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Yokohama’s evenings always felt like a wet and heavy blanket. The air was thick with the smell of rain, old garbage, and something metallic that people who lived there just learned to ignore. And, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke was just another shadow in all of it. His black coat blended in perfectly as he walked through the alleys. The usual city noise was just background static, but tonight, something else cut through it. It was a smell, a sweet and clean smell. It was way out of place. It pissed him off.
What the hell was that? It was like someone had dropped a bouquet of soap in the middle of a dump. He followed it, Rashomon writhing under his skin, ready and waiting to tear apart whatever was making that stupidly nice smell.
He found it in some forgotten little courtyard, all dead grass and rusty crap. Lifting himself up with his ability to the other side of the half-ruined brick wall. There he saw a vine with dark leaves, and on it, one huge, white flower that looked like it was glowing. A moonflower, was it? He’d seen them in books.
It was ridiculous. It was so fragile. Moon flowers usually bloomed for a few hours, throughout the night, but then, it would wilt again as soon as the sun rose. It was a never-ending cycle. What was the point? It was useless. It was such a useless flower but for some reason he couldn't look away. It wasn't just white; it had its own soft light, pushing back the dark just enough to be seen. The smell was stronger here too. It was the smell of something that wasn't blood or fear.
He stood there for a while, a black ghost watching a white one. His whole life was about the dark. He was born in it, fought in it, and got stronger in it. His whole deal was proving he wasn't the weak kid from the slums, proving it to that bastard Dazai. He was the dark. This flower… it didn't fight the dark. It bloomed because of it. Akutagawa thought that the flower was just like him. It was doing its thing in the moonlight, not giving a damn about the sun.
"...Akutagawa?"
Of course. Of course that familiar voice would show up to ruin the one moment of quiet he'd had all night. Akutagawa didn't jump, but his whole body went rigid. He looked up as to glare at his rival? enemy? Nakajima Atsushi. The weretiger from the detective agency, and Dazai’s new mentee. He was on the wall, looking at him with that dumb, concerned expression that made Akutagawa want to kill him.
"Jinko," he growled. "Did you follow me here to get yourself killed? I'm not in the mood for your crap."
Atsushi didn't even flinch.
"Nah, just heading back from the store," he said as he held up a plastic bag. "Saw you went over this wall, and then just saw you… standing there glaring at whatever. You were kinda… not moving. It was weird." His eyes slid over to the wall. "Oh, a moonflower. It's pretty, isn't it?"
"Pretty?" Akutagawa scoffed. "It's a waste. It opens for a few hours, then it's dead. It doesn't do anything. It's weak."
"I don't know," Atsushi said as he walked closer. "I think it's pretty strong. It waits all day, and when it gets dark, it goes all out. It doesn't need the sun to be beautiful. It's got its own thing going on." He almost touched it, then pulled his hand back. "It only has the night, so it has to give its everything."
Akutagawa just stared at him. The simple way he put it was so annoying.
"You talk about strength like it's some fairy tale. You wouldn't know strength if it bit you. Strength is about crushing your enemies so you can keep breathing. This flower just sits there and then it's gone. Pointless."
Atsushi just sighed as he sat down on the wall, still looking down on Akutagawa. (Akutagawa hated how the Jinko wouldn’t just come down. If he did, then Akutagawa wouldn’t have to look up, and the weretiger wouldn’t ‘look down’ on him.)
"I don't think it's pointless," Atsushi said, his voice getting a little serious. He looked from the flower then back to Akutagawa. "It makes the night smell better. It makes this gross little corner a little less dark. Maybe that's its whole deal. Not to fight, but just to be here and make things a tiny bit better. Is that so worthless?"
The question hit him harder than he wanted to admit.
Purpose.
The word bounced around in his head.
His purpose had always been Dazai. To make that guy see him. To be a weapon worth keeping. But Dazai was gone, and his approval was a ghost. So what now? Be Mori's attack dog? That was surviving, yeah, but it felt empty. A big, hollow nothing.
He looked at the flower again. He saw its short life not as a waste, but as a choice. It couldn't bloom in the sun, so it bloomed under the moon. It couldn't live long, so it went all out in the evenings. It was a perfect and complete act of being.
