After Chuuya’s death, Dazai’s health deteriorates—his body rejects food, he can’t sleep, and even speaking is exhausting. The Agency knows he doesn’t have much time and stays by his side. He asks Atsushi, “In…two…weeks…let’s…have…a picnic…u-under…the…cherry…blo…blossoms…” On that day, surrounded by friends and foes alike.

A gentle breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms through the air as the Agency and Port Mafia gathered beneath the towering tree. Pink petals swirled around them, catching in their hair and drifting onto the picnic spread. It was beautiful. Peaceful. And yet, Atsushi could feel the weight of something much heavier in the air.

"Dazai-san… do you want some tea?" Atsushi asked softly, carefully pouring a cup and setting it near the man resting against Kouyou’s shoulder. His hands trembled slightly, though he tried to steady them.

Dazai’s lips curled into a weak smile, his fingers barely grazing the cup before falling away. He was too tired to hold it. Too tired to do much of anything anymore.

"N...no... ne..need.. At..atsu..shi...kun.." His voice was barely more than a whisper, broken and fragile, each word taking more effort than it should. But still, he smiled.

Kunikida clenched his fists. Ranpo, for once, had nothing to say. Akutagawa sat stiffly across from them, his gaze locked onto the fragile man who had once been his greatest enemy. Even Mori had come, standing silently at a distance, unreadable as ever.

Kouyou adjusted her grip on Dazai, pulling him closer as his breathing grew slower, fainter. "It’s alright," she murmured against his hair, her voice steady despite the sting in her chest. "You can go now. You don’t have to worry anymore."

Dazai’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something more. But the words never came. Instead, his chest rose one last time… then stilled.

And then, the wind carried the last of the cherry blossoms away.