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It was a normal night when a huge explosion suddenly rocked Suribachi, decimating everything in its path and leaving a deep crater in its wake. At the very centre of it all, a small seven-year-old boy lay unconscious amidst the devastation.
In another life, he would wake and crawl out of the hole on his own, living day-to-day scrounging for scraps before an organization of street kids took him in.
In this life, there was a patter of footsteps, small and light, that crept up to the unconscious ginger. It paused for a long while, taking in the sight, before small hands heaved the boy up and whisked him away. Suribachi was reported to have no survivors that night, not even in any government files.
When the boy woke up, he would be met with the sight of dark brown eyes and hair, belonging to another boy his age. “Dazai Osamu,” the brunet wrapped in bandages introduced himself. He palmed the ginger’s cheeks, squishing the baby fat on his face, announcing, “And you are Nakahara Chuuya.”
The ginger has no recollection of anything before the explosion, but the name Nakahara Chuuya pulls at something within, like a half-formed memory, so he accepts it.
That is how one Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya met in this world.
Chuuya was a blank slate, something that Dazai seemed to delight in. He tugged at the ginger eagerly after they made their way out of the crater. “I’m the one who found Chuuya first this time, so that means Chuuya is my dog.” He poked at the other’s cheeks. “And dogs have to obey their master for life, understand?”
He ignored the confused and slightly blank gaze he received.
Chuuya rubbed at the cheek Dazai poked. It should have been alarming, the words spoken, the unlit paths he was being led to. However, amnesia and years stuck in a lab were not a conducive environment for a child after all. Dazai’s palms were warm around his in this terrifying, unfamiliar world that Chuuya found himself in. So, the ginger stumbled after Dazai, afraid to fall behind, willingly allowing himself to be led into the dark gaping maw of the unknown.
The unknown turned out to be an abandoned shipping container in a junkyard just out of Suribachi. In it was nothing but a bare mattress and a small refrigerator. Chuuya looked around curiously as Dazai beelined for the mattress, flopping onto it with a whine, “Chibi is so heavy. I’m not carrying you next time.”
The ginger cocked his head. He thought his name was Chuuya.
Dazai smiled mischievously and levelled his hand a few centimeters off the floor, “You are chibi because you are tiny.”
Chuuya glanced down at his body, then he looked at Dazai. They seemed to be around the same height, though Dazai was scrawnier, which meant he looked smaller.
Dazai pouted at his look. “Just wait. I’ll grow taller whereas chibi will be stuck with that height forever.”
Chuuya blinked in confusion. He didn’t know why Dazai cared so much about their height.
His non-reaction seemed to dull the brunet’s spark a little, who stared off into the distance like he was seeing something else.
It made something within Chuuya tighten, and he didn’t like that, so he plopped onto the mattress next to Dazai, pressing down on the soft material with something like wonder on his face. Dazai turned his head to gaze at him, something indecipherable in his eyes. When Chuuya gingerly lay down, Dazai tugged him closer.
They lay there, staring at each other, Chuuya observing the brunet fully for the first time. Dazai’s eyes were molten gold under the glow of the naked bulb above, a faint sheen in his eyes as he studied Chuuya with something like quiet wonder. Chuuya bopped his nose, making Dazai go crossed eye for a moment before he giggled wetly and pulled Chuuya in, burying his face into the mop of ginger hair. Dazai’s arms wrapped around him, squeezing a little too tight as puffs of breath brushed atop his head.
Chuuya didn’t mind, tucking his head beneath Dazai’s chin, as he burrowed into the warmth, the container not providing much insulation against the cold night air. Something wet caught on his hair, but he couldn’t dislodge the grip that was crushing him to the other’s chest to swipe it away. Giving up, he relaxed back into Dazai’s embrace instead, sleep pulling at him after the long hours of walking.
Dazai didn’t let go even after he settled down. He held him tighter instead, burying his face into Chuuya’s bright curls, mumbling something that only he could hear.
“Chuuya.” The words were muffled. There was something beneath the tone, something desperate and fierce. “You are my dog,” Dazai murmured tightly into ginger hair. “You are not allowed to leave me ever. I won’t let you.”
Chuuya didn’t quite understand the weight behind his tone, but a small, sleepy noise slipped from his lips—a sound that could be taken as assent—as he pressed his face into the other’s shoulder. It caused the hold around him to loosen, just a little.
