The Letter
There was a letter in Dazai’s hand. His eyes glazed over the calligraphic flare of each character, long since having memorized the words.
Dazai buried the reflex to clutch at the parchment, leaving too-telling crinkles he couldn’t smooth out before Chuuya arrived. It’d only be another ten minutes or so. Dazai wasn’t sure why it all felt so long. Waiting was something he’d grown used to over the years, and yet impatience still bit at his skin, itching even under the pressure of his bandages. Eventually, the click of a lock turning had him settling further into the couch.
It didn’t take long for Chuuya to notice him— he really had to have the nose of a dog on him with his accuracy— and Dazai felt a small part of him twitch at the annoyance that played out on the other’s face.
“Why the hell are you here?” the redhead scowled, leaving his shoes in the entryway.
He stretched his lips into a grin. “That’s no way to greet your guest, is it?”
Chuuya scoffed as he neared, steps measured on the plush carpet he’d no doubt had imported— from Egypt if the texture, shades, and fabric had anything to say. “As if a fish-eyed bastard like yourself could qualify as a guest. Get the hell out of my apartment.” Dazai could pinpoint the moment he noticed the letter. He didn’t say anything, just a wary glance before he deigned to ignore it.
“Hey, aren’t you curious,” he taunted with a sing-songy voice, a spark of delight igniting at the other’s glower.
“I don’t need you involving me in your schemes. Deal with it yourself.” Chuuya then set about his apartment, hanging up his hat and shrugging off his jacket. He didn’t even have the decency of looking at him. Dazai let out a forlorn sigh.
“A little birdy came and dropped this off at the agency earlier,” he began, “You don’t know how hard it was to wave away the curiosity a literal owl showing up brought, not to mention Ranpo’s unsubtle hints to our coworkers once he’d finally figured it out.”
He could see Chuuya tense from the corner of his eye. “What’s this have to do with me? We haven’t seen each other since Meursault, and the Port Mafia and Agency still have to finish sorting out the terms from that whole mess. We shouldn’t—”
“You know, Chibi,” Dazai started, the other scowling at the interruption, “Did it ever occur to your small brain that it just might have something to do with all that?”
“Who’re you calling small brained?” Dazai dodged a stray pillow aimed at his head, stolen from an armchair in the room. “And I still don’t see how any of your creepy wizard shtick has you ending up here. Ain’t that shit supposed to be separate from us mortals or whatever the fuck they call us.”
“Yes, yes,” Dazai gave an exasperated sigh, preparing himself for the reaction his next words would no doubt garner, “But unfortunately, European restrictions on magic are a little stiffer than they are here.” Chuuya went still, slowly turning to face him. Dazai didn’t let himself waver.
“Oh my god,” Chuuya guffawed, a realization Dazai didn’t quite like blooming across his face, “You got flagged, didn’t you.” The redhead let out a bark of laughter as he approached, “All this time and you finally fucked up.”
“So mean, slug,” he frowned, “You were there too, you should’ve done something.”
“Since when have you ever asked for my help with your magic shit,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “If I recall, that was always ‘under control’ back then.”
“Yeah, about that…” Dazai squinted back at the sheet in hand, Chuuya predictably following his lead as he peeked over his shoulder.
“Dazai.”
“Chuu-ya.”
“Why the fuck does your indictment from your shitty magical government have my name in it.”
“What, are you incapable of reading now too?” Dazai gave a dry response. “You witnessed the scene of an apparent magical crime as a non-magical person— they want to erase your memories and bring me to ‘justice’.”
“But they’re saying they want to question you on the deaths of the guards. You didn’t kill those people, let alone use magic to do it, so why are they so fussed about it? And why the fuck do they think you had anything to do with it? I did most the work.”
“They didn’t outright say I had anything to do with it, just implied I was under suspicion unless I gave them a testament saying otherwise. And I assume whatever monitors they have in place are there to simply detect the use of magic, not how it was used or by whom,” Dazai explained, “I can assure you it probably leads to a lot of issues within their legal system, but they’re wizards— since when have they ever taken that into account?”
“That’s bullshit!” Chuuya threw his arms up in the air, a red glow simmering against his silhouette, “It’s a prison for ability users, why did they assume it was magic that did that? And why is this only coming back to you now? Through a letter? It’s been like a month.”
“If you had actually finished reading,” he drawled, “You would’ve seen that one of the many reasons I’m being called to court is because ‘Dazai Osamu’ doesn’t come up in the Japanese Wizard Registry, alongside the breaking of the Statute and my alleged use of magic on ‘muggles’.” He tossed the paper aside. “Makes me a little difficult to track down for one. And they sent the letter for diplomacy’s sake, considering this situation is international.”
