Chapter Text
[1.1]
Dazai had solved plenty of serial killings in his past.
As a matter of fact, he’d even go as far as say that he was involved in some of them (he used the word involved, because he gathered that the public wouldn’t take kindly the fact that one of their best detective was…well, anything near a serial killer.) But the thing was: serial killings were his forte. More than hostage-taking, terrorist attacks, and impossible bank heists – Dazai Osamu was a master of tracking down serial killers – and he got it down to a talent.
He’d seen psychopaths with a domineering God complex (looking at you, Dostoyevsky), and lovesick idiots who were charged for crimes of passion. One time he caught someone who had a thing for little girls, and it reminded him too much of a certain someone, that Dazai had to work overtime just to send him in jail.
Now Dazai didn’t always work, but when he did, he always performed splendidly.
So when a certain hat-wearing, Jekyll and Hyde wannabe came out of nowhere, he knew it was more than just another case –
It was a message.
[1.2]
“Are you sure you want to go back?” Ranpo-san asked, munching on his snack. Of course he’s munching on his snacks. Besides him, Poe-san peeked up from his book, but didn’t say anything.
Dazai stared at the papers laid out on the table; the victims’ faces staring back at him from old photographs. Twenty-two people were killed this time, each with three shots in the chest and their jaws broken from being made to bite the curb. The method was so familiar – so painstakingly obvious – that Dazai wanted to laugh.
“It’s my job, isn’t it?” It was his first time using his job as an excuse, but no shame. Technically, there was no one else capable enough to solve the case.
“But,” Ranpo-san tried, but knew better. He had enough cases to solve on his own, and even if he could solve the all in a blink of an eye, he knew this case was meant for Dazai – as it did with all things related to the Port Mafia.
“But that’s in Yokohama. Aren’t you – “
“Ranpo-san, it’s okay.”
It was. It really was.
Take care of our city, will you? A voice whispered in the back of Dazai’s head – a voice he’d long shoved at the back of his mind – but still there nonetheless.
“No, it’s not. We’re talking about large-scale killings – this is a high-value target right here. You need help.”
“And we all know what happened the last time I got it.”
“I can take the case, Dazai-kun. Let me handle it.”
“’Let me handle it ~’” Dazai mocked, unable to help it.
“Wow. Who are you and what have you done to the real Ranpo-san?”
“I’m trying to help you, fool! I know you’re just looking for an excuse to go back – “
“And if I am?”
The air around them dropped a temperature. Both of them knew that the words were a challenge, and this was Dazai itching for a fight.
Ranpo-san was the first to concede. “…nothing I say will convince you, huh?”
“I have to do this, Ranpo-san. This is meant for me. Besides, you already know who it is, don’t you?”
This time, Dazai’s voice was soft – too soft – because both of them knew that this might be it.
The sign Dazai had been looking for.
“I – I’m not sure if I should say.”
“Wow. The greatest detective, not being sure for once? Today sure is different ~”
“Dazai, let me take the case.”
“No.”
“…what if he kills you?”
“Then you have my word that I’ll die happy, Ranpo-san, knowing that the greatest detective in the world will avenge me!”
All around them, the Armed Detective Agency resumed their work like they always did, but even Dazai was aware of his co-worker’s side glances; the bits of stolen attention due to his usual antics. They weren’t detectives for nothing.
Everyone knew why Dazai had to go back –
The same way everyone knew why Dazai had to leave in the first place.
“You know what, I changed my mind.” Ranpo-san waved him off, taking Karl out of Poe’s hands. “Get out my sight.”
[1.3]
It was the strangest case.
So far, the only information they gathered about the suspect were:
- He (they’re assuming it’s a he) always killed his victims in the same manner: with the same Port Mafia brand execution, and with a skill of someone who killed for living;
- He always attacked at night (mostly in the dead hours of the morning), and even though his victims were clearly hit by bullets, nobody seemed to be woken up by gunshots and sounds of fighting;
- The victims were mostly mob bosses and wanted criminals, and while the police couldn’t care less why so many of their targets were suddenly dropping dead like flies – this definitely puts the Port Mafia in a tough position – because now the entire Yokohama is thinking that the Mafia is eliminating their competitors one by one.