“It’s a promise then,” Dazai muttered, voice soft and low. “You can’t take it back.” The words lingered above Chuuya’s head, ghosting in the quiet.
The room was cold, drafts creeping in from the corners, making Chuuya shiver slightly. Dazai mumbled again, almost absentmindedly, just as sleep began to claim him. “We’ll find some blankets tomorrow.”
The next day, Dazai brought Chuuya into the city. The ginger watched the bustling streets, eyes wide with curiosity as he nibbled the steamed bun Dazai had gotten for breakfast. His flimsy, white gown from last night had been discarded and burned, replaced by a slightly oversized hoodie and pants Dazai had pilfered from someone’s backyard. The TV screens in the shop opposite played the news, highlighting the huge, empty crater in Suribachi. Beside him, Dazai tapped intently on a phone he had pickpocketed from someone, his actions too swift for Chuuya to notice when he had taken it.
A hummed escaped Dazai as he pocketed the phone, pulling out a wallet next to remove the cash before throwing the rest of it into the bin. “We need a way to earn money. We can’t let chibi grow shorter than he already is,” Dazai commented. He looked at the sight they made, the glass reflecting their short figures that weren’t even half the height of anyone passing by. That would be a problem, but it wouldn’t pose much of an issue in his plans as Dazai slightly recalibrated his strategy.
“Let’s go, chibi.” Dazai moved in the direction of the hardware store, when his shirt was suddenly tugged. He glanced back, only to see the bun, perfectly halved, thrust at his face. Dazai pulled a face. “That’s yours. I’m not hungry.” He turned away, only to be stopped again.
Chuuya wouldn’t relent, pushing the bun insistently towards him. Dazai rolled his eyes. “I ate already.” The lie easily slid off his tongue as he brushed away the food offered, walking off to their next destination.
Chuuya scrunched up his nose. He may not remember anything from before yesterday, but he wasn’t an idiot to believe the outright lie. He caught up to Dazai and yanked him to a stop.
“What now, you stupid mutt—” his following words were muffled by the bun Chuuya shoved into his mouth.
Dazai almost coughed them out, but Chuuya grabbed his face and covered his mouth, forcing him to swallow. Dazai glared and Chuuya glared back, just as fierce. Their stare off was broken when Dazai finally backed down after a long moment, saying sullenly, “Chuuya’s a brute as always.”
Unfazed, Chuuya held out the rest of the meat bun. Dazai snatched it with a scowl and bit down angrily, yet his eyes softened despite himself. He finished them off in a few bites and showed off his empty palms. “There. Happy?”
Chuuya nodded, satisfied. Dazai could only sigh, glad they could move on. What a stubborn slug.
The pair made their way through the streets, stopping every so often at one store or another as Dazai whispered out what he needed, who to be wary of, and where the blind spots were. Chuuya listened carefully, absorbing everything Dazai said as the brunet showed him how to get in and out undetected without raising suspicions. Chuuya was a quick learner, something that seemed to impress Dazai a little when he showed off his haul. Somehow, Chuuya sensed that such acknowledgment was rare from the other.
They lugged their goods back to the shipping container, piling them at one corner as Dazai flipped through an instruction manual from a box. Chuuya peered over his shoulder curiously, and Dazai pointed out the words as he read them aloud to the other. “We are setting up a computer,” Dazai explained as he directed Chuuya to assemble the various knick-knacks. “Not a regular one, of course. We need something off-grid with its own network. We’ll get you some books tomorrow so you can learn how to read. I can’t have an uneducated slug.”
The prospect of learning to read thrilled Chuuya enough that he paid no mind to the obvious insult.
Days passed. The shipping container had a blanket now, and various rugs decorated the bare floor, infusing some warmth into the place. The huge computer was finally set up in a corner, and Chuuya spent his time going through language lessons on his new phone, while Dazai tinkered with something in front of his monitors.
The first time Chuuya went out alone to get food a few weeks later, he was unlucky enough to be caught in a crossfire between gangs. That was when he realised his ability to manipulate gravity.
