There are people we meet in life who will stay with us, even if weeks, months, or years have elapsed. It would be merciful for them to remain in the back of our heads, dug out whenever reminiscing on time gone, but there's a worse possibility. That person may merge with our personality. The memory could take on a life of its own within us. Imitating their mannerisms, speech patterns, or coping mechanisms by habit. All without realising it. You remind yourself of loss. Your very being has become ripped apart under your own eyes.
Children develop their personalities and often look up to others as role models. If a child loses someone close to them, they may feel like a part of themselves has been stolen away in the absence of their person.
My father was blunt, but that would make me a baseball bat in comparison. That's what I was told at age ten when I'd only forged myself from the little people I knew. My personality was a blank canvas primed by an artist who forgot their passion. Every little thing he did was something I'd mimic. I wanted to fit into his life, which made the slums seem like a distant land.
While I've developed since then, I'm still confronted by that straightforwardness, among other habits. I adjust the buttons on my shirt. I run my hand through my hair, feel over my chin as if I have stubble, and clear my throat. In my most tired moments, that's who I become. I'm not myself in those moments, but the child Sakunosuke raised.
I wouldn't change it for the world.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
The kitchen glowed in the morning light, the white tiles glistening despite the grime in the cracks. The boil of water bubbled through the air, then the pour of a kettle, and then the light cough of Sakunosuke as he cleared his throat. A consequence of smoking, I assume. My feet tiredly patter across the kitchen until I reach his side, resting my head on his arm.
Sakunosuke peels back the newspaper print, skimming with his finger to find any articles that catch his interest, and his other hand is occupied with stirring a mug. I'd taken away his fun of doing the crosswords as I'd already completed them for him. With my hands eagerly perched on the counter, I watch the honey mix with the tea, lost in its colours. I hold back another sneeze.
"Into your elbow." Sakunosuke has repeated this to me at least thirty times in the past hour, and I haven't listened once. I swing my head over my shoulder, sneezing at least ten times and wiping my nose on my sleeve. "Bless you." He doesn't have any other response for me and hasn't for the past thirty times.
Tapping the teaspoon on the mug and dropping it into the sink, Sakunosuke pushes my tea towards me. With a headache-induced groan, I take it into my hands, cradling its warmth and sipping it. My throat was soothed for mere seconds before I coughed, and the irritation returned.
"This is a good enough punishment for jumping into the river." That's his first utterance of a scolding since I'd done it, and I tilt my head, "Dazai said it was nice this time of year and it would help with anxiety." I'd been cursed with my father's...hmm... It's not naivete, per se, more like willful ignorance of whatever a boy like Dazai is up to. Sakunosuke blinks, then stares past the window, closing his newspaper and folding it, "I'd figured so."
My ability had saved me from succumbing to the gentle flow of the river water tainted by mud and rain. I was caught on the ledge turning a drastic corner, which sloped and brought me to air before I could drown in the chilly water. Dazai was there within two minutes of my escapade with a change of clothes and a bright laugh that hid his experiment.
Sakunosuke placed his index finger on his chin, scratching his stubble, then glanced at me, "Are you feeling anxious, [Y/N]?" I mirror his gesture, "Uh, not right now." He gives a thumbs up, "It worked, then." I nod, "I will have to give Dazai my thanks, then." I sip my tea, take my medication, and furrow my brow.
Sickness isn't uncommon for me. My immune system is hardly weak as I was exposed to every little thing possible in the slums and survived, but that didn't excuse the long-lasting effect of my poor diet, stressful environment, and a multitude of other sufferings which stack. Even so, it wasn't the river that gave me this.
"Sakunosuke, can Dazai come around this afternoon? I wanna show him my painting." Sakunosuke stares at me for the next few seconds, watching my expression as I cling to my mug of warmth. Pushing back his droopy strands of red hair, he pulls a coffee jar from the cupboard, preparing to make something that will drag him through the day, "That's the fifth time you've asked this week." It was a silent accusation that I was withholding information from him. What information he'd assumed, I haven't a single clue. I'm a twelve-year-old that's shut in unless I'm hanging around places I don't belong.
"I'll ask if I run into him, though I doubt it. Inviting an executive around my household is quite extreme, [Y/N]." He pours a minuscule drip of milk into his coffee. I remain unreactive for the most part, "Every time Dazai is brought up, you bring up his job." I place my mug down gently, holding my hands to my person as if treading a thin line between sincere and insulting, "Why do you have a... complex about your work?"
"In the Port Mafia, rank matters an incredible amount. It's not complex, but I must consider it constantly with Dazai and Ango. Nothing more." I could read the implications of his words like a book. Did he consider them nothing but acquaintances? "They're your friends. If rank mattered that much, you wouldn't even look at each other." Sakunosuke pauses, mulling over a response to my words, which were, in every essence, technically correct. There was one thing, though. "Not in that bar. We can talk there, but it's not anything personal."
