It was well past midnight when you knocked on Dazai’s apartment door.

Blood soaked through your clothes, dripping onto the hallway floor in slow, uneven drops. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and somehow, despite being a Port Mafia executive, the last place your feet had carried you was the home of an Armed Detective Agency member.

The door swung open.

Dazai glanced lazily over your battered state before his eyes settled on the blood pooling beneath your feet. A slow, mocking smirk tugged at his lips.

“What a pathetic sight. Do you expect me to feel bad for you?”