Dazai stared critically at the destruction wrought as Chuuya gazed blankly at the blood pooling at his feet. It belonged to a man who had nearly shot Dazai when the boy had suddenly appeared after getting Chuuya’s call. He was brought back to the present when Dazai cupped his neck and brought their faces close. “Good job, Chuuya.” He smudged the blood on the ginger’s cheek, cooing, “I can count on you to protect me, right?” At Chuuya’s fierce nod, Dazai grinned, sharp and pleased, something possessive curling at the corners of his lips. His grip tightened on Chuuya’s nape. “That means you can’t die before me, understand?”
The fingers digging into his neck hurt a little, but it grounded Chuuya, snapping him out of his haze. A quiet resolve curled within him. Nothing mattered more than Dazai’s safety. Dazai had taken him in, sheltered him, taught him how to survive the dangers of the streets when they are nothing but defenceless children. Dazai was all Chuuya had in this world, and he wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
That night, Dazai impressed on Chuuya the dangers of letting his abilities be known. Chuuya had been found at the source of where a government facility once stood, and it would be best if no one knew of him until Chuuya could protect himself. He taught Chuuya how to deal with the bodies of the decimated gang, how to hide his tracks and clean the blood from his clothes.
That night, Dazai also showed Chuuya how to use a gun. Small fingers barely curled around the trigger as he fired shot after shot at the targets set up in an abandoned warehouse. He didn’t stop until his arms shook with exhaustion, and all the bullets they had pilfered from the dead bodies were used up. His targets were a mess of holes next to Dazai’s neat shots, causing Chuuya to scowl at it.
Dazai laughed at his competitiveness, scooping up the shells from the floor and dropping them into Chuuya’s palms to try again with his ability. Chuuya’s next shot went better, and the following ones hit the targets consistently at least. Something warm curled in his guts at Dazai’s pleased smile.
The following days were spent catching Chuuya up on his language lessons and honing various skillsets Dazai deemed important. Pickpocketing, breaking and entering, and running surveillance were just the start. When night fell, they would head out to an empty warehouse to test Chuuya’s ability, trying to find his limits as Dazai repeatedly pushed him until he crossed them, then pushed him some more. His ability was powerful. Chuuya could easily lift anything or crush it as he pleased. Gravity is a fundamental force of the world, and nothing is its match.
“Not enough,” Dazai insisted.
Chuuya was strong, but brute force couldn’t solve everything. His ability was devastating, but it made him a target. No one could know about it. So Dazai taught him restraint, taught him to wield his ability like a scalpel rather than a hammer, disguise it as skill and luck rather than an ability.
So Chuuya practised and trained. He learnt to alter bullets slightly to cause near misses rather than stop them in midair. He increased gravity on trigger springs instead of his enemies, forcing weapons to jam rather than crushing his enemies to the ground.
If more finesse is required, he could increase gravity on his victims’ blood, inducing a heart attack as the blood stopped flowing, or he could burst an important vessel after a handshake, letting them slowly bleed out on the inside before they even realized anything was wrong.
Dazai had been terribly pleased. “I created a little monster,” he said affectionately to the seven-almost-eight-year-old Chuuya.
“I’m not a monster,” Chuuya said, hugging himself, eyes cast downward.
“You’re not.” Dazai agreed, smiling as he pulled him into his arms and patted his head. “You’re mine.”
Dazai brought Chuuya along wherever he went, collecting rumours and scraps of information, their small sizes easily overlooked as they loitered in the shadows, watching deals and negotiations going down in the underground.
He hoarded every piece of news, teaching Chuuya how to sift out the useful ones, link together patterns and clues, to piece something out of nothing. He made a business out of it, selling the information collected to those who came knocking.
When a client first refused to pay, Chuuya wanted to make them pay in blood before Dazai stopped him. “Power isn’t just brute force,” he reminded the ginger. He showed Chuuya the other side of selling information—creating them. He demonstrated it by orchestrating a rumour, whispering things in the right ears, dropping hints in the right places, systematically destroying the client’s life until he paid back every cent with interest. They never returned the assets they had siphoned through the client, assets that had almost caused the client to face prison for embezzlement.
Chuuya broke into his first military facility when he was eight, one year after the explosion and the end of the Great War. Things had died down by then, and with peace reigning, the military wasn’t as vigilant. Dazai directed Chuuya to nab the secret files stored in the archive, including the files on the A258 Project. On the way to the meet-up point, he witnessed Dazai speaking to a researcher named N before killing him.
