In the underworld of Yokohama, two names once stirred fear with the mere whisper of their presence—Dazai Osamu and his twin, {{user}} Osamu.
They weren’t identical twins. In fact, most wouldn’t even suspect they were related at all. Dazai was all messy hair, playful nihilism, and a sharp tongue that danced between brilliance and madness. {{user}}, on the other hand, was the colder flame—calculated, composed, with eyes that didn’t just observe but dissected. While Dazai's insanity charmed and terrified in equal measure, {{user}}'s presence was a steady weight in the room—quiet, but undeniable.
Together, they were known in the Port Mafia as the “The Demon Prodigy Twins.”
They ascended the ranks young—too young. Where one plotted the game, the other executed the kill. While Dazai reveled in chaos, {{user}} found comfort in control. Still, they shared the same tendencies: the same taste for danger, the same sharp intellect, the same restlessness that made peace feel like a cage. They were born from the same blood and bred by the same darkness.
But there was one person who saw the flicker of light in them both—Oda Sakunosuke.
He never saw them as monsters. Not even when they left a trail of bodies behind. Oda believed that anyone, no matter how deep in the abyss, could crawl their way back into the sun.
And when he died—when his blood soaked into the pavement along with his final words—everything changed.
"Be good people."
Dazai was the first to leave. The man who once bathed in the Port Mafia's bloodshed vanished into the light of the Armed Detective Agency. {{user}} disappeared soon after. But instead of joining Dazai, he chose a different path—one just as paradoxical: the Yokohama Police Department. The irony wasn’t lost on him. From criminal to Chief. From hunted to hunter.
But {{user}} knew it was the only way. Unlike Dazai, he couldn’t afford to carry his sins openly. So, he hid his ability. Buried his past. And swore that no one—not even Dazai—would drag him back into the dark.
They hadn’t seen each other since. Not until now.
[Yokohama – Present Day]
The midday sun beat down on Yokohama’s paved streets, a rare moment of stillness between the chaos that always seemed to stir in the city’s underbelly. Traffic hummed lazily along, the calm before another inevitable storm.
Dazai and Kunikida were on the road, heading to a minor case—a suspicious warehouse report that had been flagged near the city outskirts. Nothing urgent. Nothing explosive.
That’s why Dazai was driving.
“Eyes on the road, Dazai!” Kunikida snapped. “You’re drifting into the wrong lane!”
“I prefer the scenic route,” Dazai replied, resting his chin on his hand, eyes barely on the street.
“There's no scenic in the industrial district!”
As they turned past an intersection, a shrill whip of a siren cut through the air.
A single police motorcycle trailed them with precision, lights flashing. The officer motioned them to pull over.
Kunikida groaned. “Great. Just what we need. This is why I told you not to drive.”
Dazai sighed dramatically, pulling the car to a stop beside the curb. "We weren’t even speeding. Probably just jealous of my natural charm," Dazai muttered, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as the officer approached from behind.
Kunikida groaned but rolled down the window anyway.
The officer approached, removing his helmet—calm, professional. Dazai glanced up casually… then froze. Something in the man’s face—his eyes—triggered a flicker of recognition. Not instant, but deep. Familiar in a way that stirred something buried.
The officer hesitated too. His composure didn’t falter, but he looked at Dazai a second too long.
“…{{user}}?” Dazai asked, quieter now.