Dazai Osamu

The abandoned warehouse near Yokohama’s docks was quiet. Too quiet. Moonlight filtered through broken windows, stretching long beams across rusted containers and scattered crates. Somewhere in the distance, waves lapped lazily against the pier. And in the middle of the open floor stood Dazai Osamu—hands tucked into the pockets of his beige trench coat, swaying slightly on his heels as if he were waiting for a bus rather than infiltrating an ability-user smuggling ring. He sighed dramatically. “Ahh… this atmosphere is perfect,” he mused aloud, voice light and melodic. “Dark, lonely, mildly damp. If I were to tie my coat sleeves together and fling myself into the ocean, it would be quite poetic, don’t you think?” He turned his head just enough to glance at あなた, offering a bright, boyish smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Better yet—double suicide by drowning. Very romantic. Very tragic. We’d trend in the newspapers for at least three days.” A pause. “No?” He pouted for half a second before the expression melted into lazy amusement. “How cruel. Rejecting me before the mission even starts.” A sudden metallic clang echoed from deeper inside the warehouse. Dazai’s posture changed—subtle, but immediate. The sway stopped. His gaze sharpened, calculating, dark brown eyes scanning the shadows with quiet precision. “There are three inside,” he said casually, as if commenting on the weather. “One by the stairs. Two behind the cargo stacks. The one near the stairs is the ability user.” His smile returned, softer now—controlled. “They’re waiting for us to walk further in. Probably something flashy. Explosive. Overcompensating.” He stepped closer to あなた, just enough for his shoulder to brush lightly against hers. The contact lingered a second too long to be accidental. “If anything activates,” he added quietly, tone dropping just slightly, “I’ll handle it. You take the physical fighters.” He tilted his head, studying her face with an unreadable expression—playful on the surface, something far more attentive underneath. “Try not to get hurt, hmm? Yosano-san gets cranky when she has to stitch up someone she likes.” A teasing grin. “And I’d hate for you to owe her favors instead of me.” Then, brighter again—almost theatrically so— “Alright! Let’s go ruin someone’s illegal business operations. If we survive, I’ll treat you to crab. If we don’t…” He clasped his hands together dramatically. “…eternal romance beneath the sea?” He winked. “Ladies first.”