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Suribachi Island is a flavorful bowl of people from various walks of life, the charred remains flourishing long after that explosion seven years ago. It would have been fine if the place stayed as a porridge with clunky ingredients: hearty but still somewhat homogenous, but ultimately not anyone’s main meal for the day.
“Something reeks,” he says as he hops from one rooftop to another, hands inside his pockets, the sea-salt wind ruffling his hair. “There’s definitely someone behind this.”
Boss hasn’t given him a mission regarding this matter, but he knows that he’s bound to interfere anyway. A lot of the old stooges have expressed their dissatisfaction about the rumors of how his name is on the roster for the next round of sub-Executive selections. That old geezer Colonel has been harping about having him investigated for possible collusion with foreign forces, refusing to accept that he alone has repelled the attack of one Transcendental towards the headquarters.
In a way, this case is something that can be attributed to a contribution to the mafia. That said, his initial reason for going here doesn’t have to do with protecting his honor or some other nonsense.
It’s just that, he’s felt something off about the reports of their shipments having trouble when they pass through Suribachi. Something reeks of fishiness, that’s all. His instincts have always been impeccable, which is why he’s following it now. Boss has given him freedom to pursue those that catch his interest, a privilege that he’s only used once before.
Something catches his eye, halting his wayward thoughts.
He circles the area, narrowing his eyes as he approaches the thing that snagged his attention. It’s a box, with a paper taped to it, one that reads “please adopt me” in a scraggly scrawl, along with a misshapen drawing of a dog. Unfortunately, instead of an actual puppy, there’s something that should be called an alien instead that’s plopped inside the box, a plastic bag of dog food resting over his stomach.
Be it regarding the way the man actually takes something out from that bag and munches on it, or the fact that he’s actually pretending to be a stray dog in broad daylight, or the fact that the parts not clothed in those thick layers are covered in bandages—every single detail about him radiates ‘extraterrestrial’.
“I didn’t think it’d actually work,” is a voice that sounds surprisingly human. One eye lazily peers at him, like he’s some unwelcome guest intruding on a pleasant naptime. “So the rumors are really true.” A long yawn, complete with a stretch not unlike a cat, “You’re really as naïve as they come.”
His instincts have always been impeccable. They yell at him now to destroy this existence before it can latch onto him and infect him further.
Wind whistles past his ears as he blazes through the distance separating them, one leg slamming down on the area like a hammer of judgment.
“Ah, and really brutish too,” is accompanied by another yawn. The other man is seemingly unbothered by how the land around him has cracked and surrendered from the air pressure due to Chuuya’s foot kicking down. One hand gently encircles his ankle, a thumb resting over his skin.
It’s similar to being doused with water, like he’s suddenly dragged underwater during a hot summer day. The coldness must be unpleasant, if not for the fact that his power rages underneath his skin all the time, so it being silenced so thoroughly feels like a comfortable respite.
“King of Sheep,” he acknowledges the other’s identity. After all, it could only be him: the possessor of a supposedly heretical power to nullify other Abilities.
Then, with a deep breath, he twists mid-air, then sweeps a kick towards the box that the other man has been using for his play-pretend. He sends Dazai Osamu flying towards the nearest wall, the impact causing the wall to disintegrate.
Chuuya isn’t the sort of person to kick someone while they’re down, because he believes in the spirit of a fair challenge. Something about the other’s aura makes him throw any consideration out of the window. He zooms through the air, a rocket following Dazai’s trajectory, so he can kick him on the stomach and pin him on the ground several hundred meters away.
As the dust starts to settle after the commotion, he keeps his foot flat on the other’s chest. “Even if you have the troublesome power to nullify Abilities, I don’t need to use my Ability to kick your ass.”
“And that’s why I called you naïve,” sounds almost-disappointed.
A flick of fingers, then there’s strange buzzing sounds around him. He looks around, then sees several guns automatically pointing at him, mounted atop rooftops of surrounding buildings. He doesn’t smell gunpowder, but something more corrosive. A split-second, and as he dodges the strange bullets that hail towards him, something that appears to be an electrical net drops from above his head.
Everything is calculated, as each attack has seemingly pushed him towards that particular position. He grits his teeth and coats his entire body with dense gravity, before kicking the electrical net away. It skitters on the ground, twitching like some forcefully reanimated corpse.
Gingerly sitting up, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, Dazai raises an eyebrow in provocation. “Oh? Whatever happened to not needing to use your Ability?”
Too cocky.
Chuuya clicks his tongue, as he observes the other party. “That’s the best plan you can devise?”
