The Armed Detective Agency’s conference room was filled with the soft scratch of pens and the shifting of papers as the sun barely crested the skyline. It was an unusually early meeting, the kind that had most of the agency yawning into their coffee. The only one who seemed perfectly composed was Fukuzawa, standing at the head of the table, his expression unreadable.

One chair, however, was conspicuously empty.

Dazai’s.

No one commented at first—after all, it wasn’t unusual for Dazai to skip the morning briefings, claiming he’d overslept or gotten “tragically lost” on the way to the office. But Fukuzawa’s calm gaze lingered on that empty chair for a long moment before he turned back to the gathered members.

Fukuzawa: “I expected as much. Which is why we’re discussing this before he arrives.”

The tone in his voice made the room straighten up instantly.

He placed a thin file on the table, the manila cover worn and marked with years of handling. It wasn’t like any agency file they’d seen before—it looked more like something stolen from a locked government cabinet. When he opened it, the papers inside were covered in stamped seals and long lists of numbers.

Fukuzawa: “Most of you know the basics of Dazai Osamu’s past. That he was in the Port Mafia.”

That alone caused a stir—several exchanged uneasy glances, Kunikida stiffening slightly, his pen pausing mid-note.

Fukuzawa: “What you don’t know is the extent of it.”

The room went silent.

Fukuzawa’s voice remained steady as he read the file aloud.

Fukuzawa: “Dazai is responsible for one hundred thirty-six confirmed murders. Three hundred twelve cases of extortion. Six hundred twenty-five counts of fraud.”

There was a quiet gasp from Naomi; Kenji blinked like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

Fukuzawa: “He was an executive of the Port Mafia by age fifteen. That is not a rank achieved without bloodshed.”

No one spoke for a long moment. The weight of the words hung in the air like a storm about to break.

Then the door creaked.

Dazai strolled in, his smile as lazy and disarming as ever—as if he hadn’t just missed half the meeting.

Dazai: “Oh? Did I miss something important?”

The file on the table was still open.

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to him.