"Is that a rule? Who made it that way? I think it's dumb."
If my father was blunt, I was a baseball bat. Dazai said that when he'd met me. It's worn off as I gradually meet more people, taking in their influences, but I tend to become careless when tired. I didn't even consider that what I said might have something deeper or any effect.
"You're looking too much into it, [Y/N]." Sakunosuke's words dismissed my curiosity, actions even more so as he sipped from his cup and picked the newspaper back up. Had I upset him? "...Okay."
I pick my mug up from the counter, pattering away from the kitchen and slumping into a wicker chair by the window. I sneeze over my shoulder, then rub my nose.
This is how my other inquiries had gone, too. I've asked now six times if Dazai could play with me at home, and every time, Sakunosuke veers off the topic and into something else, which he inevitably shuts down. Is this what friends are? I'm unsure. I've never had any before Sakunosuke and Dazai. Only fellow sufferers with relationships built on reliance. Is this something inherently wrong within me?
I may never see the happiness I see on these city streets ㅡ children bounding alongside their patient mothers, teens at vending machines and arcades, adults laughing over food and drinks, the elderly handing sweets to the youth. Even if I weren't raised in hell, I fear I may have been the same as now. There is a bubble around me, a cloud of nothing visible but a dense, warped differentiation. Nothing gets past it. Nothing ever has.
I sense something similar in Sakunosuke and Dazai, something that pulls me in their direction as if it were a sanctuary. That's an issue on their part, though. They refuse to step too close, and they refuse to let anyone do it for them. My questions never work.
"Work's called in, [Y/N]." My head poked over the chair, and I peered at Sakunosuke as he rapidly sorted his clothes in the hallway to the front door. He hurriedly squeezed his foot into his shoes, wiggling his ankle against the mat until it was forced on. My attention piques when I observe his paled complexion.
Before he can leave, I sit on my knees, "Sakunosuke." That anxiety formed again, and my ability squeezed a heavy purple over the room. The man pauses, shoving his tattered laces into the sides of his shoe, looking up at me to continue but not without betraying how uneasy he felt beforehand. "What is it? Who's called in?"
Without missing a beat, Sakunosuke stands, "The boss," then leaves. The door locks behind him, and I hear the car outside start up.
The dust in a stream of light waved slightly.
My leg had kicked through it and into the empty shelf with a few of my paintings tacked to the side. It made a slight dent in the corner, the bones in my foot making contact with the timeworn wood. Dull pain rattled through my tired nervous system, my foot tingling, and I coughed into my elbow.
"...Maybe I need to submerge myself in the river again."
My words were meant for no one but the air inside Sakunosuke's household. My sickness was brought on by this feeling, which swelled every time Sakunosuke worked, spoke, moved, and breathed. The fog got darker. I couldn't stand it, but I couldn't find it in myself to tell him, either. I couldn't tell anyone. It was as if even speaking the possibility would bring it to fruition. I was trapped in my own helplessness.
Sighing, I push a hand through my hair, then set myself back in the wicker chair, staring at the door and anticipating Sakunosuke's return. The silence is heavy, a weight in my lungs as they squeeze for life.
I'm startled from my trance by a call to the landline, the monotonous trill echoing through the bland walls. With my jolt, I'm sent out of my chair, stumbling with my sore limbs to the sound. I pick up the phone, tugging on the wire to stare out the window as I answer. The other side has a muffled, joyous laugh, and I recognise it immediately.
"This must be [Y/N], then! I've never known Odasaku to ever pick up so slow!" I mumble into the phone, smiling lightly and suppressing a cough, "Hi." It was the restaurant owner, "Sakunosuke's out. Something about the boss requesting him."
There's radio silence through the faint buzz of the line for a few long moments. It was a bigger deal than my bored tone had implied, of course, and despite merely being the owner of a business front for the Port Mafia which laundered some of the profits, the owner was incredibly familiar with the situation's implications.
The voice comes in steady again, "It's morning, and I'll bet you haven't eaten, have you, kid? Say, how about I make your favourite if you stop by?" He was offering me protection from the possibilities that line up with a peculiar, out-of-the-blue meeting with the Port Mafia boss, such as being orphaned again.
I cough into my elbow, holding the phone to my shoulder, then shake my head. He couldn't see it, so it was for the air in the house. "I'm sick, so I can't get around like usual." I chuckle through my rasp, "Even if I wanted to, Sakunosuke locked me in the house."
