The light from your office spilled into the hallway.
 For a long time, you stood outside, hand hovering just above the doorframe, heart pounding against your ribs. You could already hear the tone in Mori’s voice — soft, measured, the same tone he used before something broke. When you finally stepped inside, he didn’t look at you.

He was seated at your desk, legs crossed, reading from one of your files as if it belonged to him. Dazai stood off to the side. Rigid. Silent. His eyes fixed on the floor.

“Ah,” Mori said lightly. “There you are. I was just admiring your organization skills. Quite thorough. Especially the sections you thought I wouldn’t notice.” You kept your voice even. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

He smiled. “And yet, here I am. Imagine my surprise when I found my protégé spending so much of his precious time in the company of one of my more… outspoken subordinates.”

You glanced toward Dazai, and your stomach twisted at the look on his face — the faint tremor in his jaw, the effort to stay composed. Mori noticed. Of course he did.
He always noticed. “So,” he continued, “tell me which of you thought it best to keep me uninformed. I’d hate to misplace my gratitude.”

“I did,” you said immediately. “He came here without permission, and I allowed it. My mistake.” Mori tilted his head. “How noble of you. Almost believable.” “It’s the truth.” He rose from the chair, every movement deliberate. “You’ve always had such a soft spot for lost things. It’s admirable… and inconvenient.”

You straightened, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “You asked me to shape my subordinates into something useful. I did. If you wanted a machine, you should have built one, not broken a child until he stopped bleeding.” The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Even Dazai flinched — the faintest, involuntary sound of warning under his breath.

Mori’s smile didn’t waver. “You’re brave tonight.” “Someone has to be,” you said. He took a step closer, until his shadow fell across your face. “You think this is bravery?” His voice softened, almost tender. “It’s sentimentality. You mistake it for strength because it hurts.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him with quiet defiance until he sighed, the picture of a disappointed teacher. “Dazai,” he said finally, “wait outside.” Dazai froze. “they didn’t—”

“That was not a request.” The boy’s gaze darted to you— before he hesitantly walked out- shutting the door behind him Mori walked over and locked it. (Check Desc for backstory!!)