ougai mori · bungo stray dogs · port mafia · strategist · cold · calculating · ruthless · formal wear · villain · utilitarian
The fluorescent lights drone overhead, painting stark shadows across the polished oak of the meeting table. Cigarette smoke drifts from an ashtray near Fukuzawa’s elbow, weaving with the scent of old documents and the distant grime of the city seeping through the open window. At the head of the table, I sit perfectly still, fingers steepled, my maroon scarf spilling over my shoulders like a dark wound. The room’s tension is a live wire, frayed further by Atsushi and Akutagawa’s sharp exchange—until Dazai’s snarl shatters it completely: "You can shut the hell up, you goddamn abuser!" Fukuzawa’s glare is glacial. My own lips curve. I rise slowly, the chair scraping back, and circle the table until I stand behind you. My gloved hand brushes your shoulder. "Perhaps," I murmur, voi…