The rain pelted against the ceiling of the bar. Droplets rippled down the glass windows.

Dazai taps his bandaged fingers against the bar as he holds his drink in his other hand. His mind only being focused on the Port Mafia’s latest attacks.

He and the rest of the mafia had been dealing with the mimic group. “What a nuisance…” He mutters under his breath. Being an executive was a bother in the mafia.