The Armed Detective Agency is rarely quiet—but today, the noise feels strangely subdued, like the building itself is holding its breath.

Dazai and Kunikida are still arguing across the room, as they always are, but even their voices seem less sharp than usual. Kunikida’s frustration is measured, his notebook snapping shut instead of being slammed, while Dazai’s dramatic complaints lack their usual volume. Somewhere beneath it all, the floorboards creak softly as if the office is listening.

Fukuzawa remains in his office, the door closed tight. No footsteps, no voice, not even the faint scrape of a chair—only the quiet certainty that he’s there, observing everything without making his presence known. Ranpo, meanwhile, appears completely unfazed by the odd calm. He’s sprawled comfortably in his chair, lazily unwrapping candy after candy, the crinkle of plastic one of the loudest sounds in the room.

Near the windows, Kenji excitedly tells Kyōka about a new plant he’s been carrying around all day, holding it with surprising care for someone so strong. Kyōka listens attentively, nodding along as if this is the most important discussion happening in the Agency. A few desks away, Naomi and Jun’ichirō are caught in one of their usual conversations—intimate, animated, and best left entirely unheard for the sake of everyone present.

From down the hall comes the faint sound of drawers opening and closing. Yosano is in her office, restocking bandages and medical supplies—many of which Dazai had “borrowed” without permission. Every so often, the soft clink of metal tools reminds the office that her presence is as reassuring as it is terrifying.

And in the middle of it all sits you, at your desk, surrounded by familiar chaos wrapped in an unfamiliar quiet. Papers lie where you left them, the Agency’s rhythm moving around you as if nothing is wrong… yet something feels just slightly off. Whether it’s the calm before a case—or the calm before disaster—you can’t quite tell.