“There’s a registry for this shit? Nevermind— of course there is,” Chuuya sighed. “I still don’t know why you came to me about this. To warn me? There’s no way in hell you’d do that. You’d probably get off on me being ambushed by some fucking wizards.”
“You wound me, Chibi,” he held a hand to his chest, shaping his features into an anguished composition, “It’s my duty to protect the small, little, tiny things in this city.”
“Fuck off.” Dazai dodged a kick to the side. “Now, what do you actually want? I’m not doing the guesswork you want me to do.”
The detective just looked at Chuuya for a moment, the mafioso bristling under the stare, his own gaze challenging. “The Agency and the Mafia have yet to sort out the terms of our deal, yes?”
There was only a hint of confusion before disbelief sprouted across Chuuya’s face. “You want the Port Mafia’s help with this,” he numbingly spoke.
His own face fell flat. “It’s nothing so grand as you’re putting it, and if all goes well it’ll benefit the Agency and the mafia,” he pushed back with a deliberately overexaggerated sigh, “I just find it unfortunate that of all people, you’re the only one who knows about the whole wizard thing. It’s downright distasteful.”
“It’s not my fucking fault you told me.”
“You were supposed to take it as a joke, you know, like most people with a brain would. Though I don’t know what I was expecting from you,” he shook his head like a disappointed parent. “Either way, I need ‘proof of identity’ and apparently the non-magical records aren’t good enough for wizards and the magic kind don’t work on me.”
“What am I? A witness to your ‘character’? You’re a goddamn awful person,” Chuuya huffed, the last part spoken with scorn. “And why would I want to get closer to the people who apparently want to erase my memories? Just leave already.”
Even as he said it, Chuuya was already in the process of snatching a bottle of wine and a glass. He sat poised in the armchair to his right (of which was missing its pillowy ammunition), legs crossed as he poured a glass, downed it, then poured another to sip at.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” he growled at Dazai’s raised eyebrow, fingers tensing around the glass, “There’s no way I’m getting through whatever you’re suggesting without at least a little alcohol in my system.”
“It’s just the slug is so small, I reckon you’ll be drunk the second that first cup kicks in. You really are a lightweight, you know that?”
“Fuck off,” he retorted, taking another sip in spite. “I’m not your liaison for the mafia, if you want Mori to do something about this, you can go to him yourself. For fuck’s sake, talk to your president about it if you don’t want to deal with the boss, I’m sure Mori knows at least something about wizards.”
“I know he’s aware,” Dazai rolled his eyes, a knot growing in his stomach, “He’s called for a meeting with the Agency.”
The redhead stiffened. “How come I haven’t heard of this?”
“The Agency’s only just received the news, I’m sure Mori will let his executives know eventually.”
“It’s about the—?”
“Yes, it’s about the deal,” he interrupted, “But the timing sure isn’t a coincidence.”
“So he knows about the…” Chuuya gives a nod to the letter Dazai had discarded on the cushion next to him.
“Something of which, I’m sure,” Dazai said with a forced nonchalance, “And with the Agency still indebted to the mafia, I’ve no doubt what course of action he’ll take.”
“And your trial?” Chuuya prompted.
“An unfortunate circumstance,” he lauded, a shadow pulling thicker around his thoughts, “I should just kill myself before it even happens, would be nice to avoid it.”
He knew his voice sat a little emptier around those words, sinking with a stone of truthfulness he hated to truly indulge in these days. At least not before he’d fulfilled his promises.
Chuuya, as annoyingly as ever, picked up on it.
“Is it really gonna be that bad? I mean, you could probably find a way to ignore the whole court thing if you wanted to.”
He just hummed. It wasn’t his fault if the slug was too trusting for his own good. Chuuya really lacked foresight sometimes.
The mafioso sighed after a moment of silence. “Fine, whatever,” he stood, corking the bottle of wine even as he brought his glass with him, trailing behind him with the glow of tainted, “I’ll look out for whatever harebrained plot your demented head comes up with.”
Dazai watched his back, the wound-up muscles pulling creases in his tailored shirts. The chibi sure had a lot on his plate these days, didn’t he? As was the life of an executive— he would know.
Chuuya hesitated in his bedroom door, glancing back at him. “I put it in the vase, if you want it,” he rasped out, voice loud in the silence the room had fallen into. “I’m going to bed,” Chuuya announced, “The blankets are where they always are.”