"I see. I'll come pick you up, then, eh? How does that sound? A car ride with grand old Pops?" I rub my nose, sniffle, and clear my mind off the sick fog, "Yeah, I can manage a car ride with you. No karaoke, though, this time. My throat hurts." He laughs into the phone, "Of course, of course. Don't forget to leave the code for your dad to find, alright?"
I wince at the title for Sakunosuke. It's not as if I disagree wholeheartedly, but I'm hesitant to accept someone into my walls. I suppose, in that way, I understand why Sakunosuke refused to call his friends by what they are.
Leaning against the wall and cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear, I picked out a pen from the drawer, then ripped a corner from Sakunosuke's newspaper. I chuckle, jotting Sakunsouke's birthday, "This note's useless. He'll probably be at the restaurant by dinner, anyway. He's an addict." Pops agrees with a laugh, "It's flattering, really."
I leave the note on the wicker chair, slide on my shoes and coat, a scarf as I see the clouds darken, and then wait by the door for Pops to arrive.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
The sea air hits the restaurant at an angle that makes the humidity swarm to the furthest corners of the room, the rain of the summer quickly crashing against the windows, only to clear up. The clouds parted to reintroduce the light, the sun glistening irritably against the glass and hitting my back.
I sigh, hidden in my arms. I'm sprawled on one of the many tables. I couldn't eat curry while ill, so I was made to shovel down soup instead. It made the fickle weather difficult to deal with when there was a ball of sickly warmth in my stomach, sloshing and climbing my throat teasingly before declining back down, and my aching limbs trembled in the humid room.
Something clinks on the table, and I peer out of my arm to see Pops collecting my bowl and placing a glass of cold water in front of me. The ice crackles. His smile was unwavering, crow feet lit up by the sunlight, despite his solemn tone, "Your dad isn't back yet, or not at home at least. No calls have come through."
I nod with a smile, reconciled by the information and sipping my water. It washes down my throat, the scratchiness resuming its torturous ravage soon after the relief, "Thanks." He tilts his head at my response to the information. I blink, staring back at him, "Is there a problem?" He chuckles, slinging a towel over his shoulder and going behind his counter, "You're awfully relaxed. You're not worried at all?"
"Oh." I adjust myself in my seat, scratching my chin, "Sakunosuke would have to cease caring for the orphans in this building if he were dead, in which case, you'd have gotten a call confirming this. Probably to transfer them to a facility or household fit to care for orphans or something. Maybe even to dispose of them," I shrug, "No call means he's just on another errand, albeit a difficult one as it's assigned by the Port Mafia boss ㅡ Hence why he's taking his sweet time."
Pops paused for a few moments, staring, before laughing behind the back of his hand and resuming his chores, "You're eloquent for a twelve-year-old, ya know? Hell, I'd expect you to have half as many brains. You know, I've met a few other kids from the slums, and they're like little gremlins that bite at your ankles. Nothing behind their eyes." My grip on my glass tightens as I sip my water, relishing its relief on my throat after speaking, and I glance to where Pops busies himself with preparing a pot of food, humming a tune I'm unfamiliar with. I clear my throat quietly, "That's funny."
It was my ability. Of course, it was. I have access to an infinite number of universes. I can't tell the future, but I have experience living billions of versions of my past. It's like cherry-picking from the best once I've mastered my ability. I'm not at that point yet, but I've given myself an education based on every little scrap I can scavenge from those more successfully begun universes. There aren't many.
I perk up.
Familiar purple fog carried itself outside the restaurant, and my lips twitched with a giddy smile. Sakunosuke strolls through the doors, sorting his lapel and brushing down his shirt before he notices me, "[Y/N], you're ill." He states the obvious, the underlying beg for me to stay home overlooked as I nod, finishing my water, "Yeah."
Pops pokes his head from the kitchen, grinning and drying his hands on a towel, "Odasaku!" Sakunosuke takes his familiar place, sliding onto his stool and ordering the same plate of curry.
I shuffle from the table I sat at, climbing the stool, to sit beside Sakunosuke, then lay my head almost on the table, granting me access to view my caretaker's bland expressions as he ate, "How did your meeting go?" Sakunosuke blows on his spoon before impatiently eating it, not even reacting to the heat, "Better than I was expecting. Work's gotten busier and higher stakes, so I ask you to stay home next time I lock the door."
"That'd be my fault, kid." Pops leans over the counter, "Don't blame 'em for zilch. I heard their sore throat over the phone and couldn't resist the pull on my soul to make soup." Sakunosuke gives a simple nod, glancing between us, "I see. It can't be helped, then." Pops laughs, patting his stomach as if Sakunosuke had told him something uproarious, "No, no. Not at all."
