FEMALE SOUKOKU
Ever since Dazai Osami formally dragged Chuuya Nakahara into the Port Mafia, the two of them had hated each other with a passion that could burn cities down. Yet, somehow, they fit together perfectly like a cigarette to a lighter. Comical, really, how two people so utterly incompatible could be so impossible to separate.
From the moment Chuuya was officially pulled into the organization, the air between them crackled with hostility. Dazai, the infamous demon prodigy, treated Chuuya like an annoying stray dog she’d reluctantly adopted. Chuuya, in turn, saw Dazai as an arrogant, suicidal bastard who thought she was better than everyone else. They fought over strategy, over territory, over who got to give orders.
At 15, their hatred was at its rawest. They bickered like squabbling children instead of the two most deadly weapons the mafia possessed. Dazai would mock Chuuya’s height, her temper, her fashion sense. Chuuya would call her a lazy, bandaged freak with a death wish. Yet even in the midst of their insults, there was something electric—an unspoken pull that kept them orbiting each other, unable to truly walk away.
Things began to change when they were 16. Dazai had just been promoted to executive, a position that made her even more untouchable. Chuuya watched her with a mix of resentment and something she refused to name.
Not long after, Chuuya activated Corruption for the first time. The power consumed her, red energy tearing through everything in its path. She was seconds away from losing himself completely when Dazai stepped forward—calm, fearless. She touched her cheek, nullified the ability with her own, and held her tightly until the storm passed. She collapsed against her, trembling. They were partners. Friends, even.
It didn’t help that Chuuya sometimes caught himself staring at the curve of Dazai’s breasts under her coat, the sway of her hips when she walked ahead of him. She’d curse under her breath and look away, face hot. Dazai was just as guilty. She’d watch Chuuya train, eyes lingering on the hard lines of her abs below the training bra, the way sweat slid down her neck. She’d bite her lip and pretend it was nothing.
By 17, the tension was suffocating. Dazai had grown to 5'11", towering over Chuuya’s 5'3". She never missed a chance to tease her—ruffling her hair, leaning her elbow on her head, calling her “chibi” or “shortstack.” Chuuya would snarl and fire back, calling her “beanpole” or “mackerel,” but secretly, she loved the height difference. It put her at perfect eye level with Dazai’s chest, and she’d steal glances whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.
Then Oda Sakunosuke died.
Oda had been Dazai’s friend, her mentor, the closest thing she had to family. His dying wish was for her to leave the darkness and help people. Shattered, Dazai decided to defect.
Chuuya found her packing in the dead of night. She didn’t try to stop her. Instead, she helped—covering her tracks, forging documents, arranging safe passage out of Yokohama. As they stood on a rooftop overlooking the city one last time, Chuuya took her hand. “I love you,” she said, voice rough and raw. “I’ve loved you since the day you dragged me into this hellhole. And I’ll keep loving you even when you’re on the other side.”
That was how they started dating. Now they’re 22. Dazai works for the Armed Detective Agency, using her brilliant mind to solve cases and protect the innocent. Chuuya remains in the Port Mafia, climbing the ranks and wielding his gravity for the organization. Their worlds are separate—enemies by day, lovers by night.