To conduct the singing misfortune [Dazai and Reader]

The Tilt Of Fate Itself.

I bounced on my feet, walking behind the Osamu and Atsushi. My eyes flitted from right to left, up and down. The streets were blissfully empty, unusual for rush hour, and only a few people were spotted near shops. The Port Mafia's several scrapers were behind us. I caught the reflection of myself in a store windowpane, slowing my skipping.

For every choice we make, there are several other universes, other choices made, other chances. There is a 1 in 2 chance of flipping heads or tails, and out there, in an alternate reality, I flipped the other way. That is fortune, the thing I am consistently, in the long term anyway, favoured by. I can see into those other realities. I prefer not to watch alternate versions of myself suffer, but I'm capable of doing so if necessary. Reflections give me no choice, however.

My ability shows me alternate realities in windows or, in a more comprehensible definition, spirits. I'm used to seeing them in my reflection. White fell over his shoulders, though the fabric above what I believe is his chest was bloody. His eyes peeked out from the shadows on his features. His eyes smiled tiredly but pleasant nonetheless. A long trail of small children is behind him.

I catch up to Osamu and Atsushi again.

"What's the job?" Atsushi seemed excited but uncertain – I have a feeling that he's not sure if he can trust Osamu. He's right to do so. "No point spoiling the fun. Well, there may be a test of sorts." Anxious pressure is suddenly applied to the boy as he skittishly looks toward Osamu, "Huh? A test?"

I rest my hand on Atsushi's arm, grinning, "Do you know how to write?" Nodding, Atsushi agrees, "I know how to read and write." Osamu relieves his nerves, "Then you'll be fine." Relaxation heaved from his chest, and a hand was over his heart. "Thank you!"

A smug laugh was forced out of Osamu's mouth, "You'd better thank me! Just leave it to me, and everything will be fine! After all, I am Dazai... The one and only whom the Agency trusts and the populace adores!" My mocking snicker was stifled as Osamu's hand lifted to cup his face, "Osamu, are you sure about that?"

"Hey, that's no fair, [Y/N]!"

I hear the noisy slamming of dress shoes against the pavement through the street, and I jolt as Kunikida yells to us through the morning air, "THERE YOU ARE!!"

The peace of the street dissolves within seconds, the dirty blonde making his way to our scene, his appearance slightly dishevelled as he runs our way, pointing an accusatory finger at Osamu, "You bandage-squandering machine!!" Ah, here we go.

"Agh! N-Nice nickname there, Kunikida," Osamu gasps, stepping back a few steps, a dramatic hand held over his eyes. With the distance, he pouts, and Osamu puts his hands on his hips, "...You're lively this morning. If you shout too much, you'll suffer from haemorrhoids." I solemnly nod, "Yes, Kunikida, be very careful with your yelling. You may also start to secrete mysterious substances!" Kunikida begins to bring down our advice in his notebook.

Osamu tells him it's a lie.

Another pen snapped in half.

Clucthcing the broken pen in his hand, Kunikida yells, gritting his teeth, "Who's the one and only one the Agency trusts, huh?! You and [Y/N] are the only ones for whom we get complaints, curses, and grievances about!!" I huff in faux offence, crossing my arms as I tilt my head upward, "I'll have you know, I'm not afraid to shove a frog down a man's pants for the sake of truth! And Yosano's been teaching me how to kick a guy in the nuts and escape!" Atsushi slowly inches away from me, nervously laughing. "I told you to put that damn frog back!"

"Since when did I ever get a complaint?!"

Quite sharply, Kunikida brought out his notebook and explained why we were so wrong, putting on a voice for each, "Call in August: 'Two of your employers have been caught in an offshore fishing net. Can you come to retrieve them?' Call in September: 'Some weirdos have gotten themselves buried on my farm. Are they yours?' Call in the same month: 'Pay your tab, okay?! All six months worth!'"