“Who is he?” Chuuya asked as they escaped the facility, after rigging it to blow in a few minutes.
“No one important.” Dazai brushed him off.
Chuuya looked at him uncertainly. “He said he’s my father...”
“And you believe him?” Dazai scoffed. “Chibi, don’t be so naïve. People will say whatever you want to hear so they can escape. Remember that, if you ever interrogate someone in the future. Learn to read their body language instead.”
So, another repertoire of lessons was added to Chuuya’s schedule. And that would not be the last time he broke into a government facility.
“You won’t be able to use your ability at all,” Dazai reminded. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“It’s something you need, right?” Chuuya was resolute. “Then, I’ll do it.”
Dazai’s face was unreadable as he slipped the communicator into Chuuya’s ear, smoothing ginger locks over it. Standing in the middle of the shipping container that had been their base for the past year, Dazai told him, “After you come back, let’s move.”
At Chuuya’s puzzlement, Dazai simply said, “I’ll get us a place with proper rooms and everything.”
It seemed like Dazai had noticed Chuuya’s curious looks whenever they passed by someone’s home, gaze flickering with want at the domesticity of it.
Chuuya brightened, promising to finish his mission quickly.
The Special Division of Unusual Powers was tightly guarded, but they didn’t take into account a child who could fit into their ventilation system. Even so, it was a feat to move through them as Chuuya couldn’t use his ability, relying on sheer determination and willpower to stick beneath vehicles to enter the place and later climb up elevator shafts to move between floors unseen. As he stuck a hard drive into their main terminal so Dazai could create a backdoor remotely, he quickly wedged himself behind the servers when he heard footsteps. Chatters floated from a few rows down, Chuuya remaining as still as possible so as not to alert them, heart thundering in his ears.
Chuuya had read his files, with Dazai helping to translate most of the science jargon. The government had been behind the project of Arahabaki in the first place, and he would be nothing more than a weapon, an asset, if they ever found him. The idea of being locked up and experimented on immediately made bile rise within, like his body was remembering what his mind did not. Chuuya traced a sharp piece of metal. He could not let himself be caught no matter what.
And Dazai was waiting for him as well.
When the staff finally left, Chuuya slowly left his hiding spot, cold sweat on his palms. He removed the hard drive once Dazai gave the go-ahead, hurriedly leaving through the way he came. As he passed a vent opening, he caught sight of the ability user Dazai warned him about.
Santouka Taneda.
With the ability Hail in the Begging Bow, the man could see through the nature of an ability immediately once it was activated near him. Chuuya quickly scurried away before the man could sense eyes on him.
Back at their base, Dazai gave a proud smile at his return. “I knew you could do it.”
Chuuya beamed at him, accepting the praise for what it was. Dazai ran his fingers through Chuuya’s hair, dislodging the dust and dirt gathered from Chuuya’s infiltration. “You will do anything for me, right?” Dazai asked softly, his smile warm. It wasn’t a question.
Chuuya’s bright blue eyes gazed at him, as if in agreement.
“Chibi, you can’t die without me, okay?” Dazai murmured, eyes slightly vacant.
The ginger immediately scowled at him. “Who’s dying?” He kicked Dazai’s shin, dislodging the fingers tangled in his hair. Dazai hissed in pain.
“I won’t die so easily,” Chuuya raised his chin stubbornly. “And I won’t let you either!”
Dazai laughed at that, straightening up and beckoning Chuuya to see the results of his mission.
Pages and pages of information popped up on the screen, listing all the ability users in Yokohama and some, detailing their abilities and past.
“The Special Division is the best monitoring department in Yokohama,” Dazai said. “The Great War ended not long ago, and they are still restructuring, so their security isn’t fully in place yet. Now that we’re in their system, any security measures set up in the future won’t be able to detect us. And they can’t get rid of us short of setting up a completely new system.”
He typed something, and the files of A258 popped up. There were no names—as if Chuuya was just an object—only the barebones of information of the experiment and what the ability entailed. The last access was a year ago, during the war.
“A project like yours is often kept in physical copies to ensure utmost secrecy during the war. We’ve nabbed the physical files, and without the digital ones...” Dazai clicked something, and the tabs vanished one by one. “You won’t be on anyone’s records.”