Now Dazai couldn’t care less about the Mafia; couldn’t give less shit whether the entire Yokohama Underground decided to gang up on them and burn their organization to the ground, but Dazai wanted to know why the current executives were letting this happen, and how, despite all their assets, they couldn’t kill one man, who’d definitely killed too much already.
So far, the kill count stood at three hundred forty-three.
For someone like Dazai, it was nothing.
(But it got his attention, so maybe it counted for something.)
[1.4]
“This is it?”
Dazai stared at the well-worn hat, the red hatband and silver chain glinting with the sunlight like a taunt. He’d expected DNA Samples: locks of hair, drops of blood – anything that might give them a hint about their killers’ appearance, but no. It was a hat.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” Dazai fumed at the police, livid, though he had to admit – it was more than enough for him to get something. Anything.
Every officer in the crime scene had gone stiff, because there’s not a single soul in Yokohama that didn’t know what Dazai Osamu did.
He had every right to everyone and everything in this city.
“I – um, we’ll keep looking sir.” The police chief squeaked out, and Dazai almost broke his mask; this was the same officer who scolded him after being caught in the river’s nets, and the same one who offered him an onigiri after spending a night in the cell (apparently, asking ladies for a double suicide counted as sexual harassment).
Dazai traced the brim of the hat with his fingers, getting a feel of the texture and material used. Velvet soft. It had to be, what, imported from another country?
“Our suspect had to be a spoiled bocchan.”Dazai grinned. It was already hard enough to think of one man taking on twenty-two skilled assassins (so it seemed), but to think he’d be doing it with this hat on? Glorious.
“It’s hard to think where he’d get that kind of training, though,” the officer added, and then, after noticing Dazai’s stare trained on him, immediately lowered his voice, “I mean, it’s just a thought, maybe that’s not it – “
“He’s been doing all of your work for the past few weeks, hasn’t he?” Dazai mused, but there was no amusement in his voice, as it should be. He glanced at the victims’ corpses, just another pile to add in the killer’s debt, and wondered how long it would take for him to be able to join them.
You’re not allowed to die, Dazai. Not yet.
What a selfish wish.
He gave the entire Yokohama Police force a once over, and wondered what they would do without him.
“Don’t you think it’s about time to return to favour?”
[1.5]
It’s been two years since Dazai had been to Yokohama.
Not much had changed since then; the city still went on with its usual bustle, the streets were still plagued by both vermin and rats, and the sunsets were still golden whenever the skies kissed the horizon of Yokohama Bay.
Dazai hated all of it.
They remind me of your eyes, idiot. Dark and grim at the edges, but fire and gold all the same.
No amount of abilities would save Yokohama – Dazai learned this the hard way – and if someone told him he’d be back on the same city despite all that happened, maybe Dazai would’ve taken it upon himself to show that person what the Dazai Osamu was really made of.
He hadn’t cared much for this city, and he sure as hell won’t start caring about it now.
“Are you sure this is fine, Dazai-san?” The police said, pulling over. The police car had stopped on an old, abandoned warehouse near the docks – not really a place for people – but that didn’t mean it was empty. Dazai cracked his knuckles; this was more than fine.
“This is perfect ~” He hummed, getting out of the vehicle. The salty breeze hit him in an instant.
Now Dazai had no guarantee that the killer would show up here, right in this spot, but the fact that it was near the sea had Dazai’s instincts tingling; smugglers often slip into Yokohama undetected through the waters. It was a port city, after all.
Smugglers almost always made connections with local gangs, and considering how the serial killer targeted criminal organizations, there might a chance – a slight chance – that Dazai would find him here.
“Um, Dazai-san, about the killer…” A small voice squeaked out, much to Dazai’s dismay.
“You’re still here?”
“I – uh, I just want to say – “
“What.”
“…welcome back, Dazai-san.” The police officer told Dazai, purple-yellow eyes bright and unwavering.
Only a select number of people who could hold their ground staring at Dazai, and this man, for all he was worth, were definitely one of them.
Dazai softened.
“Thank you, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai smiled, and he meant it.
It was good to be back.
[1.6]
Two years ago, when the skies were stained with fire and smoke and sleet:
“You don’t have to do this, Dazai-san. Please.”
“...leave.”
“This is too much. You – you’ll never survive it.”
“That’s the plan, Atsushi.”
