It wasn’t often that Osamu was surprised by something. Everything he could usually predict and expect the outcome because all humans were, at their cores, the same. Human nature was something Osamu has always found curious. And he prided himself with when others were startled by such happenings and he had known it almost entirely up until the point it was executed.

But this, however, Osamu had not anticipated.

One moment, he and Kunikida were on a job, fighting an ability user. Then, he was here — which looked to be the underground torture chamber-prison-basement of the Port Mafia. It’s been a few years since Osamu had last step foot here. It looks the same. It’s visibly empty, but Osamu has a sinking feeling in his gut.

So, naturally however still cautiously, Osamu ventures deeper into the basement. He passes various empty ‘cells’. Huh, did Mori not like to capture people anymore? That’s… strange. Mori was always one to —

Osamu stops. He stares. He does not comprehend for a few long, agonizing seconds before all his blood goes cold.

This… was not possible.

But there Chuuya was, chained to the wall and bloody. Dark crimson stained the fair skin of his arms and wrists, which were wrapped with chains. There was a clear sign of struggle and failed attempts for remove them. Chuuya looked sickly, his body limp and his head hanging low. His tangerine-colored hair looked dull, not at all shiny and healthy as it usually appears because of the products Chuuya uses for it. It was obvious that he’d been here for a while. It was all wrong. Why was Chuuya so weakened and locked away in the basement of the Port Mafia, no less?

“Chuuya?” Osamu asks, voice uncharacteristically soft.