Chuuya looked at Dazai, worried. “What about yours?”
“Mine’s harder to erase because I have a legal identity and all. You’re lucky. The government scrubbed yours when they took you.” Chuuya didn’t look reassured, so Dazai brought his files up and typed something. “There. I’ve edited my age and appearance a little, so they won’t recognize me on sight. We can fabricate my death with a police report of an unclaimed body that matches my appearance. It’ll help throw anyone off who comes looking.”
So, they broke into the police station next, typing out an investigation report of a corpse found using the official computers, printing it out with the official papers, and certifying it with a stamp from the superintendent’s office. Adding in a coroner’s report, they buried it altogether into the cabinet of cold cases. Dazai also didn’t forget to create an ID for a fake police officer from the main office, giving them access to the police database as well.
After that, Dazai relocated them to Suribachi, where new settlements had been popping up for the past year after the explosion. They blended in with the people moving into the district. Just another set of street kids occupying a rundown shelter for survival.
Inside their new place, they had a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room and a bathroom. Chuuya had been ecstatic to have what seemed like a proper home. “Is this really ours?” he asked Dazai, running fingers over the kitchen cabinets that were his height.
Dazai smiled mischievously from the doorway. “Of course. My dog needs a proper house since it’s growing. I can’t keep it locked up forever.”
Chuuya glared at him in irritation. “I’m not a dog.”
Dazai ignored it, smile still pasted on, though it couldn’t fully mask the darkness beneath. “So, Chuuya can’t run from home, got it?”
Chuuya didn’t bother to reply, already back to exploring the new place.
Of course, Dazai wouldn’t be Dazai if he didn’t have something up his sleeve. Behind closed doors, Chuuya dug into the ground with his ability, creating a basement level beneath for them to conduct their business out of sight.
While Dazai set up several huge monitors down there, he gave Chuuya tiny button-like devices to plant around Suribachi, instructing him to cover the whole basin.
He giggled when Chuuya asked what they were. “They’re sensors,” he said. “I bought them from an overseas contact. All you have to do is head out and scatter them every ten metres or so. Bury them deep enough so that no one will notice.”
Dazai leaned in as if to share a secret. “We’re early, so if we plant them now, the new shelters built over the land will cover everything nicely. And even if someone figures it out in the future...” His smile sharpened. “It’ll be far too late. These things will already be buried deep in the foundation.”
He also gave Chuuya listening devices and micro-cameras to stick to rooftops and cell towers.
It was a monotonous task, but Chuuya went without complaint. Dazai had always been three steps ahead of everyone, and this was no different. Dazai hadn’t stopped brokering information in the meantime, but nothing too big, focusing more on their side project. By the time Chuuya finished planting the devices, a whole season had passed.
They had fully settled into their new home by now, Chuuya knowing the lay of the land like the back of his hand after having to go round and round the crater to finish the task Dazai assigned.
The devices were up and running by his 9th birthday.
Dazai showed him the monitor, clicking open a window to reveal lines weaving across the screen like threads forming a web. The view zoomed outward, assembling itself into a glowing blue three-dimensional map—the entire basin of Suribachi rendered in wireframe precision. Buildings stood in translucent grids. Small infrared silhouettes flickered across the terrain, moving dots of heat against the cool digital landscape.
Dazai zoomed in on a specific sector.
Two small figures appeared—one seated, and one standing beside.
Chuuya leaned forward to see. On the screen, the standing figure shifted forward as well.
He gasped in amazement. “So, this was what you had planned?”
“Yeah,” Dazai replied. “It took a while to build. I had to calibrate each sensor individually, sync their timing and eliminate interference. Then I reconstructed the buildings to scale so the spatial data would align properly, and I had to add in a few other adjustments.” His lips curved faintly. “Pretty cool, right?”
Chuuya stared at the glowing map, impressed.
“And watch this,” Dazai added. His fingers danced across the keyboard. The map dissolved into another section of Suribachi. It zoomed towards a lone heat signature.
A tab on the screen opened, an audio feed initializing.
A man’s voice filled the basement, low and cautious, negotiating the price of something over the phone.
Chuuya’s eyes widened.