“But what if you fail? What if – “
“We can’t fail, Atsushi-kun. Not now - ”
“…”
“ - not for this city.”
[1.7]
Two years later, present day:
“Who are you?”
Dazai smiled at the man in front of him – such a shame he picked the wrong city – because anyone who’s been to Yokohama long enough shouldn’t have had to ask that question.
The name Dazai Osamu was always the first thing people learned when they’re new, and if they were idiots, it usually happened to be the last.
“Me?” Dazai mused, shoving his bandaged hands into his coat pockets. He used to carry guns, but then again, what was the point of pulling the trigger when he could get someone else to do that for him?
The man (the name’s Flatfish, you dumb fuck) narrowed his beady eyes at Dazai, gesturing for his men to move closer. Dazai felt something cold press at the back of his head.
“Yes, you. I’d like to know what a lowlife private investigator had to do with one of the Port Mafia Executives, because Ryuunosuke-kun rarely asks me personally for favours.”
Ryuunosuke-kun, huh.
“You say that, but you’re terrified of him, aren’t you?” Dazai smirked, which earned him a huge smack at the side of his face. Oh, how he missed that metallic taste.
“Stupid tourist messing with the Port Mafia,” Flatfish sneered, cracking his knuckles. “Don’t you know? Those fuckers’ been killing everybody these days – “
“And you’re next.” Dazai announced, because it was true in every sense of the word, and the fact that these guys were here – it was Akutagawa-kun’s own way of saying, welcome back.
“Hah?!” Another smack, and this time Dazai crumpled to the ground, wheezing.
"That punch...barely even registers. Doesn't even count as a massage." He grinned. This earned him another blow in the ribs, and in through the pain, Dazai thought he heard someone squeal.
Flatfish sneered. “You sure talk big for a stray dog wandering around these parts, don’t you?”
Daza looked up at the barrel of a gun, pressed closed to his forehead. He smiled.
“Ne, Flatfish-san. Have you heard of soukoku?”
“Souko – what?”
“Soukoku. As in, Yokohama’s most fearsome duo. Double black.”
“The only one fearsome here is me.”
At the corners of his eyes, Dazai registered something shift in the darkness – a red silhouette moving around in a blur. Dazai kept the gang’s attention focused on himself, grinning.
“Such a shame.” He murmured. “You’ve all forgotten, haven’t you?”
Blood splattered on the pavement, but not his own.
Flatfish stared at Dazai, wide-eyed, as new holes peppered his body: three clean shots right through the chest.
“No wonder he’s painting the city red.”
[1.8]
“They called him…the Hunstman.”
“Wow. Real creative. Why not just straight-up tell me that it’s another Snow White reference?”
“Well, you’ll bitch about it either way, so your point is?”
“…right. Point taken.”
“Anyways, he’s been killing off all our rival organizations.”
“And?”
“It’s getting out of hand.”
“Come now, Akutagawa-kun. You expect me to believe that Mori-san hasn’t been able to turn this into some kind of profit?”
“Well, it did work in our favour for a while – “
“…but?”
“But now every single criminal organization is out against the Port Mafia, and even foreign Gifteds are coming to Yokohama now. Mori-san…Mori-san says this will take a larger toll on the city compared to the Dragon Head Conflict.”
“Ha, serves him right. He wanted to the city for himself, and he got it! This is no longer within the Agency's jurisdiction. Good luck defending this city by yourselves."
"This isn't just about us, Dazai-san. If we fall, the city falls with us too."
"What makes you think I care?”
“...oh. We figured you’d say that.”
"...”
“Which is why, in exchange for your help, we’ll share you this vital piece of information.“
“Oh, really? Then how about this: fuck your information. Tell Mori-san that Yokohama can burn in hell – “
“Really, Dazai-san? Is that what you want?”
“ - and you know what, while you’re at it, you can all burn with it, too.”
“Even…even him?”
“Huh?”
“We found him, Dazai-san. I mean, I haven’t told anyone – not even Mori-san – but I saw him walking by the streets. There can’t be any mistake.”
[1.9]
“Red hair, blue eyes, petite-frame, around five-foot three.” Dazai rattled off, taking out a torn-out picture from the inside of his coat. He held it up for the man to see. “This is you, isn’t it?”
