Chapter Text
The briefing room was dim, quiet but for the soft hum of fluorescent lighting and the steady tap of Dazai’s fingers drumming against the table like an impatient metronome. He was sprawled sideways in his chair, one leg kicked up over the other, a sliver of afternoon sunlight dancing along the frayed edges of his bandages.
Across from him sat Chuuya Nakahara, arms folded, jaw tight, and the faintest twitch at the corner of his eye betraying just how close he was to launching a desk across the room.
Fukuzawa stood at the head of the table, calm and unreadable as always. But it was the rodent perched beside him—Principal Nezu of U.A. High School—who had brought the real complication.
“Let me get this straight,” Chuuya said, each word clipped. “You want me—an executive of the Port Mafia turned special government operative—to pose as a high schooler at some glitter-dusted superpowered prep school?”
Nezu clasped his paws together, eyes glittering like polished beads. “Not just any prep school, Mr. Nakahara. U.A. is the top hero academy in Japan. Recently, we’ve detected traces of black-market technology in student hands—quirk-enhancing devices with manufacturing signatures traced back to organizations we believe you might recognize.”
“Let me guess,” Dazai said lazily, his voice light but with a weight beneath it. “The decay of the underworld doesn’t stay buried, no matter how much the heroes like to pretend otherwise.”
He tilted his head toward Fukuzawa. “You want us to be the ones digging up the grave?”
Fukuzawa nodded. “The Port Mafia’s remnants may be involved. But this mission isn’t just about tracking tech. There’s a leak. Someone inside U.A.—staff or student—has connections to a larger operation. You’ll go in as undercover students to identify the supplier, the mole, and stop whatever’s coming next.”
“And if it’s an inside job,” Chuuya muttered, “we’ll be stuck surrounded by a bunch of hormone-ridden teenagers with delusions of heroism while everything burns around us.”
Dazai grinned. “Ah, high school. The only place where everyone’s a dramatic mess. We’ll fit right in.”
Chuuya shot him a venomous glare. “I swear, if you even look at one of those kids the wrong way—”
“Oh, come on. You know I’m a perfect role model.”
“You once tried to drown yourself in a public fountain in front of children.”
“They need to learn about disappointment early.”
“Enough,” Fukuzawa said, with the weight of command. The room went still. His gaze softened as it fell on Chuuya.
“You both have unique abilities that make you ideal for this. Chuuya’s combat style will pass as an advanced ‘quirk,’ and Dazai’s nullification will be interpreted as a normal quirk”
Dazai let out a low hum. “And the real reason you’re sending both of us? Don’t tell me you think we play nice.”
“You’re each other’s checks,” Fukuzawa replied calmly. “You’ve fought war together. Survived worse. You’ll keep the collateral damage to a minimum.”
Chuuya snorted. “You’re really banking on that?”
“You kept an entire city from collapsing once,” Fukuzawa said. “I trust you can handle a high school.”
“I’ll take the collapsing city,” Chuuya muttered under his breath.
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In the hallway, Chuuya’s boots echoed against the tile as he walked ahead, tense and brooding. Dazai trailed behind, humming some aimless melody.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Dazai said eventually, though there was no real concern in his voice. “Nervous about the kids seeing through your tough guy act?”
“Shut up.”
“Oh~ come on. You’re going to have to learn to smile, y’know. Blend in. Be friendly.”
“I will rip your stupid tie off and strangle you with it.”
“You’d have to get close to me first.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
There was silence for a beat.
Then Dazai added, more softly, “You don’t like this, do you?” Chuuya didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t like pretending to be something I’m not,” he finally said. “I’m not a hero. I’m not some bright-eyed teenager with a dream. And I sure as hell don’t care about blending in.”
“You’re worried they’ll see you for what you are,” Dazai said, voice like a knife wrapped in silk. “A weapon. An anomaly. Something that doesn’t belong.”
Chuuya froze.
Then, low and dangerous: “You don’t get to talk about belonging, Dazai. Not when you walked away from everything and called it justice.”
Dazai smiled faintly. Not his usual grin. A ghost of something older.
“And yet here we are. On the same side. Again.”
Chuuya turned away, biting back a dozen responses.