The door shut, and Dazai was alone again. His eyes found their way back to that damning scrap of parchment, then slid over towards an overly extravagant vase on an equally over-the-top shelf. The ceramic was a collection of teals, yellows, and greens, and Dazai huffed a breath in amusement as he approached. Digging his hand into its opening had him grasping wood, the grain smooth against his palm as he pulled his wand from its resting place.
It fit in his hand well, molded to the grasp of his fingers as it always had been. He was hyper aware of the ottoman behind him, and he wondered how many new blankets Chuuya had collected over the years. If he still had the ones Dazai used to use.
Dazai left before he could think of checking, wand dropped back into its ceramic sheath.
***
A week later found him sat across from Chuuya, the president staring Mori down as the Agency sat unsettled. It’d been a tense week, the news of the meeting mostly sweeping Dazai’s mysterious letter under the rug. Each of his coworkers were on edge at the thought of losing an agency member to the mafia, some even moreso of the idea that it could be them.
Sure, their lot had a lot of the self-sacrificing type, but that didn’t mean they still couldn’t be worried for themselves. Even if they wouldn’t act on this worry for the sake of their coworkers in the end. Either way, they had nothing to fear.
Dazai knew exactly who Mori would pick.
“It seems it’s time for the Agency to fulfill our deal,” Mori, the slimy bastard, said, a twisted smile stretched across his face, “The transfer of one Armed Detective Agency member to the Port Mafia.” Fukuzawa clenched his fist. “Of course, you’ve set the term that Yosano’s off-limits— unfortunate— but the Agency does still have some viable candidates.”
Chuuya’s glance at him caught his eye, a quick movement to most the others in the room but not escaping the keen eye of those who knew him best. And Ranpo, of course. Though those who’d gotten it had most likely already deduced the decision.
“With these trying times, I’d find it appropriate for someone already well experienced with the workings of the mafia to… rejoin, if you will.” He said it all with a smile, one Dazai met, mirrored images of empty pleasantries on either side of the room. Kyoka tensed, but watched their exchange with vacant eyes. “Fukuzawa,” he addressed, yet to look away, “I will discuss the full terms with you and Dazai, who I look forward to working with again. Everyone else may be dismissed.”
Atsushi bristled, shooting up from his seat. “But you can’t—!”
“Atsushi,” Dazai cut off, breaking his staring contest with the Port Mafia Boss to look at the boy. Flaring emotions of stress and anger played out across his face, and Dazai allowed himself to soften. “It’ll be alright,” he assured, and though his stiffness did not fade, Atsushi gave him a nod and filed out the room with the others, each of which sent him their own glances. Worry, anger, pity, and buried relief that it was not them who was chosen present in their eyes for his now former coworkers. Distrust and wariness from his new (and old) ones. Chuuya’s eyes lingered the longest.
I’m sorry, they told him. Dazai never liked pity, but with Chuuya it was always less pity and more taunting consolation. As if he was saying ‘Sucks you have to come back to the mafia, I’d prefer it if you didn’t’. He was just as sorry for himself as he was for Dazai, and that somehow made it better.
Dazai was sorry too, but he hoped Odasaku could forgive him as long as everything went to plan— which it would. He wouldn’t let it go any other way.
“Ranpo, if you would follow your coworkers,” Fukuzawa prompted the senior detective, who hadn’t bothered rising from his seat at the table. It was nice on occasion, having someone who could read the subtle hints he gave.
“Actually, President,” Dazai spoke up, “I’d like him to stay.”
A moment of silence, then the president gave him a nod. “I don’t see how this request can’t be fulfilled. I hope you don’t mind, Mori.”
Mori narrowed his eyes at Dazai, the man in question holding his gaze with a subtle vitriol of his own, as if to ask him if he truly knew what he was doing. He had to fight the urge to kick at Mori from under the table, if only for insinuating he hadn’t thought this through.
“Very well then,” he eventually caved, pulling a manilla folder from his person. “Fukuzawa, I presume you are unaware of certain secret societies around the world.”
The president furrowed his brow, examining the other carefully. “I am unsure as to what this has to do with our current predicament.”
“Be patient. I’ll get to it,” Mori crooned. “Now, I assume you’d find it best to not lose a member of your detective agency, even if the way you utilize Dazai is… underwhelming.” Fukuzawa looked miffed at the claim, but kept himself from interrupting. Dazai had no such scruples.
“That’s rich coming from you, I was an overworked employee in horrible working conditions back in the Port Mafia!” Dazai overdramatized (only a tad bit, though), knowingly brittle in his delivery.
