(Dazai's POV)
The president sat behind his desk, composed and silent — the kind of silence that said we're listening, but don't waste our time.
I leaned casually against the wall, pretending to be comfortable. Emmaly stood in the center of the room like a blade waiting to be drawn.
When Mori entered, he didn't bother with greetings. He strolled in with Ane-san behind him, cool and unbothered, always five moves ahead in whatever game he was playing.
His eyes landed on Emmaly, and something unreadable passed through them. A flicker — recognition, maybe.
"The eldest sister herself," he murmured. "A rare visit."
I opened my mouth, but the president spoke first — calm, direct.
"Let's keep this focused, Mori. We're not here for theatrics." His tone was polite, but it left little room for interpretation. "I believe there's a file that requires our attention."
Mori smiled faintly, just enough to let us know he'd noticed the correction.
Emmaly stepped forward and placed the sealed envelope on the desk. Not a word. Not a glance to anyone but me. Even now, she didn't look at Mori — like he wasn't worth her breath.
The president opened the envelope himself this time, breaking the seal. He read quickly, methodically, no sign of emotion until his eyes narrowed slightly at the second page.
When he finished, he passed it to Mori — whose eyes lingered longer. His expression never changed, but I knew him well enough to see the tension behind the stillness.
Emmaly didn't speak. Her arms were folded. Her stance sharp. I knew that posture — a wall built from years of practice. She was giving them just enough to keep the conversation going and nothing else.
The president looked up, gaze steady.
"This... isn't a local matter," he said finally. "Which means you're reaching beyond the usual chain of command, Miss Dazai. If that's your name."
"She doesn't go by it," I said simply. "But yes. She's my sister."
His eyes flicked to me. "You didn't mention you had one."
"You didn't ask."
Emmaly's eyes cut to me briefly — sharp, warning. I gave her a slight smile.
"More to the point," the president continued, bringing the weight of the conversation back, "this situation involves a foreign threat, covert operations, and what I can only describe as organized psychological warfare. I don't need to tell you what that kind of information means inside my office."
"She knows," I said.
"Then let's stop circling the point. What exactly do you want from us?"
At that, Emmaly finally moved. Just slightly — a shift in weight, a narrowing of the eyes.
She still didn't speak. But she didn't have to. The envelope was her voice. Everything else was just warning.
Mori spoke next — voice softer, but with that usual undertone of knives in velvet.
"Whoever authored this dossier knows what they're doing. A 'shadow leader'? Controlled disappearances across borders. Psychological imprint conditioning? Not exactly something you pick up off the street."
His eyes slid to Emmaly. "And you just happened to come into possession of this?"
Emmaly said nothing.
I stepped in for her, just enough.
"She came here because she didn't have a choice," I said, folding my arms. "You know she wouldn't have walked into this building in broad daylight if the clock wasn't already ticking."
Mori's gaze lingered on her a beat longer before the president cut him off — not with words, but with a look. One that said enough.
"We'll need time to vet this," the president said carefully. "But if what you've brought us is real, then you understand why we can't keep this quiet."
That finally earned a reaction from Emmaly — the faintest twitch of her jaw.
Then she turned, looked only at me, and spoke in a voice low enough that no one else was meant to hear it.
"You know I didn't want outsiders involved."
"I know," I said, smile never fading. "But you showed up in my office, in front of everyone, in the middle of a workday. You didn't give yourself a choice."
She didn't argue.