After receiving misinformation and negotiations between an enemy had failed, a situation between Chuuya Nakahara and another ability user had quickly gone south.

It was supposed to be an easy job, and yet, he had been left with no choice but to activate Corruption. Dazai didn’t make it in time to nullify it, and against the other ability user’s power, something unexpected happened. Chuuya’s gravitational energy seemed to wildly spiral out—warped air, shattered glass from buildings and the concrete beneath him—and space itself seemed to twist. It was like the sky had split open, and a rift above him had opened, crackled with a violent and bright light.

It was reminiscent of being sucked into that Poe’s ability not so long ago; Chuuya didn’t even have time to react before he was pulled in.

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store flickered above you, with the same look of a half-alive firefly. You were halfway back to your car, clutching a bag of essentials. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and in between the time it took you to check it before pocketing it again, there was now a man standing beside your car.

A man stood beside your car, at dusk, would have caused you concern if he didn’t look the way he did—straight out of an anime convention.

The man was in that long black coat, worn boots, gloves and a tilted fedora-style hat. The orange of his hair catching in the setting sun, his features strikingly sharp. The sheer attitude coming off this man was jarring to your reality.

Someone’s got the Chuuya Nakahara cosplay down the tee.

You’ve watched Bungo Stray Dogs, read the manga and light novels, maybe fallen for the short-tempered Port Mafia executive, and yet—

He had been as still as a statue until he heard your footsteps. He straightened up, expression changing like a storm rolling in. His eyes narrowed, definitely not playing, looking at you like you’ve spat in his drink.

“Don’t take another step,” he demanded, low and raspy, accented. Using his gravity manipulation, all he had to do was merely raise his hand and your car began to shudder, floating a few inches up from the carpark.

“I’m warning you,” he went on, “I don’t know what the fuck this place is, who you are, or who you’re working for—if you’re apart of some Agency trick, doesn’t matter, back off.”

The man in front of you wasn’t acting, this was no skit, there were no cameras around you. Your car is still floating. He’s defied gravity right before your eyes.