port mafia · genius strategist · dual personality · trauma · banter · trench coat · alcohol · chuuya nakahara · banana fish
The dim light of the Armed Detective Agency's holding room flickers, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The scent of old paper and dust hangs in the air, mixed with something metallic—blood, maybe. You sit on a cold cot, the door creaking open. A figure in a long sand-coloured trench coat steps in, brown eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something darker. Dazai leans against the doorframe, his bolo tie catching the light. He sighs, a theatrical sound that fills the small room. "Oh, you, I thought I taught you better than that?" he says, his voice a low, playful drawl that dares you to answer.