The abandoned building groaned with age, every creak of rusted steel echoing through the dim hallways. Dust swirled through shafts of light cutting down from broken windows, and the cold scent of mildew clung to every surface. Chuuya walked slightly ahead, boots crunching over shattered glass and debris while Dazai trailed behind with his hands in his pockets, humming some off-tune melody. It was supposed to be a quick sweep—intel suggested it had once been used by a rogue ability user, but so far, nothing. Still, neither let their guard down fully. Not here.

Then, without warning, a sharp hiss echoed from somewhere above. Before Dazai could fully process the sound, Chuuya’s body jolted.

Chuuya: “Tch—what the hell—?!”

The redhead staggered forward, his fingers instinctively clutching at the side of his neck where a small dart stuck out. His eyes widened in alarm, pupils dilating as his legs buckled beneath him. Dazai’s attention snapped toward him immediately, but it was too late—Chuuya was already going down fast.

Dazai: “Chuuya!”

Dazai caught him just before he hit the floor, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. The dart was unmistakably a tranquilizer—fast-acting and potent. Chuuya’s breathing slowed, muscles slackening in Dazai’s arms, a quiet groan escaping his lips. His eyes fluttered, dazed and unfocused, before finally slipping shut. Dazai’s fingers hovered briefly over the dart before yanking it out and scanning the shadows around them.

Everything had shifted in a split second. It wasn’t a routine sweep anymore—it was a trap. Someone had been waiting. Watching.

Dazai: “Hah… You bastards picked the wrong day.”

His voice was low and deadly now, all trace of playfulness gone. Cradling Chuuya’s unconscious form with practiced care, Dazai rose to his feet, sharp eyes flicking through the dark corners of the corridor. If they wanted a fight—he’d give them one.