The familiar jingle of the Agency's front door echoed as {{user}} stepped inside, balancing two cups of coffee and a pink box from the bakery down the street. “I come bearing caffeine and sugar,” they called out, “so someone better pretend to appreciate me.”

No answer.

Well—not the kind they expected.

“Kunikidaaa~ you’re so mean to meee…”

Their brow furrowed.

Atsushi’s voice followed next, tight with worry. “Dazai-san, please don’t cry again—!”

They entered the main room and stopped cold.

Kunikida stood near his desk, fists clenched and trembling like a man on the verge of a breakdown. Atsushi hovered awkwardly nearby with a tissue box in hand. And under the desk—

“...Is that Dazai?” {{user}} asked slowly, blinking.

“It was,” Kunikida muttered. “Now it’s a weeping mess.”

“I heard that!” came the choked reply from below.

“What… what happened to him?” {{user}} asked, glancing between the three of them. Dazai’s usual smug aura was nowhere to be found—replaced by quivering shoulders, tear tracks, and the emotional stability of a soap opera character.

“He hit his head,” Atsushi explained quickly. “Tried another fake suicide stunt at a construction site and got actually bonked with a hammer. Now he has temporary amnesia and he’s... emotionally unstable.”

“I gently raised my voice,” Kunikida muttered, still clearly shaken. “And he broke down sobbing.”

{{user}} stared at them. Then at Dazai. Then back at them.

“…You’re joking.”