Mori aimed a flat look at him even as Fukuzawa spoke up, tone suspicious, “And what would you have us do to keep our members out of mafia hands?”
And at this Mori smiled. It was a sickeningly sweet look, packed with promises like a rigged dealer playing for the house, cards in hand already stacked, “Oh, we’ll still need a member, but the arrangement won’t necessarily be permanent if Dazai here can accomplish the tasks I set out for him. Some information about his… connections has recently been brought to light that I hope to put to use.”
He grimaced, but let Ranpo take the wheel for the time being. “You know Dazai won’t exactly be welcome with the wizards, right?”
Fukuzawa gave the detective a confused glance and Mori's expression gained a glacial undertone.
“It's true,” Dazai nodded, “I'm sure you've already heard the news, my summons isn’t exactly in good standing.”
“As if that’s ever stopped you before,” Mori chided, “If anything, I’d imagine you’d enjoy the challenge.”
“Ranpo,” Fukuawa interjected, “Clarification would be appreciated if we are to have a civil discussion.”
“Oh yeah, Dazai’s a wizard and Mori wants him to deal with magical society for the mafia.” Ranpo leaned against the table, munching on his third favorite brand of candies. “We should get Dazai back in one piece if he plays this right,” he said through a mouthful of the sweets.
Mori’s eyes narrowed. “Those terms have yet to be set, and it would be wise of your subordinate to watch his words in my company.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ranpo whined, waving around a freshly plucked pocky stick, “You’re just annoyed I figured out Dazai was a wizard before you.”
“Ranpo,” the president reprimanded, the older detective straightening with sigh.
“But it’s true.” The president gave a firmer glance at the mutter.
“Shall we continue?” Mori picked up, sliding the folder to their side of the table. Dazai let out a groan even while snatching the file. A quick flip through had him grimacing.
“Did you really have to compile the trial details?”
“Why of course, nothing but the best for the return of my Demon Prodigy.” Dazai just rolled his eyes. How annoying.
“Considering this is a private meeting, I assume there are details you still wish to discuss, Mori-san?” Fukuzawa prompted, subtly eyeing the folder.
“Ah, yes,” Mori obliged, “As Ranpo here said, Dazai happens to have ties to an underground community of wizards. Wizards being those with the ability to use magic— casting spells and whatnot.”
Fukuzawa furrowed his brows. “Who exactly is aware of this society?”
“Officially? Only the government, of course, though to which positions the knowledge is granted differs from nation to nation, I’ve heard. Traditionally, the head of the Port Mafia is also entitled to some long withstanding contacts within the Japanese wizarding community. However,” and here is where the man’s already sinister squint to his eyes turns dastardly, “We are looking to expand.”
Of course you are, Dazai thinks but does not say. He already knows where this is going, even if he didn’t like it.
“It seems Dazai has gotten into a spot of legal trouble with the European authorities of the wizarding community,” Mori turned to him, Dazai meeting his gaze with his mask firmly set in place. Ah, if only the venom of his glare could poison the man. His life would be so much easier. Well, until the Port Mafia collapsed and left a power vacuum shaped hole in the Yokohama underground. The follies of Mori being, unfortunately, useful.
“It’s really nothing important,” he waves away, “I’ll have it cleared up pretty soon.”
“Of that I have no doubt, Dazai. Fortunately for the mafia, this is the perfect excuse to establish some stronger ties to other wizarding communities, as they are quite the secluded bunch.”
“Not to say the Agency doesn’t appreciate the openness, but may I inquire for the reasoning behind the sharing of the Port Mafia’s plans for Dazai?” the President asked.
“It is simply to open the option for support from the agency on this mission if future events warrant it. Considering I will allow Dazai to return to the Armed Detective Agency seeing the completion of this task, I assume you will want to ensure his safety if things go awry.”
Fukuzawa looked contemplative, humming for a moment before speaking. “I find Dazai to be a valuable employee, and would hope to support the option in which he is able to return to the Agency. However, the Agency’s interference with mafia matters of which do not interfere with the peacekeeping of Yokohama itself will be left on a case by case basis. The Port Mafia is free to ask for assistance in this mission if it pertains to the safety of Dazai, but I believe it best if the Agency and the Mafia did their best to function separately in the future.”
Mori nodded along, “While I am disappointed to hear your reluctance, I can understand where you’re coming from. It is good, after all, to keep up with the Agency’s reputation, especially considering how the Decay of Angels incident tarnished it. Though it is wonderful to hear we will be able to rely on your employees in the case of an emergency.”