Glowing eyes blinked in the darkness, but he seemed to consider. After all, it wasn’t like Dazai could fight back, given his injuries and the amount of dead bodies between the two of them.
The serial killer remained in the dark, while Dazai remained on his knees. A small part of him wondered that maybe, just maybe, the blatant show of respect might be the only thing keeping him alive.
Three-hundred forty three confirmed kills and counting, Ranpo-san had said, worry laced in his voice. The killer is elusive.
Dazai knew bloodlust when he sensed it.
He knew, that if he as much moved an inch, the same line of bullets would pierce his body without as much as a sound, ad he would die a silent death – without even a chance to scream.
Dazai stood, holding up the picture for a better look.
“I’m looking for this man. His name is Chuuya Nakahara.” Dazai started, taking a step closer – which was a mistake, but he didn’t care. He didn’t as much flinch as the line of bullets headed his way like guided missiles – all barely missing an inch of his arms, shoulders, neck, and cheek.
Dazai walked dazedly towards the figure in the dark, so sure that this was the man he was looking for, until –
The heavy clouds parted just in time for the moon to spare some of its light, and Dazai stared at the same pair of baby blue eyes in the picture.
It was the same, if those eyes were darker –
Meaner –
Something inhuman –
And out of this world.
“My name is Arahabaki,” the figure rasped. “Have you come to kill me?”
For once in his life, Dazai was speechless.
[1.10]
“That – that can’t be.”
“…I know. I said that the exact same thing.”
“The last we’d seen him was two years ago, Dazai-san. And the reports were confirmed by various sources. There’s no way – “
“I’m certain this is him, Atsushi-kun. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“Are you sure you weren’t hallucinating, Dazai-san?”
“He called himself Arahabaki, Atsushi-kun. Poisoned or not, I would never hallucinate about that thing. I wouldn’t even dream of it.”
“But if that’s the case – “
“...no.”
“If that’s the case, then maybe you should give this to Ranpo-san. You can’t – “
“I get, Atsushi. He’s gone. But if there’s any chance I can help him, in any way…”
“How're you going to help him, Dazai-san? You said it yourself. He’s the killer. What are you gonna do? Send him to jail?”
“…it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I thought he was dead.”
“We all did, Dazai-san.”
The entire Yokohama did, were the unspoken words.
“I can’t believe the audacity of that blasted god. Isn’t it enough that he used Chuuya as a vessel? That damn chibi – all he wanted to go out in his own terms – and the world couldn’t even let him stay dead.”
“Dazai-san, you can’t be – “
“I’m setting him free, Atsushi. It’s the least I could do.”
I promised.
[1.11]
Two years ago, when the skies were still blue and the only thing that went up in smoke were the long drag of cigarettes:
“What happens if we die, chibi?”
“Then… I guess we go down in history.”
“What happens if no one remembers us?”
“Then…at least one of us has to make it.”
“Have them build a statue of me, then, chibi. Use real gold and jewels, and I'll watch from hell to see people try to steal it.”
“What about me?”
“Huh?”
“You get a statue. What do I get?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we could plant a tree? Oh, I have a better idea! How about a bonsai - ouch!"
"You stupid fuck! Nobody's planting bonsai trees!"
"Well? How else do you want to be remembered, chibi?”
“…make me a legend.”
“Make you a what?”
“Make me one of those urban legends, like in the manga. Give me an awesome nickname. I wanna do that vigilante type of shit – “
“Chuuni.”
“ – shut up! I just want people to talk about me and all sorts of things! Unlike you, I wanna be something, damn it!”
“You want to be gossip.”
“I want to be a ghost story. That way, we can keep ambitious Gifteds out of our city. It’ll be so scary and awesome as fuck – “
“You just said ‘our’ city. Like, as a collective.”
“ – Also, I want to keep people up at night as they wonder about me.”
“Don’t you do that to me already?”
"...just - just don't plant any bonsai trees."
[1.12]
It’s been two years since Dazai left Yokohama.
It’s been two years since the skies, street and seas ran red – and Nakahara Chuuya was last sighted.
O grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again.
Back then, he stood in the middle of destruction, a raging god in the middle of the flames.
The city of Yokohama had prayed to the heavens, but the only god within reach was the one plunging their city to hell.
It’s been two years since Dazai last saw Chuuya.
And the last he checked, Nakahara Chuuya was dead.