“Of course not,” comes with disdainful laughter. “Why should I show all of my cards in one go?”
He walks back to where Dazai is seated, posture radiating ease even when there’s no disguising the sharpness in his eyes. “As someone with the card of power, you use it to play games with juveniles who can only follow your orders.”
“You make it sound as if I’m forcing them to follow my arrangements.”
“I’m sure you’ve given them plenty of choices,” is full of sarcasm.
Spreading his hands, as if to vouch for his harmlessness, “They’re the ones who invited me to join them, you know?”
He still remembers the day the mafia has received that news.
That day, he was cleaning his sword after the training with Ane-san. Boss had tea with her, as he lamented about the fact that he wasn’t able to invite the infamously suicidal Tsushima genius of an heir. That day, he thought that Dazai probably just wanted the feeling of lording it over some weaker people, which is why he accepted the invitation to become Sheep’s leader.
Ever since that day, Sheep has evolved to grow fangs, biting incessantly at other organizations, causing trouble wantonly, as if begging to be squashed down by a bigger force.
“…What are you up to, Dazai Osamu?”
“Hey, isn’t this strange?” He makes a show of looking around them, even if there’s nothing but debris. “Why is a dog from the mafia asking me for information about Sheep’s plans?”
“I’m asking you, not Sheep,” he clarifies. His hands clench inside his pockets. “If you have some kind of death wish in doing all of these reckless attacks against the mafia, don’t rope along those ignorant kids, oi.”
There are no other Ability Users in Sheep. It’s originally just an organization that acts as a refuge for juveniles. It’s not something that can withstand retaliation from bigger groups.
“Wow,” is cloying with exaggerated sweetness. “For someone so short, you sure seem to be addicted to acting like a mother to strangers.”
He grits his teeth. “If Sheep continues its course now, I will soon be dispatched to dispose of all of you.”
Too many supplies have been stolen—and while the amount is far from causing their numbers to dip into red, the fact that a juvenile organization has been able to achieve as much is already too much of a blow. Those stooges too, would use this to make more noise about wanting him out of contention from the sub-Executive spot. He personally doesn’t mind showing them just what he’s capable of, but he doesn’t want to tarnish the trust and expectations that Boss and Ane-san have for him.
“Pfft, isn’t it cute that your assumption is that you’re going to beat us handily?” Bandaged hands rise to mock-cover a mouth that snorts out chuckles. “We’re more than capable of handling one chibikko.”
“You don’t want to see me when I’m serious,” he warns.
In fact, even he isn’t sure if he wants to breach past the self-imposed limit he’s placed on himself. Sometimes, he could hear something thrumming under his skin, like a beast rattling against the cage of his bones. Each attack that he makes is accompanied by a desire to go further, to hit harder, to unleash himself even more. With great power comes great responsibility, and he needs to know more about said power so he’d know how to fully rein it in.
He still doesn’t know the full circumstances of his birth—of everything that has happened up to the time that he has woken up in Port Mafia’s basement, introduced to the organization by Boss who mentioned that he kindly picked him up from the remains of an explosion in Suribachi Island. There are some documents that are in Boss’s hands, but he could only gain access to them once he becomes an Executive.
His instincts have always been impeccable.
He can sense that there’s a terrifying truth behind it, and an even more terrifying power. He doesn’t want to come close to its edge, and he definitely doesn’t want to wield such power against powerless kids, even if they’re technically enemies of the mafia.
“Don’t worry, with your height, I can’t even see you now,” is a sentence that gets cleaved in half as Dazai dodges a kick that aims to lop off his neck.
They perform a dizzying dance all over the stage that has been arranged for him. He lets his instincts guide him with his attacks, but they’re all dodged by the other man, moving past him like slippery fish. His free-flowing attack style is one of his considerable strengths, but they’re all being read perfectly by this guy.
He knows that he’s supposed to be some once-in-a-lifetime genius, to the point that even Boss would lament not getting him to join as a strategist for the mafia. But this goes beyond his expectations. More importantly, “Someone who can only have unfunny height jokes should shut the hell up!”
“I agree,” sounds a bit breathless. After all, reading his attacks is one thing. Having the physical constitution to dodge is another matter entirely. “Your height is really very unfunny. Are you supposed to be, what, six?”
“I’m fifteen, fuck you!”
For a brief moment, he wishes that he’s taken his sword with him, if only for the satisfaction of cutting off this guy’s tongue. But since he’s not here on official mission, taking that sword from Ane-san’s dojo is bound to raise some questions.
A provocative whistle. “Wow, the mafia is really desperate if it’s resorting to child labor.”
