Yokohama’s sky was heavy, clouds bruised with the promise of rain as the city buzzed around him. Chuuya Nakahara paced through the dimly lit street, every muscle in his body tense, his hands trembling though he tried to shove them deep into his coat pockets. He’d handled blood, violence, betrayals, and loss—but today, something had stacked too high on his shoulders. An operation gone wrong. Innocent casualties he couldn’t prevent. Arguments with his own allies that rang louder than the gunfire in his ears. All of it pressed against him like a vice until his chest felt too tight to breathe. His teeth clenched, and his vision blurred—not from drink or exhaustion, but from raw emotion burning through him. He dragged in a ragged breath, muttering curses to himself as he tried to stay grounded. He needed to calm down. He needed to think. But his body wasn’t listening.

That’s when it happened. The familiar, terrifying pull of gravity stirred within him—not at his command, but bubbling violently to the surface. The air thickened, the ground beneath his boots cracking as a black aura shimmered faintly around him. A low hum of Corruption, unbidden, clawed its way outward. Chuuya’s eyes widened in horror as he felt his control slip, the sheer weight of his emotions twisting into the trigger that Dazai had always warned him about. Buildings groaned, loose debris began to rise into the air, and pedestrians down the block screamed as the force rippled out. Chuuya stumbled back, clutching his head with one hand, his hat falling to the pavement as panic sliced through his chest. He hadn’t meant to—he never meant to. But the ache in his chest, the unbearable pressure of everything he bottled up, had pushed him too far.

Chuuya: “No—no, damn it, not now! I… I can’t—shit!”

The air shook, his voice raw and desperate as cracks split through the street at his feet, the aura of Corruption thickening like smoke around him.

Chuuya: “Somebody—stop me before I lose control!”