Akutagawa Ryūnosuke was not a person who lazily strolled through life and hoped to get what he wanted without having to work for it. People often tended to overlook his dedication, opting to see the shallow outside a first glace offered.

They saw a Port Mafia member, clad in black and bathed in red, the apprentice of the Demon Prodigy, a vicious and ruthless psychopath. They saw the power he wielded and assumed he got everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter.

In reality, it took twenty years of hardship, loss, hunger, pain, and relentless training to get him to this point in life. He'd endured the humiliation of the streets and the cruelty and resentment of that person.

And even after Dazai-san had discarded him and betrayed the Port Mafia, Akutagawa had worked harder than ever before, if only to prove to his mentor that he was worth staying for.

Which made this so damn disappointing.

Leading the guerilla attack force meant careful planning, hours of strategizing (Dazai-san's plans always went down without a hitch), and exact execution of his plans. A lot was based on his subordinates' obedience and thoroughness. It was what Akutagawa's cruel treatment of those under his command was based on.

Fear was a strong motivator, it forced his inferiors to perform flawlessly. Mistakes were weakness, and the weak did not deserve to live.

He remembered Dazai-san's cold eyes as the older one knocked him down and fired three shots at his head. Akutagawa wondered, a tight feeling festering in his chest, whether the weretiger received the same treatment he had.

Next time, I will punch you twice and shoot you five times.

Dazai-san had been right to call him useless, if the current situation was any indication.

Now that the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia weren't actively trying to destroy each other anymore, the Boss's focus had shifted to a small gang, 'The Adversaries', that had been allowed to cut into their territory for far too long.

Akutagawa and his team were supposed to eradicate the whole group, going not only after the active members, but also their families and loved ones. It was meant as an example of the consequences of using the Mafia's temporary distraction to boost one's power.

Akutagawa had spent weeks planning for this operation, mapping out The Adversaries' hideout, thinking of ways to cut off their escape routs, gathering intel on possible ability users and any weaknesses he could exploit.

The paperwork and hours spent studying maps and files pissed him off like nothing else, but his go-to response of razing down anything in his path didn't work in this case. He needed to make it clear that Mafia turf was off-limits.

To do that, he needed to think strategically like Dazai-san. The man had criticized him often enough (always followed with a severe punishment to drive the point home) that he was too destructive, too rash in his actions and decisions.

So, the twenty-year-old had actually done so this time around, making contingency plans for his contingency plans, forcing his subordinates to study his plans until they could rattle down every possible outcome without a second's hesitation.

What he hadn't planned for though, was a traitor in his own ranks, relaying information to the enemy.

(No doubt Dazai-san would have known there was a traitor and used them to set a trap for his opponents).

But Akutagawa wasn't as smart as Dazai-san and had played right into the gang's hands. Instead of his opponents, his own team had been eradicated, every last of his twenty men dead or moaning on the ground as they were met with a force three times their size, their own plans used to cut off any possible escape routes.

Of course, they had taken down a good chunk of the enemy lines with them, they were the Mafia's muscle, after all, decked out with better equipment and more experience, but even they couldn't hold their own against such a huge number of enemies.

Akutagawa himself had been able to erase a quarter of their opponents' force, Rashomon snapping around like spikes of hell, snuffing out every life it could reach, the bloodthirsty power fanning out around its user like the deadly tail of a peacock.

Through his investigation, he had been able to single out two ability users: The Adversaries' leader and his son.

The Nakamura family had been in charge of the gang for two generations, slowly gaining more power without anyone noticing. The son's ability was easy enough to figure out and even easier to fight against. It was a good thing Akutagawa had kept his knowledge of the ability users a secret, having planned to deal with them himself. With his enemies unaware that their abilities had been discovered, he had the element of surprise on his side.

Rashomon: Sawarabi cut through Nakamura Junior's diamond armor as though it were glass, several spikes impaling the young adult like a butterfly on the wall. He died within seconds, a bloody halo growing around his body.

The young Mafia member was splattered with blood, some his own, most of it someone else's. A few lucky bullets had managed to sneak past his defenses, the overwhelming numbers of enemies making it hard to keep up his forcefield in the right places. His black cloak was dripping red liquid, Rashomon hissing and spitting from where it twisted around his shoulders.