"Your food always helped with sickness, Pops." Sakunosuke starts, placing a hand on my head and slowly carding through my hair despite its sheen of sweat from my illness, "Did you say thank you, [Y/N]?" I quietly accepted his gesture, glancing up at Pops and back at Sakunosuke. "I'll take that as a no, then." Pops shakes his head with a chuckle, "It's no issue, Odasaku. It's complimentary enough that I'm the only one able to force a meal down 'em without struggle."
Pops leans further over the counter, whispering behind his hand, "I'll tell you, son, don't leave that kid alone too long, you go it? [Y/N] might be something made of sticks, but when we drove here, they managed to sing karaoke with me! Can you believe it, Odasaku! That's two entire songs with a sore throat! Think of what they could be capable of without! You've got a real star on your hands."
I roll my eyes with an amused smile, leaning on my palm as Sakunosuke turns his spoon over in his food. "I'll have to keep a close eye, then." He smiles subtly, turning to me. I whine, kicking my legs from the bar on the stool to the wooden panel of the counter, "I can't sing, Sakunosuke."
"But Pops says you could sing with a sore throat. Am I expected to not believe him?" I grumble, "It says gullible on the ceiling." Sakunosuke glances up without thinking before joining me in my grumbling.
Our playful annoyances pass into a hush as the silence of the restaurant resumes. The AC sends a cool wave of air through the humidity, filling the room with its humming and making the quiet more negligible. Nothing much was said save for my occasional cough, sneeze or sniffle, the passing cars outside, or the humming of Pops.
Sakunosuke's expression rapidly declines at the three-minute mark of our silence, the moment gone completely and turning into a tenser, sombre recollection of all that had occurred the past morning. I fail to mention anything about it, simply mirroring his expression and fiddling with the set of napkins on the counter.
"You look glum, Odasaku. What's wrong? Constipated?" Pops refilled my glass of water, observing Sakunosuke's furrowed brow and darkening under his eyes. His guess makes me giggle into my glass. "I'm just thinking. I'd avoid eating spicy food like curry if I were constipated." I stick out my tongue, "Blegh." The restaurant owner chuckles, "Oh...Yeah, I guess you're right. Hey, Odasaku, you don't get mad when people ask that stuff when you're eating curry?" With a shrug, Sakunosuke continues to eat, "I don't know. Should I?"
"Uh...I dunno." I mumble into my glass, "You're both gross." Sakunosuke lifts an eyebrow but returns without issue to his usual straight face, "Seriously?"
"Just don't push yourself too hard, Odasaku." I nod in agreement with Pops, sniffling, "Mhm. If you strain too much, you'll get all grouchy." Sakunosuke eats his food quietly, undeterred by our comments. "How's the curry?"
"Same as always." Despite his dull response, it's been years that this has been his habit. No matter what, this curry made by Pops has never failed to satisfy his cravings, and he gets anxious without it. There was a time when the restaurant had to close for three days for repairs, and Sakunosuke had met his wits end, sweating and unfocused.
Scraping up the last of the plate, Sakunosuke sips his cup of coffee, sighing as if he were relaxing in a beach chair, watching the waves and birds move through a haze of pink and orange. We were simply in a diner, but the anxiety my ability offers plenty of quells with his sigh.
"How are the kids?"
I hadn't visited the hoard of children in a while. I'm still scared of them, if I'm honest, even if it's been an entire year since they were brought in. I felt relief when Sakunosuke moved them out of his house and into this building's residence. It was safer and more convenient for Sakunosuke, but I was glad to have my space. Initially, I'd been worried that Sakunosuke had been annoyed by my insistence to stay in his residence, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Haven't changed," Pops speaks from where he'd occupied himself with the plates in the sink, "They're practically a small gang ㅡ There's only five of 'em up there, so they're scraping by. But if there were five more... Hell, if [Y/N] was to lead 'em around, they'd probably be able to hold up the Japan Bank for International Cooperation. They're on the second floor. Go say hello."
Sakunosuke shuffles off his stool, sorting his coat and quietly dismissing himself to the stairs.
I drink the last drops of water, which clung to the glass, rub my sniffling nose, and glance at Pops, "I couldn't lead them. The oldest of them is a headstrong boy." He grins, sliding a plate into his cupboard, "I wouldn't be so sure. If I had to guess, it's got nothing to do with being headstrong or a boy. No," With the experience of an adult his age, he leans over the counter to offer me his knowledge, "You don't want to lead them because you're just like your dad. You find yourself in a position and refuse to move unless someone forces you."
"...I guess you're not wrong," I mumble, putting the glass over the counter and into the sink. Pops ruffles my hair, "I'm always right. Listen to your elders, kid, and you'll end up as great as me." I duck slightly under his palm but don't protest his affection. I'm still growing used to this. In the city, far from the desperate cries of starvation, adults don't want to overtly kill you. "End up as a diner owner and enable people's curry addictions?"