"I'm a creature of the dark, Jinko," Akutagawa said as his voice lowered, and for once, it lost its sharp edge. "That's what I am. My power, everything about me, is a middle finger to the light. I always thought I had to master the dark to get the light to notice me."
Atsushi just frowned, looking confused.
"Akutagawa…"
"But this thing," he said, still staring at the glowing flower, "it doesn't give a damn about the sun's approval. It's doing fine with the moon. It's not a flaw that it lives in the dark; it's just what it is. It's what makes it strong." And suddenly, it all clicked. The years of chasing after Dazai, trying to be something he wasn't… it was all wrong. He'd been trying to be a damn sunflower in a world that only gave him moonlight.
"So… what does that mean for you?" Atsushi asked, who was now (at this point) laying on the fucking wall.
When the weretiger said that, Akutagawa didn’t sense any sarcasm nor pity. It was just a real question.
Akutagawa finally looked away from the flower and at the weretiger. He didn't see an enemy for once. Just some other orphan who'd crawled out of hell. Atsushi had chosen the light, found a family, whatever. Good for him.
"It means," Akutagawa said, the words feeling weird and new, "my purpose isn't to run from the dark. It's to own it." He thought about the Mafia, about the city's underworld. That was his world. He didn't need the Agency's approval. He didn't need Dazai's pat on the head. "This darkness is my territory. And I'm not just gonna be a tool that breaks things in it. I'm gonna be the one who decides what the darkness really is. A shadow that gives the light its shape, not by chasing it, but by just being."
It wasn't about being a good guy. Screw that. It was about taking the crap hand he'd been dealt and building something with it. Like the flower, he'd find his own way to shine in the world he actually lived in.
Atsushi was quiet for a second, just looking at him. He didn’t really understand what Akutagawa was saying but still, a small smile appeared.
"I think I get that," he said. "That's a… really good purpose, Akutagawa."
Akutagawa sneered, but there wasn’t any bite to it, "Don't pretend you get me, Jinko."
"Right," Atsushi said, his smile not going away. "Well, I gotta go. Kyouko's probably eaten all the snacks by now." He gave a little nod to Akutagawa, then to the flower, and left.
He was alone again. Akutagawa thinks it’s better that way. He still couldn’t believe that he spoke his mind to the Jinko, of all people. He'd gotten soft, let his guard down just because the air felt thick. Not that he could sense anything other than the sweet smell of the damn flowers. He reached out, his fingers hovering over a petal. Rashomon, for once, wasn't being a pain in the ass. It was quiet. As was Akutagawa.
The silence stretched, thin and fragile like the petal before him. For years, silence had meant a prelude to violence, a moment to gather his killing intent. This was different. It was just… quietness, peace. The city hummed its distant, indifferent tune, but here, in this forgotten corner, the only thing that mattered was the soft glow of the moonflower and the slow, steady beat of his own heart.
He finally let his fingers hold the entire flower. It was cool, impossibly smooth, and felt like silk spun from starlight. A strange sensation, not the cold steel of a blade or the rough texture of a coat worn through too many fights. It was alive. And for a second, he envied its simple existence. Bloom, smell, and be gone. No past to haunt it, no expectations to crush it.
He pulled his hand back as he curled his fingers into a fist. The feeling lingered. A declaration made to a weretiger in a dirty courtyard didn't change the world. But it changed something in him. The constant, frantic need for Dazai’s ghostly approval had faded into a dull ache, something he could finally ignore. The chains were still there, he could feel them, but for the first time, they felt loose.
A new resolve settled in his bones, colder and sharper than his old ambition. He wasn’t chasing the light anymore. He was the thing the light had to be bright enough to push against. He wouldn't just be Mori's dog, tearing flesh on command. He would be the dark itself: selective, precise, and utterly his own being. The Port Mafia was his kingdom of shadows, and he would decide which shadows deserved to exist, and which ones he would devour.
With one last look at the flower, a silent acknowledgment of its brief, brilliant rebellion, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke turned his back. He didn't use his ability to leap over the wall this time. He found the rusted gate, its hinges screeching in protest, and walked out onto the street. The night air still smelled of rain, but now, underneath it all, he could still catch the faint, clean scent of the moonflower.
It was a reminder. He didn't need to be a morning glory that comes alive only in the light.
He was a moonflower, and his night had just begun.