“Those are from the listening devices you planted,” Dazai explained. “They’re not perfect. Someone thorough could find them. But for now, they give us an advantage.”
Another click.
The interface shifted again, blue wireframe dissolving into live camera footage. The same man appeared onscreen, phone pressed to his ear. Along the side panel, lines of data populated rapidly—name, affiliations, recent transactions, known associates.
“I synced the camera feeds you placed with several databases,” Dazai explained. “Public records, black market listings, a few private archives, and my own collection.” A faint, satisfied glint flickered in his eyes.
The surveillance system was seamless. Every street, every building, every moving body mapped and catalogued. Just from this program, conversations could be intercepted, faces identified, and patterns tracked. The entirety of Suribachi lay illuminated in cold blue light, stripped of shadows and secrets. It felt as if the whole basin rested neatly in the palm of Dazai’s hand. No one could so much as change their pace without him knowing.
Chuuya looked at Dazai with undisguised awe, eyes bright despite himself.
Dazai turned back to the monitors. “Here, I’ll add you into the system. You have admin access now.”
Taken aback by the easy trust, Chuuya couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing inside something vast and dangerous, something only Dazai could have built. And Dazai had just metaphorically handed him the keys to the kingdom.
Dazai grinned at him. “Happy birthday, slug.”
Chuuya named the system Ana, after a character from the first storybook Dazai had gotten him. Dazai expanded it to A.N.A.—Advanced Network Alert—saying it sounded cooler that way.
However, Chuuya didn’t have much time to appreciate his gift before he was busy again, since Dazai was now willing to accept bigger orders to cement a reputation for their business. He didn't accept every potential client, quick to reject anyone too reckless who requested their service.
The transactions were often done online or through drop-off points, Dazai unwilling to risk their identities. Chuuya did most of the legwork, while Dazai negotiated. Their dealings had moved up from petty gang rivalries to include corporate espionage and political blackmail materials.
Chuuya found breaking and entering corporate buildings much easier than infiltrating a gang. Industrial secrets, shipping route changes, and corporate accounts. Chuuya gathered them all.
Dazai taught Chuuya the art of insider trading, using shell companies to invest accordingly and launder the profits through layered accounts. Market manipulation was more straightforward, requiring only a few well-placed rumours to frighten the masses and devalue an asset, so they could snap it up cheaply, before driving the prices up to sell them off. However, they couldn’t muddy the waters on the legal side too often, since it could easily tip off the authorities.
The underground had far less restrictions.
Dazai showed Chuuya how to sell half-truths to two opposing factions, carefully editing the details to escalate tension and let the conflict generate more business for them. They maintained their hold on Suribachi tightly. When any organization got too big for their boots, Chuuya would acquire their secrets, and Dazai would use them to turn members against their bosses, collapsing the organization from within.
With their pulse on police scanners, underground networks, the Special Division system, and their very own surveillance, they were always the first to know when something big occurred. After explosions, gang wars, or ability incidents, they would race to retrieve sensitive materials, extracting them from rubbles or even in the middle of the fight, then escaping without leaving prints.
Months passed, and their business grew. So did their reputation. The terrifying accuracy of their information had spread quickly through the grapevine.
Someone inevitably tried to expose them, aiming to dig out their identity. A tech-savvy assassin claimed to have traced their servers. Three days later, his offshore accounts froze, his client list was leaked, and the police raided his secondary warehouse. No one could prove it was them, but it was enough to make the message clear.
They spent their days like that, Dazai guiding and Chuuya learning. Not everything was for the business. Dazai taught Chuuya how to do their accounts, heads bent together to map out their household expenses and budget, fighting over the calculator. He brought school textbooks home, letting Chuuya pore over physics and geography, maths and literature. They tried their hand in art, fingerpainting papers and faces, then making weird pasta art which Dazai stuck to the fridge. Dazai didn’t know how to change the lightbulb and fix the pipes when they burst, so they had to watch online tutorials together. Chuuya also learned to cook, because he realized Dazai was useless in the kitchen.
Years passed and they were invincible. Their business was established and rolling in money. Their identities were safe and no one bothered them. They were powerful enough to protect themselves.
They had all they need, and most importantly, they had each other.
Chuuya believed their future was limitless.
Until Dazai went missing when they were 15.