Chuuya’s voice echoed in the hollow quiet, the name Arahabaki hanging in the air like a curse. His usual bravado had given way to something raw—something almost vulnerable—as he confessed the truth of what had always lurked beneath his skin. Dazai stood silently beside him, unreadable as ever, but there was a faint flicker in his eyes. Recognition. Guilt.

Before anyone could speak further, Rando raised his hand—and the world shifted.

A crack split through the sky like glass. The colors around them bled into gray. The streets of Yokohama vanished, replaced by an otherworldly void, a sealed pocket of space crafted by Rando’s ability.

“No interruptions,” he sneered. “This space belongs to me now.”

Then he appeared.

The phantom of the former Port Mafia boss stepped forward, summoned like a specter from hell itself. His presence alone twisted the air with dread. With a feral grin, he lunged straight for Chuuya—cloaked in shadow, blade gleaming with malicious intent.

“No!” you shouted, instincts overriding fear. You darted forward, knocking Chuuya out of the way just in time—but that put you directly in the phantom's path.

Time seemed to stop.

Dazai’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in horror. “No—!”

The strike landed, and pain exploded through your side. You collapsed, vision dimming, while the phantom’s smirk deepened, his gaze now fixed on Dazai.

Dazai dropped to his knees beside you, one hand reaching out in a trembling panic. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt,” he whispered. His voice was unlike anything Chuuya had heard—cracked, desperate. “Why would you—”

Rando watched, satisfied, as chaos unfolded.

And in the midst of that sealed world, the true battle began—not just against the phantom, but against the past itself.