“As that has been clarified, may we continue?” the president asked the table, moving forward at their signs of agreement, “Dazai, what exactly are the capabilities of this wizarding community? And what sort of trouble are their authorities calling you in for?”
“Most things you can think of, they’ve got some sort of spell or potion for it, be it medical, practical, or just some random automation. And as for my issues with the authorities, the secret part of their society never mattered much to me, and I’ve acted accordingly.” Dazai frowned. “They’re a rather boring bunch, actually. Since they’ve got their magic,” he said with rolled eyes, “They don’t feel the need to keep up with the rest of the world they’ve sequestered away from. So things like technology, economy, basic human rights have all been stunted.” He let out a sigh as he flopped over the table, “That’s what isolationism will do to you.”
“Dazai.” And there was that sharp smile, sent across the table by Mori. It took a large amount of effort to keep the tension from his limbs as the man aired his request, “Why don’t you provide an example of this magic for your former president here. I’ve heard Japan’s monitoring of the so called ‘Statute of Secrecy’ is lighter than Europe’s, I’m sure it would help solidify any doubts Fukuzawa may have of the practice.”
He made it clear it was an order, the first he’d make in this temporary tenure. Dazai felt the urge to pluck Mori’s eyes from his skull. He didn’t act on it, of course. Knowing Mori, he’d make the sight of those hollowed cavities worse than his stare had ever been.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine it.
“You’d be correct, but about that…” he dragged out, “I don’t exactly keep my wand on me, so oops! Sorry I couldn’t be of any use!”
Mori gave him a look. “I assume there is at least one demonstration you can perform without a wand in hand. And may I remind you who’s orders you answer to at the moment?”
Dazai groaned, “One minute back in the mafia and I’m already being worked to the bone.” He sat up, flicking his pointer finger out. He forced a sluggish movement of magic through his veins. It was hollow in feeling, yet heavy as it sank forward, No Longer Human a thick veil smothering the magic even as he guided it. It only made him a little nauseous when he whispered a quiet lumos, the tip of his finger glowing a warm, golden light. The dizziness lingered even after he let the light fade, though maybe his lack of proper sleeping and eating habits also contributed to the sensation.
Though it was definitely the magic that exasperated it, he knew that much.
The demonstration had clearly startled Fukuzawa, the president of the agency blinking at Dazai’s now resting hand. “I see,” he muttered, a moment later rolling his shoulders back to watch Mori.
Mori, the creep, had his gaze trained on him, almost gleeful at the affirmation of his magic. Dazai doubted the man had seen much of it, given his limited magical contacts. Even Ranpo had opened his eyes for the display.
“If you’re satisfied, why don’t we iron out the details for the rest of this agreement?” Dazai said to the rest of the room, voice like iron to the near wonder that had just passed before them. The others shuffled back to other topics, and the meeting considering his break from the Agency— and it would be a break— continued.
***
Atsushi’s ears twitched. He knew their leaders were continuing their discussion, but he’d yet to process the revelations he’d heard. Dazai was apparently a wizard? Since when did those exist?
He was currently sitting with the rest of his coworkers in the main office, the mafia members lingering at the edges of the room, stoic as they were. Only Hirotsu of the Black Lizard, Kouyou, and Nakahara remained in the building with the Port Mafia boss, the rest of the grunts waiting at the street level. Kouyou was busy observing Kyoka, who steadfastly ignored the woman’s glances. Unfortunately, Atsushi could feel the prickle of the gravity manipulator’s eyes on him. He tamped down a tremor.
Everything was going to be alright. Dazai was a wizard. Dazai was a wizard, but the Port Mafia boss had also said something about his return to the mafia being temporary. Dazai— Dazai would come back. He had to. Atsushi’s mentor always had plans for these things, and he just had to think of this step as another part of his ploy.
Dazai wouldn’t be gone forever.
“Hey, weretiger.” Atsushi flinched, the voice low in his ears as his eyes darted up to meet Nakahara’s. The mafia executive was leaning against a wall near him, arms crossed in apparent boredom. “You don’t need to worry about Dazai, he’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” Atsushi breathed out the word with a shudder. Dazai and Nakahara, they knew each other. Dazai trusted him, despite him being in the mafia. They had been partners, apparently. “Yeah,” he echoed, this time accompanied by a shaky nod. He held his head high as he stared back at the gravity manipulator, “Please take care of him.”
The redhead blinked in surprise at him. Then he just sighed, slouching against the wall. “I’ll do my best, kid.” Atsushi nodded again, if only to reassure himself, and they slipped back into silence.