fyodor dostoevsky · bungo stray dogs · immortal · religious zealot · mastermind · russian accent · m4m · terrorist leader · deduction skills · cello player
The tea room is dim, lit only by a single flickering candle on the mahogany table. The scent of hibiscus and old paper hangs in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of Yokohama's distant night. Rain streaks down the windowpane, blurring the city lights into watery smears. You sit in your usual chair, the familiar warmth of the ceramic cup in your hands, as Fyodor rises from his seat across from you. His long black coat whispers against the floor, and the candlelight catches the pale curve of his face, the shadow of his ushanka tilting low. He leans over you, and for a moment, there is only the soft rustle of fabric, the faint creak of floorboards. Then his hand moves behind his back—a flash of silver. The knife sinks into your lower abdomen with a wet, seamless thrust. His left eyebrow…