"Exactly. Serve good food to questionable people such as yourself." I scratch my temple, "...Maybe I shouldn't listen to my elders." He chuckles, pointing a spoon my way, "Hey, how many of the seven days of the week do you see me miserable?" I glance past the utensil to his amused smile and giggle back before coughing into my elbow. It was enough of an answer that he ruffled my hair again.
A dark drifted into the restaurant behind us, fog filling my vision before settling on the ground, and I grin, "Dazai!"
After my yell of excitement with my raspy voice, I peered over my shoulder to see him, but to my surprise, he had his hands perched by his chest like a dinosaur, and he comically walked on his tiptoes. Now that I think about it, the bell on the door hadn't rang either. "Aww! You could've at least pretended to be scared!"
"You'd be able to tell if I pretended, and you'd complain about that, too." Dazai picks up on my sore throat, taking the coat from his shoulders and placing it on the stool beside me, "You're sick? How'd that happen? Was it the river? ...No...." Dazai gasps, placing his fist against his palm at a realisation, "You're anxious!" He'd long known since he'd recommended diving into the river.
"Yeah, a bit. It's my dumb abilities fault." My feet swing on the stool as I watch him droop onto the one Sakunosuke had been in moments ago. Pops takes Dazai's order and dishes it from the pot of curry that Sakunosuke likes, pouring it over a portion of rice and cracking an egg overtop.
Dazai had been quiet, mind somewhere else, before his smile returned, "Yes, it seems this is bad, then! Impressive, really! To reach even a child barely connected to the event!"
"Event...?" Dazai nodded, bringing his plate forward, "Yes, yes. We're on an outbreak of war, little [Y/N]." I observe the smile on his face, the empty cracks going across his face where that expression should be, and the eyes as if there were never any, but caverns of his eye sockets letting access to the nothingness of shadows and morbid gore. Within that darkness, there are two spots of light. "As in...gang war? Is that why Sakunosuke's been so moody?"
Dazai blew on the heat of his spoon, which wasn't caused by heat but spice, which made his nose twinge, "It appears so. We confronted a few troubles this morning." I tilt my head at the mention of what could have provoked Sakunosuke's mood. "And that trouble is connected to my ability somehow?" Dazai procrastinates eating the spice on his spoon, mixing his curry and rice, "That's exactly my question. In fact, it may give me insight into whatever direction this conflict will take if you tell me more." Being treated as an adult by Dazai had its ups and downs. This was a down.
"...About my ability? I don't really know much ㅡ I'm just tense. The fog is darker than usual, and I have a deep dread for something I'm unaware of." I word it carefully to avoid leaving questions unanswered. Of course, with Dazai, there's always more he can dig for. "I see. And what of Odasaku? Has it been bad as of late? When did it start?"
Pops pops his head over the counter, "You'll overwhelm 'em with all those questions. I don't know what's going on, nor how dire it is. But I'm sure whatever it is doesn't require an interrogation." In ways, he and Dazai were opposites. Pops babies everything, while Dazai's not familiar with the care that comes with children. Dazai chuckles, "I'll keep that in mind."
"Hmm..." I tap my chin, "I got ill this morning, but the feeling started pretty much after you left the last time I saw you." Dazai hums to himself, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip in thought, "A few days ago...? Well, they have been in and out of our radar for a while..." His thoughts out loud were playing with each other, a million possibilities flashing through his head until he crossed out the least likely and landed on a few. His expression fell subtly. "It seems it's indeed connected to the conflict, then."
"There's something else," I begin, contemplating telling him or anyone of my trifle, "It's Sakunosuke." Dazai glances at me from his plate before raising his hand for Pop's attention, "Hey, mister, got any water?" Pops hands him the glass. I sit in my thoughts as Dazai prepares to take a first bite. Pops disappears back into the kitchen again. "Go on, [Y/N]."
"Sakunosuke...it's like...I don't even know how to say it." I cough into my elbow, rub my sniffling nose, and then cradle my dull headache. Yet again, I was unwilling to embody any of my thoughts into something so weighty as words meant for conversation.
"You're not implying what I think you are, are you?" Dazai squints his eyes my way. I sink into my hands more, hiding from eye contact, "I can't even be sure myself. It's just that things get darker whenever he's making decisions. Something as simple as making me tea this morning felt like a life and death stake."
"Maybe your ability's growing up with you. You're twelve and a half, and with an ability like yours, they tend to do that. Going out of control and such." Dazai's words were consolation for us both, and I heaved a sigh. "You're probably right. If that's the case, I've been worried sick over growing up." I huskily laugh before it collapses into a set of sneezes. Dazai giggles, "Bless you."