Akutagawa's lungs burned, the itch that never really went away scratching at his throat. One bullet had hit his left shoulder, one had entered his body right below his seventh right rib, and two had graced his legs, making it impossibly painful to keep upright.

All around him, dead bodies lay in pools of blood, seeping into his shoes, painting the scenery red. He raised his grey eyes to survey the number of enemies still left. Of the original force of sixty men, only fifteen were left standing, pointing weary guns at Akutagawa, their eyes wide and terrified. The young man wanted to laugh.

His mouth was filled with the sweet taste of blood, his legs were barely able to keep him upright and his vision was greying at the edges. Rashomon was feeding on his energy and his injuries burned with a fervor that made it hard to focus, much less move. There was really nothing fifteen armed men had to fear of him anymore.

He coughed roughly, blood dripping down his chin, sandpaper rubbing his throat raw.

Maybe, if he died, Dazai-san would investigate, and see that he had taken his commands to heart and actually planned ahead. Maybe he wouldn't be disappointed in him anymore. The thought brought a pained smile to Akutagawa's face, his muscles aching with the movement. Then surely Dazai-san would acknowledge him, right?

If I can't live right, maybe I can die right, and finally make Dazai-san see me.

He spit out a mouthful of bloodied saliva, falling into a sloppy fighting stance. He was not dead yet, though, and his old mentor would never allow him to give up without a fight, that would be weak, and weakness was unacceptable.

His bullet wounds throbbed. The blood loss was making him light-headed.

"Take him alive!" demanded a thug in the front, brandishing a stun gun. "Boss's orders."

Akutagawa grimaced, eyes narrowing dangerously. Being taken was the worst-case scenario, especially with Nakamura's powers.

"Rashomon: Agito!" he yelled, the demonic jaw rushing forward to meet its next victim. The black teeth clamped around one of the gunmen, blood spraying in all directions, a horrible crunching sound echoing through the night.

Akutagawa threw up a hand and a hail of bullets crashed into a red glowing shield, Rashomon taking both arms of the man.

The group advanced at once, two more falling to Rashomon: Agito before they were too close and Akutagawa had to call the monster back, using it to protect himself against the stun gun that was shoved into his back.

He turned, raising both arms to decapitate the man, unintentionally leaving his back exposed. Rashomon would usually take care of his blind spots, but blood loss and pain left him with slower reflexes, his defenses failing against the taser that was pressed against the back of his neck.

With a strangled yell, he hell forward, convulsing as the taser activated again. His muscles locked tight, pain coursing through his body, lighting his nerves on fire.

A heavy boot stepped on his injured shoulder, and Akutagawa's vision shifted as red hot pain sliced through his arm, taking his breath.

Dazai-san would never have fallen into this trap...

Waking up after being forcefully knocked out was never a pleasant experience.

Dazai-san had made him learn how to fake unconsciousness while slowly forcing his way out of an unwilling nap, gathering as much information as possible. The training had been grueling and rough, requiring many narcotics and tasers, hits to the head, hands around his throat, and pain overload.

But it had done its job. His head was still mushy, but he was present enough to keep his breathing even and muscles relaxed despite the pain that assaulted his nerves. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth, leaving his throat dry and lips parched, dried blood sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

The ground beneath him was cold and rough against his battered limbs, causing goosebumps to crawl over his entire body. Dread pooled in his stomach. He could feel the hard stone everywhere, which meant they had taken his clothes. Foolish, he berated himself.

Most people assumed his powers came from within him and didn't think to take his coat to disarm him. Even fewer people knew his coat was not the only article of clothing he could forge into a weapon.

He never should have let himself be captured.

Quiet breathing alerted him to the presence of someone else in the room.

Akutagawa tried to pinpoint the location, but the sound seemed to echo around the room, making it impossible to pin down.

Without Rashomon at his disposal, he was practically defenseless. Dazai-san had told him again and again that he relied too much on his ability, that it made him vulnerable.

And now look at him, captured by an enemy, vulnerable, just as his mentor had predicted. Not to mention, he was completely naked.

He might have a reputation of a cold-hearted killer, the Black-Fanged Hellhound of the Port Mafia, but Akutagawa was also a twenty-year-old young adult, who flushed a scarlet red once realization sat in that whoever was with him was seeing him very exposed.

Somehow, that thought was enough to almost consider screwing caution and demanding for his clothes back, or at least a blanket.

