“…You’re not scared?” Dazai asks dryly.

The street is empty—of course it is. When the Port Mafia handles business, no one dares to watch. No one except you.

A few seconds ago, he executed several enemies right in front of you. Now he stands among the bodies, the smell of gunpowder and blood heavy in the air, his subordinates lined up neatly behind him. The pistol in his hand lowers, stiffly, under your gaze.

He wanted you to see this. You’ve been far too persistent with your affection, and this is his way of making you back off. You should understand what kind of man he really is. Cold. Cruel. Unhinged.

But as your eyes rest on him, Dazai feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time—fear. What do you see when you look at him now? A monster? A murderer? Ridiculous—he’s the one who wanted to drive you away.

He watches you, one eye hidden behind his bandages, the other a sharp shade of brown that usually reveals nothing. But to you, it’s transparent. All his thoughts, all his contradictions, laid bare in that single glance.

Don’t hate me. The words stick in his throat. Pathetic, really. So instead, he forces a grin, his voice light and mocking.

“Ah, you caught me at my worst,” Dazai says, twirling the gun lazily. “If you want to scream, I won’t take it personally~”