taught him everything he knew.
“Mori-san, can we cut the bullshit please?” Dazai’s voice cut through the room like a razor after the fourth argument about Yosano Akiko. Three heads snapped to him all in varying stages of confusion. It was the first sentence he had said since entering the 33rd floor of the Port Mafia tower.
Dazai draped one leg over the other, his deep brown eyes surveyed the room.
"Dazai-kun," Mori finally spoke, his voice maintaining its characteristic calm and rational tone, honeyed with the veneer of a snake's charm. "What exactly do you mean?"
With a raised eyebrow and a sly smile, Dazai met Mori's gaze, their eyes communicating volumes beneath the shroud of shadows that cloaked this ghoulish office.
“This.” he explained, gesturing to the room around them, and then himself, “You know exactly who you want from the agency, why keep trying to stretch this out? Some sort of intimidation strategy so we’ll falter and offer you more?”
The president’s head turned to Mori, eyebrows furrowed.
“And who is it that I want?” Mori replied, and for such an intense statement he sure said it as if it were casual dinner conversation, like this wouldn’t change the course of the agency's history. Like he wasn't robbing them.
Dazai didn’t hesitate for a moment, eyebrow raised challengingly “Me.”
Mori smiled and the tension in the room was enough for Nakahara Chuuya, the only outsider among all this mess to tense up. In that fleeting moment, Yokohama held its breath, and the clock started ticking.
Because Mori Ougai had invited his reckoning back into his own domain.
And Dazai Osamu was no one but a man who held a grudge.
This may not have been the final seal, if the Agency’s president hadn’t opened his mouth to offer a counter, reluctant to let go of a man who belonged to the agency’s family, who deserved better than to be thrown back into the blood sullied hands of the Port Mafia.
And so, a story that had begun several years ago, when Sakunoske Oda’s death was arranged and a young boy’s life path was rearranged, was reintroduced by a handshake between Yukichi Fukuzawa and Mori Ougai.
The agreement: In exchange for the Demon Prodigy’s overdue return to the mafia’s ranks, the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia would work side by side, as an equal partnership. An alliance with the power to crumble everything would be forged.
Somewhere, in a realm of uncertainty, as a jacket—one that should never have been draped over Dazai's shoulders yet fit him like a second skin—fell into place, a final ink blot was placed upon the page, and a book was sealed shut.
Nakahara Chuuya stared into Dazai’s eyes as the President and Boss negotiated conditions and he saw a ghost of the past.
ACT I - THE BEGINNING OF THE END