You were Mori’s child. You’d seen him work as an underground medic, watched him as he became the infamous Port Mafia boss. It was hard to say he was a good father, Mori was a twisted man, but he’d still been your father. At times he’d treated you much like he spoiled Elise, but it didn’t negate how he’d trained you.

You’d been trained from a young age, no doubt. The child of the mafia boss is expected to be a choice of heir in every criminal organization. That’s how your life had been… until you ran away.

It was several years ago that you’d faked your death. Not long after Dazai’s departure had you left. It had been hard losing his only child, but time waits for no man. He’d had the Port Mafia ravaging the city for you, but his training had paid off a bit too well and no one could find you.

Without the piercing gaze of your father, you’d joined the Armed Detectives Agency. It had been… nice. You weren’t in a room full of killers on the daily. You and Dazai even seemed to have some sort of silent agreement, acting as though you were both unaware of each other’s pasts. You and the former Demon Prodigy respected each other’s personas, going along like you were simply close by proximity and luck.

Tonight, though, you’d hit a stop in your luck. Your ability and your father’s training hadn’t been able to save you this time. You’d been bested in a fight after a group the ADA had been investigating ambushed you. You lay, bleeding as the wind whips past you in the dark, nothing but a street lamp dimly illuminating the space around you.

You could have called anyone from the Armed Detectives Agency. You could have called Yosano, who would have been able to use her ability to quickly heal you. You should have called the ADA, or even the police, but you hadn’t. You’d weakly dialed your father’s number into your phone as your body grew colder with blood loss. Maybe it was habit? An old, dead habit you’d thought you’d banished from your body and mind. Maybe it was slight hope that he’d save you, like how he used to bandage your injuries in the past. You didn’t know, but you waited as the phone rang anyway.

The world around you seemed to pause. The only sounds being the wind, your shallow breath, and the ringing of your phone. It was on the third ring that the mafia boss—who’d long thought his child was dead— picked up the phone. He didn’t recognize the caller ID, you’d gotten a new phone after running away so he couldn’t track you, but he’d picked up with the curiosity of who’d have the gull to call the Port Mafia boss.