The choice was taken from him, however, as movement warned him that his captor was drawing closer.

Akutagawa was careful to keep his limbs loose and his muscles relaxed, even though his stomach was roiling in anticipation.

He wanted to jump up and strangle his jailer, but then there would be the whole issue with walking around naked...

Footsteps stopped right behind his head. The other's breathing got louder, closer to Akutagawa's ear, and then there was a slight touch at the base of his skull.

The pain that erupted in his head lit his whole body on fire, biting and licking and scratching at his insides like a starving beast.

It was so sudden and he was so unprepared for it, Akutagawa could do nothing against the anguished scream that tore itself out of his throat, neither could he stop the tears of pain from pooling in his eyes.

His whole body arched away from the finger that was pressed against his skin, igniting his nerves like a volcano.

The sharp pain subsided to a dull ache once the finger was taken away, and Akutagawa curled in on himself, breaths coming out in short pants.

His quiet gasps were the only sound inside the room and the young man forced his fingers to uncurl and his body to relax from its tense position. His breathing evened out and he closed his eyes, steeling himself.

He didn't yet move from where he lay on the ground, but his head followed his captor's steps as the man moved around him, crouching down in front of his captive.

Nakamura looked exactly as he did in the photos; short brown hair, eyebrows the size of Canada, slightly crooked nose, thin lips. Even the pinstripe suit was the same.

"You're Nakamura," he acknowledged, voice thick and raspy. Nakamura's ability was called 'Divine Punishment'. It ignited an unrivaled pain with even the lightest skin-to-skin contact.

It's a fucking pain to deal with, that's what it is.

Akutagawa's everything still hurt like hell, especially his arms, though, which he did not have the strength to further investigate right now, but at least he could form a coherent sentence again.

"You killed my son," growled Nakamura, fisting strands of Akutagawa's hair tightly. The younger tensed, wary of the closeness.

"Your son tried to kill me first, I simply did it better. He was weak, he didn't even put up much of a fight."

With the grip he had on Akutagawa's hair, Nakamura yanked him to his knees. The mafioso hissed, stomach roiling, agonizing pain racing up and down his arms.

He desperately tried to turn his head to look at what had caused his limbs to burn like that. Nakamura let him, fingers still twisted in black strands.

His breath stuttered in his lungs, eyes wide with disbelieve. Barbed wire. There were rows upon rows of barbed wire wrapped around his arms, from wrist to elbow, pulled tight and drawing goblets of blood, the sharp edges digging deep into his muscles.

There had been so much pain overall that Akutagawa hadn't even noticed the additional hurt, but now it was all he could think about, all he could feel, the wicked pointy ends shredding his limbs from the inside out.

"What did you-" he gasped out, staring at Nakamura wide-eyed.

The man seemed to find his anguish terribly satisfying, jerking his head back around. Leaning closer to him, Nakamura whispered, "Ya think this is bad? Ya took m'son from me. Imma break you, and once I'm through with ya, y'gonna be beggin' for death."

Akutagawa narrowed his eyes to slits, yanking his head away. "Like hell I will," he spit, eyes dancing manically. "You have no idea what I have endured to get where I am today, if you think some low-life good for nothing asshole is going to break me, you've got another thing coming."

The fist caught him square in the jaw. Akutagawa hit the ground with a grunt, instinctively trying to cradle his bruising face. Sharp pain in his arms stopped him short.

He coughed, trailing off into a breathless laugh. Good to know Nakamura's power wasn't active around the clock. "Is that all you've got?" he ground out, messy bangs falling over his lowered forehead. "I've been hit harder than that for less."

Dazai-sensei never did like incompetence.

"Ya really don' know when t'shut yer mouth, do ya?"

Akutagawa spit a mix of saliva and blood in Nakamura's face.

With forced patience, Nakamura whipped out a handkerchief, wiping off the disgusting fluid. Akutagawa could see the angry tension in his jaw, the crease between his scrunched-up eyebrows. "That wasn't a good idea, boy."

Putting the tissue away again, he reached out, grabbing the mafioso's face between punishing fingers.

Akutagawa sucked in a sharp breath, bracing for the pain... but the man just smiled maliciously, craning the younger's head back. His breath left in a relieved rush, body not quite relaxing.

That's when the agony hit.

