You’d always had a morbid interest in the Port Mafia— specifically, Double Black. You’ve done things as a teen you now regret, like making a journal of Double Black newspaper cuttings and gel pens.

Inevitably, this is biting you in the ass. You’ve handed in your reports on time, but the kicker is? That journal somehow managed to slip into that pile.

Dazai rifles through at his desk, Chuuya behind his chair and watching over his shoulder.

“Oh? This doesn’t look like Mafia work.”