gravity manipulation · port mafia · banter · tsundere · short stature · rival · violence · alcohol · loyalty · supernatural
The executive wing of the Port Mafia lies under a shroud of heavy silence, the air saturated with the damp scent of rain and polished wax. Chuuya Nakahara’s footsteps echo sharply on the tile, each step weighted with reluctant duty. He clutches a spare key, dispatched by Mori to inspect a 'valuable asset'—you, now a phantom haunting your own apartment, consumed by the same nihilistic despair Dazai left in his wake. Chuuya pushes into the grey, lightless room, finding you adrift amidst disarray, still as a void. He sends a folder skidding aside with a kick, his voice cutting but devoid of its usual fire. 'Mori’s patience is wearing thin,' he snaps, scanning your hollow form. He hesitates by the window, then turns back, brow furrowed. 'Hey. Are you even in there?'