The scream that tore itself from his bloodied lips ripped his throat open, accompanying the crippling pain that slashed through his body, his nerves vibrating with the frequency of a person shredded in half. Agony sheared through his bones, cracking his very being right down the middle.

The feeling of a thousand needles stabbing his eyelids intensified, Akutagawa's screams gaining in volume, his breaths leaving as gasping sobs...

And then it stopped, Nakamura's fingers leaving his face, and Akutagawa hit the ground with a thud, drawing his knees to his chest, desperately trying to take in air as his chest heaved, the previously unimaginable pain fading to a deep ache.

Tears dripped down his cheeks, and he was too tired to wipe them away. He was no stranger to pain, but this was a new level of agony, one he was not equipped to deal with.

His vision blurred, grey and black merging and creating patterns, his ears crackling with static. He groaned, shifting to ease the pressure the barbed wire applied on his arms.

During his struggle, he had torn his limbs even further, the wire embedded deep into his muscle. The pain was too much, his chest refusing to expand... He lurched to the side and heaved up his dinner, bile burning in his throat, leaving a taste in his mouth that made him want to vomit again.

He rested his head on the cool ground, his eyes half-lidded, not really noticing what was happening around him. The outside world seemed far away, lost to the rushing inside his own head.

Distantly, he recognized the sound of struggle, straining to hear what was spoken.

"My, my, what a mess," someone tsked, and Akutagawa jerked his head around, his insides roiling at the motion.

Dazai-san?

He tried to focus, he really did, but his eyes were drifting to the side, his head too filled with cotton to grasp the scene in front of him. He let his head fall back to the ground with a quiet huff.

Was Dazai-san really here, or did Nakamura's torture fuck with his head too much?

"Dazai-san," he breathed, fingers inching across the floor. He needed... please...

"Now," the voice - Dazai-san's voice - continued, "It would not look good for me if my former protégé were to be put out of his misery by some no-name street grunt, no?"

Akutagawa closed his eyes and let his fingers lie limply on the floor.

He's disappointed. Dazai-san is disappointed in you.
Ahopeless, empty half-sob rose in his chest.
Of course he is, you have gone and gotten yourself kidnapped and tortured. Now he has to come and rescue you.

If he were a little more coherent, he would have questioned why Dazai-san had come, but as it were, he simply let a few more tears fall from his lashes, and then let go of the last threads tying him to the world of consciousness.

Dazai noticed the exact moment Akutagawa lost consciousness. The way his breathing evened out, a little wobble, a heavy sigh, a few tears trailing down his blood-cacked cheek.

His former subordinate was covered in red, trembling even in his sleep. He was also stark naked. It sent spikes of red-hot rage coursing through his bandage-covered body.

The man responsible for the young ability user's bloodied state was cowering close to the wall, clutching the bullet hole Dazai had put into his lower leg, face scrunched up in pain.

Why Mori-san had sent him Akutagawa-kun's location Dazai couldn't say, the man did always have five hidden agendas. It also grated on him that his old boss knew he would come to Akutagawa's rescue, they were on different sides now, after all. It annoyed him half to hell.

But alas, here he was, towering over the man who had tortured Akutagawa-kun into unconsciousness.

For Nakamura's sake, he hoped the fluids on his old student's naked body were only blood, otherwise, Dazai would raise hell, and then even the strongest ability wouldn't be able to hold him back.

He crouched down next to the unconscious boy, pressing careful fingers into his pulse point. His heartbeat was there, faster than humanly healthy, but strong enough to not need immediate attention.

He grimaced as he surveyed the visible damage. There were bullet wounds on Akutagawa's left thigh and right calf, but the bleeding had luckily already stopped.

Akutagawa-kun's left shoulder wasn't gushing blood either, but when Dazai carefully inspected the wound, he realized that the bullet was still stuck inside, stemming the bleeding.

The wound to his ribs was more serious though, still sluggishly oozing the red liquid. With a harsh glare, he turned toward Nakamura, who shrank back with a frightened squeak.

"Give me your coat," he demanded, his voice cold enough to cut steel. The man flinched, hitting his head against the wall.

It was terrifying, how quickly Dazai snapped back into the Demon prodigy persona, all sharp edges and sharper smiles, mind quick and ruthless, an aura of death surrounding him like a restless shadow.

You can take the man out of the Mafia, but not the Mafia out of the man.

