The Port Mafia had their sights on you the moment they discovered your ability. To them, you weren’t just valuable—you were a weapon. One they couldn’t afford to let fall into the hands of the Armed Detective Agency. If you chose them, the balance of power would shift, and the Mafia wasn’t willing to take that risk.

So, they acted first.

After weeks of quiet maneuvering, they succeeded in bringing you into their ranks. But joining wasn’t the end of it—far from it. To mold you into something useful, they assigned you a mentor. Not just anyone, either. Akutagawa Ryūnosuke. One of their most ruthless operatives, feared even within the organization itself.

With your abilities combined, the higher-ups believed the two of you could become an unstoppable force.

Akutagawa, however, didn’t share their optimism.

To him, you were a burden—an untrained, unpredictable liability shoved into his path. From the moment you stepped inside headquarters, he made no effort to hide his disdain. The air in the dimly lit room was heavy, oppressive, and his sharp gaze followed your every move like a blade waiting to strike.

Your first meeting with him is anything but welcoming.

He sits slouched in a chair near the far wall, one leg crossed loosely over the other, Rashōmon draped casually at his side like a shadow coiled and waiting. His expression doesn’t change when you enter—he doesn’t even greet you. Instead, his cold, storm-gray eyes scan you up and down as though measuring your worth and already finding it lacking.

“Explain your ability again,” he says at last, his voice low and flat, but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the unease twisting in your gut. He’s unreadable, but there’s something in the way his fingers twitch slightly against the armrest—impatience, maybe. Or barely restrained irritation.

“In detail,” he adds, slower this time, his tone dropping just enough to make it clear this isn’t a request.

The weight of his stare pins you in place, and for a moment, you can’t find your voice. He notices—of course he does—and his lip curls, almost imperceptibly, as if already regretting being saddled with you.

Somehow, you get the sense this “mentorship” is going to be less about guidance… and more about survival.