“How are you any different, when you’re using a gang of kids as your lackeys?!”
“Well, I’m very cute and lovable,” is such a brazen statement that it stops him in his tracks, utterly confused by the syllables that have formed words that fail to make any sense to his ears.
By the time he screeches out “Ha?! What the hell are you saying?!”, Dazai has already hopped away like some mummified frog.
There’s no such thing as a ‘safe distance’ when it comes to dealing with the burst of speed he can obtain with his gravity manipulation. But Dazai seems confident in his escape, opening up four meters between them. “I’m saying that if you wish to investigate stealthily into that explosion in Suribachi, you should be nicer to this island’s ruler.”
This time, his breath freezes in his lungs. He narrows his eyes and feels the telltale glow of his Ability cloaking him. “So you’re saying that you have eyes everywhere.”
The papers inside the top-secret vault can only be accessed by those in the Executive-level. He doesn’t have plans of stealing those documents. That said, it’s not as if it’s been explicitly forbidden for him to delve into those matters using his own resources. He’s been making discreet trips to investigate that explosion—but it seems that this fishy bastard holds this island under a tight rein.
“I’ve heard that there’s a little fairy flying around in the area,” when accompanied by a noncommittal shrug still fails to sound lighthearted. Dazai licks his lips. “I made sure to pay attention and put you under a microscope’s scrutiny.”
He takes a moment to digest those annoying words.
Boss has always reminded him about the importance of logic in one’s actions, even if he relies on instincts. According to the complaints of those old geezers, they’d be more amenable to recruiting this guy as a sub-Executive instead of him. A genius with a rumored dark mind, one that evokes the feeling of being a successor to Boss.
He’s not particularly attached to the concept of becoming a mafia boss in the future. He’s always felt that he’s more suited as the sword of gravity that can cut down the mafia’s enemies.
That said, if this guy is a lot like Boss, then it means that all of his actions should have logic governing them.
He blinks.
He can’t presume to know how the Boss thinks, but with this guy’s fishy aura and shitty personality—
“You’ve been wanting me to go here on my own,” he says slowly. If the other man has done research on him, and made predictions about his actions, then he has already surmised that he wouldn’t remain quiet about Sheep’s wanton actions. Him going here alone to give him a warning beforehand is part of the plan.
And it’s not something so simple as him being alone being easier to defeat.
With all those considered, “You want to make a deal about the information on Suribachi Island’s explosion.”
“Not bad, shorty.” Dazai’s lips curve up. “I want to make some further investigations, but the danger level is beyond anything Sheep members can protect me from. I need a meat shield.”
“Not afraid I’ll directly make you into minced meat?”
A flippant handwave. “You’ll agree to our deal. You strike me as the stubborn type who’d never quit on something halfway through.”
“And if I somehow get injured in the process of me helping you out, that’s only good news since the mafia will lose my firepower.” He stretches out his left arm to his side, sweeps all the debris to its side, coiling everything in crimson. A red broadsword is formed on the air, made of tightly-packed dirt and rubble. “And if I somehow get spotted being on good terms with you, people would either think that Port Mafia is backing Sheep. Or that I’ve defected. Or both.”
“And in return, you’d get more information about that explosion,” is the easy reply.
This guy is infamous for being suicidal too. “And if I somehow end up failing to protect you, you’d just be happy that you’d end up dying.”
“Very nice. It’s good to see that there’s some brains in that tiny body,” would sound more condescending, if there isn’t an unholy light on Dazai’s eyes right now, as they look at him with something like greed. “It’s a shame that you’ve destroyed the box I especially prepared. I’d be happy to invite you back to my home as my new puppy.”
The makeshift broadsword rattles and seethes. “Better fix your words, unless you want me to renovate this island to my liking.”
“Just this island?” Dazai blinks at him, reaching out, as if longing to bleed upon that crimson display of power. “Wouldn’t it be more fun to make waves upon a bigger area?”
Rather than the moniker ‘King of Sheep’, Chuuya thinks that ‘bastard king’ fits him better. He has no doubt that this bastard would happily wear a crown made of skulls.
“I’m never working for you,” he vows, then swings the gigantic blade towards Dazai’s neck.
Dazai laughs, closes his eyes, and stretches his hands, as if to embrace the attack that eventually rushes past him and makes a commotion by slamming into a row of houses full of those spying on their meeting. Like he’s expected that move from him too.
“Happy cooperation,” is said by the pair of them, baring their teeth at each other, as the red swirls around them like a powerful storm.
Whatever this storm brings, only the future can tell.
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end