With the tension dissipated into the quiet humming of the AC, Dazai picks a spoonful up to his lips, cringing, and shoves it into his mouth, "Gah!" With a dry cough into his fist, his cheeks burst red until spreading across his pale complexion. I giggle, watching him pull a napkin from its holder to wipe his nose and teary eyes. He takes a generous sip from his water, "Your dad's one weird guy, little Oda."
"Yeah, I know. But you're a weirdo, too, so you have no room to judge." Dazai huffs before trying again to conquer the heat that Sakunosuke so easily eats every other day and winces. I grin behind my palm, "You're a big baby."
"And you aren't? C'mon, how about you have a bite?" Dazai pushes the plate to sit between us. I reach over the counter, snatch one of the spoons, and watch Dazai's jaw hang open as I eat what is on my spoon without making a fuss. I cough into my fist as the heat claws down my sore throat, "Ow..." I hold my throat, and Dazai recovers from his shock. He chuckles, "You and your dad are tied for the weirdest people I know."
"Tied?" Dazai nodded, eating another spoonful of curry, which mostly consisted of rice, coughing and heaving as he sweated, "...I'll have to take note of this spice for torture." I tilt my head, grinning, "Culinary aspects of torture? In that case, you could feed them whatever concoctions you usually make. That would be wayyyy worse than any spice." Dazai whines, rubbing his nose, "My cooking isn't a form of torture, [Y/N]...!"
Dazais takes a particularly brave bite next, regretting it as he waves his hands back and forth and wiggles on his seat. He peers behind the counter, "This is spicy, mister! Really spicy! What's your secret ingredient? Lava?!" Pops looks up from where he filled the newspaper crossword, laughing, "Ya think so? That's what Odasaku always has."
A familiar fog descends the stairs. I beam, "Sakunosuke!" Pops grins, "Hey, Odasaku, welcome back. How were the kids?" Sakunosuke lifts me from my stool from under my arms, ignoring how I kick my legs, "Hey, that's my stool!"
Sakunosuke sits himself down instead and sets me down in his lap, "It was close, but I remain undefeated." I cough from my prior struggle, relaxing to Sakunosuke's heart rate. I don't get the way the orphans play. "However, they predicted where I would grab onto, so they coloured it with crayons to make me slip. I was worried for a second there. You said they'd be able to hold up a bank if there were ten of them, but I bet they could pull it off in two more years with their current numbers. I'm just glad [Y/N] doesn't mingle with them."
"Yeah, I'd be glad if I were you, too," I grin, and Sakunosuke regards me with his blank warmth. I continue, pointing upstairs, "I might join in on their next meeting." Pops joyously laughs, "There you have it, Odasaku. You'll be a goner within the next few months!"
"Maybe I should recruit them..." Dazai trails off, brushing his bandaged wrist against the sweat on his forehead, "I heard all about it, Odasaku. You're raising five more kids, huh? And not only that, they're orphans from the Dragon's Head Conflict." Saunosuke nods, "Yeah." When discussing personal matters, the atmosphere between Dazai and Sakunosuke always turns stiff enough to give passersby blunt force trauma if they were to disrupt. It begins on Sakunosuke's side of the conversation and spreads to Dazai as he responds accordingly.
"A Mafia member who refuses to kill, talented yet has no interest in advancing through the ranks, a man who's raising six orphansㅡSakunosuke Oda," Dazai smirked, "You're a strange guy. You might be the strangest guy in the entire Mafia."
Sakunosuke reaches into his coat's inner pocket, pulling out a narrow envelope, "Pops, this should be enough money for the kids for now." Placing down his newspaper, Pops wipes his fingers on his apron before reaching over the counter and taking the money, "Are you sure this is okay, Odasaku? I mean, I know most of your earnings end up here... I can throw in some of my money." Sakunosuke shakes his head dismissively, "I appreciate you letting us use your place, Pops. That, plus the curry here, is more than enough."
Dazai mumbles into his glass of water, "Odasaku, do you seriously eat this spicy curry all the time? It's so hot that my jaw's about to fall off." I was about to entertain Dazai's complacency when Sakunosuke asked the boy, "Dazai, what are you doing here anyway?" It was a swift cut to whatever stream of consciousness Dazai could drag the meeting on with.
"I have something I need to tell you about the case. A lot of things came to light after we last talked, especially about the enemy." Sakunosuke pauses, lips pursed, before he speaks with a deep breath, "Pops, sorry to ask this, but could you give us some privacy?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be in the back getting things ready, so just holler if we get a customer." It was a slow weekday, so the chances were low.