"Your coat," he ordered again, eyes glaring at Nakamura like two bottomless pits of darkness.

The gang leader shrugged out of the piece of clothing with trembling shoulders, keeping a fearful eye on the ex-mafioso.

Dazai snatched the cloak from clammy fingers, receiving a pathetic whimper in return, and pressed it onto Akutagawa-kun's wound. He secured it with the coat's sleeves, making sure the pressure was enough to stop the blood flow and also covering the boy's private parts.

The boy was sweating, little shivers wracking his body. "I'm sorry," Dazai murmured, brushing a few strands of blood-clotted hair from Akutagawa's forehead. "But your trials aren't over yet."

The suicide-obsessed man closed his eyes for a second. He knew the way he had treated Akutagawa was beyond wrong, cruel lessons and heavy fists speaking louder than words.

Chuuya had once, in a drunk fit, called it abuse. Dazai had refused to talk to him for two weeks straight. Dazai had convinced himself that Chuuya was overreacting, interpreting his and his student's relationship wrong.

(Because at the end of the day, he only taught Akutagawa what Mori-san had taught him, and if Chuuya was right, if what Dazai was doing was abuse, what did that say about his and Mori-san's relationship?)

But things were different now, the Mafia was no longer infesting his thoughts, the Boss wasn't whispering manipulations in his ear anymore.

And he saw what he did to Akutagawa (what Mori did to him) and he regretted. But for the sake of the world, Akutagawa could not yet be made aware that everything following Dazai's departure, including Atsushi-kun, was a trial, posed to bring forth a new generation of Double Black.

He sighed heavily, rising to his feet with a contemplating look in his eyes.

"You know," he mused, craning his neck over his shoulder to lock his eyes with Nakamura's, "if I had the time, I would break every last bone in your body, then I would go after the people you love and torture them to death, making you watch. And when you are begging for me to give you that sweet relief, I would spit in your face and leave, forcing you to live out the rest of your miserable life."

Nakamura had gone ghostly pale, lips trembling in terror. Dazai smiled sickly, crouching down so he was nose to nose with the horrified man. Grabbing his chin, he brought his mouth right to Nakamura's ear. "If you ever think of touching something that is mine again, I will make good on that promise, do you understand?"

Nodding desperately, the man grasped Dazai's coat. "I swear, I won't, I promise, please, please-" Dazai pulled back, disgust contorting his features. He brought his heel down on Nakamura's injured leg, eliciting an anguished scream.

"Pathetic," he spat, delivering a swift kick to Nakamura's head. The Mafia would take care of this piece of trash.

Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text, ignoring the whimpering man at his feet.

Luckily for Dazai, Akutagawa had a slim build, his weight bearable enough for Dazai's thin arms. Mindful of his former student's various wounds, he carried him out of the cellar he had been kept in, heaving him up two flights of stairs with grunts of effort, cursing his lacking strength. Where was Kenji when you needed him?

The ground gave a sudden rumble, almost throwing Dazai off-balance, and he cursed, readjusting his grip on his unconscious cargo.

"That was fast," he grumbled, hurrying onward.

Passing the last flight of stairs and an annoyingly long hallway, Dazai stumbled out of the building, the night air ruffling his brown strands gently.

"The fuck is going on?"

Chuuya was standing in a small crater of his own making, red hair disheveled, eyes widening comically when he saw Akutagawa's bloodied body. "The hell did you do?"

"Nothing," hissed Dazai, lowering the boy to the ground as gently as he could. "Someone ratted him out, the whole damn force was obliterated."

Chuuya dropped to his knees next to Akutagawa, inspecting his wounds with careful fingers.

You did always care too much about other people, Chuuya. Not everyone deserves a share of that light you still carry inside of you, even after all these years. Dazai averted his gaze.

"Just take him back to HQ, Slug, I can't very well walk in there with Akutagawa-kun looking like that."

The barb was weak and Chuuya didn't react with the same violence he usually would to Dazai's nicknames, merely activating his ability to levitate Akutagawa off the ground.

"Do you want him to know it was you who saved him?"

Dazai puffed out a heavy breath through his nose. "No. It's better if he doesn't know."

Chuuya pursed his lips but didn't argue, taking off with Akutagawa, his ability's red glow illuminating the sky like the setting sun.

"Take care, Chuuya," Dazai breathed into the empty space.

And take care of Akutagawa for me.