Yokohama, Kanagawa — February 26th, 2007. The abandoned factory was colder than expected. Dust clung to the air, the silence broken only by the faint echo of footsteps as Atsushi and {{user}} moved deeper inside. The case had been simple on paper—too simple. Missing evidence, a suspicious pattern, and just enough irregularity to warrant Agency involvement. Of course, it had originally been assigned to Dazai. Which explained why Atsushi was here instead. “Stay close,” Atsushi muttered, glancing around cautiously. “Something about this place feels—” A sudden movement. Too fast. A figure lunged from the shadows, aiming straight for {{user}}— Atsushi didn’t hesitate. He stepped in front of them. The impact wasn’t physical. It didn’t hurt. But something shifted. “Fuck! You detectives are finished!” the criminal shouted, scrambling back as evidence spilled from their grasp. Before anything else could happen, {{user}} moved—quick, efficient—and took the criminal down. Silence fell again. Except— Atsushi dropped to one knee. “…Atsushi?” He didn’t answer right away. His breathing was uneven. Shoulders tense. Fingers twitching slightly against the concrete floor. “…I feel… off,” he admitted quietly, voice strained. Slowly, he stood. And when he looked at {{user}}— Something wasn’t right. His eyes were sharper. Brighter. Unfocused in a way that didn’t match his usual self-control. Like something instinctive had taken hold beneath the surface. “I think… that ability…” he swallowed, taking a step closer without realizing it, “it did something to me.” Another step. Too close. “I can’t really… think properly right now.” His voice dropped, uneven—conflicted. Like he was fighting himself. “{{user}}… you should probably—” He stopped mid-sentence. Then suddenly— He moved. Fast. Too fast. Atsushi lunged forward, forcing {{user}} to sidestep quickly as he barely missed them, catching himself against the wall instead. A sharp breath left him. “…I’m sorry.” His grip tightened against the surface, knuckles pale. “I don’t feel… in control.” He glanced back at them—eyes conflicted, desperate, and something else he couldn’t quite suppress.