As Pops removes his apron and shuts off a few appliances, happily walking into the back, Sakunosuke places his hands under my arms again, preparing to lift me off. Dazai shakes his head, spoon in his mouth, "If I may, I'd like to ask [Y/N] to remain present. Of course, feel free to dismiss them if you'd like. They're your kid. But [Y/N]'s ability might come in handy for this." Sakunosuke pauses, and I look between them, "I can't control it, though."
"No, you can't, but you can sense misfortunes and fortunes. We can select priority based on any anxiety you have." Dazai seems to have taken Pops' advice and regarded me with a gentler glance. Sakunosuke sighs, "If you say so. [Y/N]'s sick, though, so don't request too much of them." Dazai nods with a mature smile, "Of course."
Dazai finishes what he can of the curry he struggled over, downing two glasses of water and wiping the sweat, snot and water from his face. His eyes are still watering, and his mouth trembles at the lingering heat. Sakunosuke slides into the kitchen, making himself a coffee and me more tea with honey. I climb back onto my stool, sipping from my drink.
"Man, that was hot. Why does curry have to be that hot? Does it have something against humanity? Most people would eat it if it were less spicy. This is negligence in food culture." Sakunosuke entertains Dazai's nonsense, "If more people ate it, then nobody would eat anything else, thus completely destroying food culture as we know it." Dazai taps his chin, then nods, "Makes sense."
"So what is it you wanted to tell me?"
"I'll get straight to the point. It's a foreign crime syndicate." Dazai snatches my mug from me and soothes the spice in his mouth. I grumble, taking it back and wiping the edge he'd drunk from. "They've been in Japan for a short while. They used to be a well-known European skilled crime syndicate, but an organisation of skill users in Great Britain known as the Order of the Clock Tower drove them out of the continent, and they scurried away to Japan."
That's quite the trip. Very specific, too. Japan is a small island, and a dozen countries come to mind in the list of opportunist lands before here. Perhaps they sought Yokohama's hotbed of crime.
"They're a European criminal organisation?" Sakunosuke sips from his mug. I tilt my head, curious, "Does that mean anything?" He nods, "Yeah, crime over there is in a league of its own. There are many skill users from Europe whose reputations have caused control over who comes in and out of countries to tighten. It's almost hard to believe an entire crime group has made a home in Japan. Dazai, do you know how they got here?"
"Yeah, a crime syndicate of skill users shouldn't be able to illegally enter another country that easily. There has to be more to this than meets the eye. They might have a collaborator in Japan." I tilt my head, questioning who had that kind of power. "...Why would the government let that happen, though?" Dazai shrugs, "There's plenty of corruption and blood-stained money circulating. It could be any variance of things." I nod, rubbing my runny nose, "Oh, okay." Dazai's eye lingered on my action before returning to the water Sakunosuke had poured him.
"But what did they come all the way to Japan for anyway?" Dazai glances up at Sakunosuke, "Beats me. The only way we'll know is if we ask them. We can guess, though. They escaped to a foreign land without a soul to rely on. This might sound snide, but they're dead broke. So maybe they're trying to make it big by stealing the Port Mafia's turf and smuggling route."
An organisation would have to be either insane or extremely talented to challenge the Port Mafia with so little trouble. I mutter, "That's crazy." Sakunosuke was quiet in thought before his mouth opened to question Dazai.
Dazai held up his hand, "Hold on. Hear me out till the end. I know what you want to say, Odasaku. They're way too skilled to be a group of low-level criminals who joined forces, right? I thought the same thing. You seldom see a sniper and a spotter operating in tandem here, let alone so proficiently. Those were ex-military. According to the intel I received, the leader of their organisation is a powerful skill user and soldier commanding a seasoned group of men. I should be getting more detailed information soon. Anyway, you can't underestimate these guys. If they systematically attack with such precise tactics, even the Port Mafia might come tumbling down."
"Does the Boss know about this?" Dazai's voice is stuck in his throat as he watches the water in his glass ripple, before he reluctantly replies, "I told him. He appointed me as commander of the front line and tasked me with devising a strategy for Mimic, so I immediately set up a few traps ㅡ simple mousetraps. I've got a feeling the enemy might make a move soon."
By mousetrap, I assume Dazai means to say he's set up bait in strongholds for the Port Mafia of major income, laid out some vulnerable strands or false leads, and intends to capture the soldiers. I searched the universes for any knowledge I might have on this group that they'd introduced into the conversation, seeking the source of my anxiety.
Squinting, I find an irregularity in the array of realities I'm familiar with. This one hadn't existed until a few days ago, I think, tracing it back to my birth. As if it's materialised only recently, but had the same depth as all other universes, I felt my headache worsen with stress. The beginning is a blurry haze of my prior twelve years of life....except, there's one difference. Where is Sakunosuke? There's Dazai...In different attire.
