The Armed Detective Agency office was cleaner than I remembered — too clean, too orderly, as if someone thought polish could substitute for control. The scent of coffee and paper didn't belong to me, but I still felt the weight of every eye in the room, sizing me up.
The last time I'd been here, I couldn't even stand.
I remembered white linen soaked in red. The sting of antiseptic. Ranpo's sharp eyes watching from the door while Yosano's hands stitched flesh back to bone and whispered, "You're lucky I like your brother."
Dazai hadn't even joined the Agency yet. The building was quieter then — fewer people, fewer questions. I'd slipped out before I was healed. Better that way.
Now? Different story.
I didn't have time for pleasantries — or to wait for a private moment with Dazai. Not today.
There were a dozen agents present — maybe more down the hallway. All alert, all tense. Most pretending not to be. Someone in the corner had a hand too close to their weapon. I took a mental note of the exits and escape routes — always better to be prepared.
I kept my focus locked on him.
Kunikida stepped in front of me, hand near his coat, eyes sharp. Blond hair, glasses, a journal half-tucked under his arm. Not a threat. But not harmless either. I'd pieced together who he was from Dazai's stories over the years.
He tried to stop me, but I brushed past, cold and unyielding. I was stronger than him, and everyone could feel it.
I dropped the sealed envelope on Dazai's desk with a dull thud, ignoring Kunikida's pointed look.
"Open it," I said flatly.
Dazai raised a brow, mock offense on his face. "No 'please'? No 'how have you been'? I'm hurt."
"You'll live," I replied. "Maybe."
He slit the seal with one finger, scanning the contents. The playfulness in his eyes flickered, just for a moment — enough to see the spark of recognition.
Ranpo's voice cut through the thickening tension.
"Okay, hold up. What plan? And why the hell is she really here, Dazai?"
Yosano's calm, clinical voice followed.
"Is she injured anywhere?"
Dazai smiled lazily, still lounging like nothing was wrong.
"I have no idea what my older sister is doing here. Though, if I had to guess, she's probably hiding more than one injury right now. Says they're just scratches, but if it were anyone else, they'd be in the hospital on the brink of death."
Without thinking, I smacked the back of his head — a reflex drilled in from years of guarding secrets.
He barely flinched. "Ow. Not my fault you waltzed in the middle of a work day. I could've made an excuse about who you are and all that."
I shot him a sharp, subtle glare — so slight that no one else in the room noticed, but Dazai caught it instantly. It said everything I couldn't say out loud.
He smirked knowingly.
"Message received. Classified."
I leaned in, voice low and sharp — just for him.
"You know why I'm here like this — in front of all these people. I'd never drag family matters into the open unless I had no choice. I don't trust outsiders. I don't want anyone else involved."
My eyes locked on his, fierce and unyielding.
"But time ran out."
His grin widened, mischievous as ever.
"Well, since you're here anyway, and since the plan's bigger than just us, maybe you'll let the ADA tag along for backup."
I rolled my eyes hard and pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting a headache that came with his logic. The room seemed to chill as I fixed him with a glare so cold it felt like the temperature dropped several degrees.
Dazai's carefree smirk didn't falter — in fact, it only widened. He held my gaze for a moment before chuckling softly.
"Message received. Classified."
I breathed the word:
"Fine."
Only because the circumstances forced my hand. Because he'd annoy me until I gave in.
Behind me, Kunikida stepped forward again, hand brushing close to his weapon.
"The president needs to be informed about this."
Dazai noticed. The tension spiked — but he smoothly defused it, raising his hands in mock surrender.
"She's not going to shoot up the place, Kunikida. If she wanted to, she wouldn't have used the door."
The room exhaled a little, some chuckles breaking out — the kind people force when danger feels close.
I tilted my head, dry.
"I came through the front door. That should tell you something."
Dazai turned to me, smirk wide.
"You're here because you trust me. Right, sis?"
I gave him a long, exasperated look, voice dripping with the sass only an older sister with four younger brothers can wield.
"Oh, please. You're my younger brother — one of them. By… what, thirty seconds?"
He grinned.
"I've got four of you to deal with," I continued, voice half-mock, half-affectionate.
"Three technically younger by seconds, one by three years. Trust isn't optional when you grow up with that many brothers. You either figure it out or go mad."
I looked at him again, voice steadying.
"I trust all of you. Always."
Dazai leaned back like I'd just handed him proof.
"Told you."
The tension eased slightly. Weapons no longer hovered near the edge.
Dazai clapped once, back to mischief.
"Well, since we're all feeling warm and fuzzy now… Tanizaki, be a dear and fetch the president. Let's not keep him waiting."
Tanizaki nodded, slipping out the door.
Moments later, the office door opened.
A tall figure stepped in — calm, confident, eyes sharp as blades. The president's presence filled the room without a word.
He nodded briefly at me, then fixed his gaze on Dazai.
"I've been briefed. Let's hear everything."
Yosano stepped forward, voice steady and formal.
"President, may I join this meeting? It was recently brought to my attention that she may be critically injured."
The president gave a small nod of approval, his tone calm but firm.
"Critical injuries will be handled first. Make the necessary arrangements."
I squared my shoulders.
No turning back now.