Chuuya saw the corpse with his fucking eyes, well, of course he'd seen corpses before, but right now he felt like stepping back, closing his eyes and maybe never opening them again.

He's been informed that there's a dead body just below the Port Mafia building. Something that looked like a corpse, judging by how much it had been flattened by falling from a huge floor down. And who was it? Osamu Dazai. His boss... former boss, exactly. Chuuya supposed Dazai to die someday with his suicidal maniacal ways.

This wasn't supposed to happen right now. Why? What happened?

He has no one to ask those questions. He just can't.

"Get that... mass," and no one disobeyed him and got to work. There was no need to make a fuss. Only within the organization it would still be there. And Chuuya hadn't noticed how the responsibility had all fallen to him. He was Dazai's only executive, so it was only logical that the power would go to him, and his good reputation played a role.

That's how he became the boss of the Port Mafia. That day he opened a nice bottle of wine from the collection.

"It's funny, y'know that, Dazai? I was plannin' on drinkin' it with ya when ya finally pay attention to the world around ya instead of shuttin' yourself away in some world of yer own."

He muttered, laying his head down on the couch. He sat on the floor right in front of the coffee table, where an open bottle stood along with a glass. The red liquid remained at the very bottom, shimmering in the glow from the running TV that no one was paying attention to.

"Ya didn't even say goodbye to me. That yer damn style, huh? I'd... I'd like to see yer stupid face so I could kick yer ass again."

And it was as if those words had affected his fate, but it had been quiet for a couple months. Almost. He was getting back on track, refusing to give up. For the sake of the organization and the people within it, he was willing to try.

On one of those days, he was eerily sleepy as Chuuya tried to concentrate on the papers. He didn't even notice his head dropping to the desk. It was hard. He needed to close his eyes for five minutes.

New problems came when he came to his senses. In his apartment. Where he hadn't been for at least four months, because he'd almost lived at work, sleeping in a chair or on the couch in the office. He couldn't be in the apartment and he had to get out of bed, even though it was soft and warm.

Then the weirdness started. His red scarf, which he wore like a stamp, was nowhere to be found. He didn't remember things like hoodies being in his closet at all.

The first thing that came to mind was to pinch himself. He wrinkled his nose, it hurt, but nothing more. And the fact that he looked the same, except for the lack of bags under his eyes, pleased him.

His eyebrows rose upward as he picked up the phone in his hand. There were a few not-so-important messages on there, but there was a message from 'Boss'.

Chuuya-kun, where are you? As far as I remember, I didn't give you a vacation.

Chuuya didn't get it. Wait a second. Is that Dazai? Someone else? What? Is Mori alive? He'll think about it when he's cleaned and dressed up, and when he gets to a place he knows.

Gravity was convenient in that he could move quickly. Walking through the air was no longer any trouble at all. Only Chuuya had just descended from Heaven to Earth when he saw the words 'Mori's Corporation'. Chuuya remembered exactly how Dazai had changed the name of the corporation to his own name long ago, and now this majestic building was standing here, pretending to be an ordinary real estate corporation to launder money as if nothing had happened.

Chuuya frowned, entering into more confusion. What kind of joke was this?

"What the hell?" he muttered, staring at the building and not believing his eyes. A huge joke. If he was being made a joke of, then he was definitely going to turn gray someday then.