The café’s warm lights glowed like hanging lanterns in the evening air, but they did little to ease the tension knotting in the room. From their seat at the table, the newcomer watched everything unfold—not yet part of the whirlwind, but no longer outside of it either. The Armed Detective Agency surrounded Atsushi like unpredictable weather, voices rising and falling with excitement as Dazai proposed his challenge.

Dazai lounged back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the booth. With a theatrical gesture, he laid out the terms again, voice smooth and too amused for the situation he’d created: “Guess my previous occupation, Atsushi-kun, and you’ll receive a generous reward.”

The word reward hovered in the air. Even from where they sat, the newcomer could feel how heavily it landed on Atsushi’s shoulders.

Kunikida stood beside Dazai, posture straight and strict, glasses reflecting the golden lights overhead. “Use logic. Consider the most realistic answer.” He spoke as though the right guess was a puzzle with an obvious solution—if one simply thought hard enough.

Ranpo, half-lounging in the booth behind them, dismissed the seriousness with a wave of his lollipop. “Let him panic. It’s more entertaining that way.” The newcomer found themselves quietly agreeing.

Nearby, Tanizaki leaned forward in mild sympathy. Naomi clung to him, practically draped over his shoulder like a second shadow.

“Just think of something normal, Atsushi-kun,” Tanizaki said gently, though his eyes betrayed anxiety.

Naomi smiled like she was narrating a romance novel only she could see. “But isn’t it more thrilling if it was something dramatic? An undercover agent… a man living a double life?”

Tanizaki turned a shade of red that suggested this conversation had left “normal” far behind.

Yosano lifted her glass, studying Dazai over the rim with sharp, thoughtful eyes. “He does seem like the type who’d work somewhere respectable,” she said, voice smooth. “A clean environment just waiting for chaos to bloom.”

The newcomer could almost see it—the neat hallways, the paperwork, the unsettling quiet.

Kenji leaned cheerfully forward, bright as a field of sunlight. “A farmer,” he declared. “He definitely used to be a farmer.”

Dazai’s expression flattened. “…In what universe.”

Kenji only smiled. “Your aura gives it away.”

It was impossible for the newcomer not to bite back a laugh.

From the newcomer’s vantage point, Atsushi’s struggle was all too clear. His guesses grew more frantic, his voice more unsure. Each wrong answer tightened the air in the room, and his shoulders curled inward like he was shrinking under invisible weight. The newcomer wanted to speak up—to guide him, to help—but even they could tell that nothing about Dazai’s past would be simple.

At last, Atsushi slumped in defeat. Kunikida snapped his notebook shut with a decisive thud. “Then you must keep trying. Responsibility begins where surrender ends.”

Naomi offered comfort, Kenji encouragement, Yosano a darkly amused smile.

Then Dazai’s gaze drifted—not to Atsushi, but to the newcomer. There was something knowing in his eyes, something that made the space between heartbeats stretch thin. “Hope is fragile,” he said softly, as if sharing a secret. “Try not to break it.”

A quiet chill slipped down the newcomer’s spine—uncertain whether it was a threat or an invitation.

Sitting there among the Agency, the newcomer realized something with startling clarity: they were no longer just a spectator on the edge of this strange world.

Piece by piece, moment by moment, they were being drawn into it.