Everything is as if entering a room familiar to you, but the furniture is shifted to the left by fifteen centimetres. I clutch my mug, searching for the differences up until now.
I'm sitting on a bench adjacent to this universe, watching this building. My sight goes beside me, a man dressed in shadows. Through the muffled noise, I hear his voice, hollow, tired and deep, unsuiting for his age, "Gide. Skilled Business Permit." There's no context for me to seek that makes it fit into the moment. It was as if that shadowed man was speaking to me. It was as if that version of Dazai was speaking to me. His tone was as if he knew exactly what I'd do, what it would lead to, and was disappointed with that.
"[Y/N]?" Sakunosuke shakes my shoulder, and I'm taken from my zoned-out state. I blink to rid the blurry mist over my eyes. Dazai hums, observing me, and I perk up with my energy revitalised. Despite my illness, I eagerly look between them, "'Gide' and 'Skilled Business Permit'."
"Huh?" Sakunosuke scratches his scruffy stubble in confusion, and Dazai grins, "Good. I'll look into that." I sigh as soon as the words leave me, glancing at the clock. It had been a minute since I'd faded into that universe. I'd never done that before.
Sakunosuke resumed his and Dazai's discussion with a question that escaped his mouth quicker than his mind could process, "What about Ango?" Ango was a man I was not immediately familiar with. He's an enigma even to Dazai and Sakunosuke, so having me and Ango meet would be equivalent to winning the lottery. That would be no issue for my ability, yet I've never met Ango.
Dazai sighs as he sips on his coffee. I must have been really zoned out. "We're almost completely certain that Ango is the one who leaked the code to the armoury." With downcast eyes, he stares at the depths of his drink before looking to Sakunosuke for any reaction. They were both quiet, taking on the same hesitant tone. "Everyone in the organisation is issued a different passcode to avoid trouble. And ㅡ"
"The code Mimic used to open the armoury matched the one given to Ango, right?" Crossing his arms, Sakunosuke furrowed his brow. He lifted me from my seat to take it, placing me on his lap as I drank from my mug. It was a mug custom-made for Pops with a picture of him with his pet dog printed on the front. "Hey, Dazai. Is there any chance that someone framed Ango and is pulling the strings from behind the scenes?"
"It's not out of the question. That's always a possibility. If someone in the Mafia was colluding with Mimic, then sure, it's possible. But I can't think of anyone who'd benefit from that." Dazai shakes his head, and Sakunosuke swallows the stone in his throat.
The AC and my sniffling filled the mournful quiet until Dazai's frown wavered. It pulls until he can't resist letting out a laugh. I'm admittedly confused as I glance between them. They're both deeply saddened, but Dazai's head moves so quickly that it has already landed on something amusing enough that he'll let out that weak laugh.
"At first, I thought they were your average crime syndicate, but if they're good enough for Ango to join, then a little arm-twisting won't make them cry and say they're sorry. Plus, Ango's no pushover as an enemy. He's no walk in the park. This is getting exciting. I bet they'll back me into a corner, then ㅡ"
"Dazai," Sakunosuke calls his name but has nothing more to say. It was simply to stop Dazai from saying anything more, perhaps to make him reflect on something only they understood. That pit between them was put into perspective, and I grimaced. It was irritating that they'd both ended up like this. Maybe Pops was right. If they can't adapt to their positions as social creatures, then there is no hope. The same applies to me.
"Dazai, when can I show you my paintings next?" I ignore the situation, tension, and all standings. He is the Port Mafia's deadliest asset, and I am the scum that the lowest-standing member keeps a secret. But we're friends. Surely, that means something. I want Sakunosuke to understand that he's not alone. But my childish ambitions were met with a strained smile.
Dazai nods, not wanting to disappoint, "Yeah, I can work something out for the weekend, maybe." I cheer, throwing myself out of Sakunsouke's lap and hugging Dazai until the stool he sat on leaned back. He chuckled, awkwardly patting my shoulder, "I should get going. Don't go spreading your illness, little Oda." I leave the one-sided embrace, hands behind my back, leaning on my heels, watching Dazai stand and collect his coat.
Sakunosuke was still caught up in Dazai's words from before, "Dazai." He'd turned around from us both, ready to leave, and Sakunosuke anxiously rubbed his hands together, "Are you thinking that way because–?"
Dazai's phone rang. He flips his phone open, bowing to us both and places it against his ear. He's listening intently to the words said through the phone, expressions not hinting at what those words may be.
The AC shuts off, leaving only the quiet as we wait for Dazai. That quiet blankness is replaced by a twisted grin, "All right." The call ends, and Dazai faces us, "We caught a mouse in our trap."