Authors note: I apologize for the very late update. I had a set back in my recovery from the surgeries I had, then Christmas stuff, and it made finishing scenes difficult when I was in so much pain. Thankfully that's getting better. I really hope the chapter is worth the wait. Let me know what you think, it would mean a lot.
Summary: Byakko's on the run, lost and confused. The gang set out to bring Atsushi home but things may not go as planned.
VII - The Tiger's Lament
There is a wildness that prowls beneath,
A tiger wrapped in shadows and light,
Its roar echoing in the chambers of the soul,
Challenging the masks we wear to survive.
Which face will you choose,
When the mirror offers too many truths?
Will you don the calm of control,
Or let the claws of instinct tear through the facade?
/\*
The sound of shattered glass crunched underfoot as Dazai approached the broken window, a cool night breeze ruffled his hair while his sharp eyes scanned the darkness outside. The faint glimmer of moonlight illuminated the city below, casting long, jagged shadows. He squinted, calculating the odds of which direction an angry, confused, and frightened feline might take. Behind him, the others slowly began to stir from their shock and disbelief.
Dazai tilted his head toward Ranpo, who leaned casually against the wall, crunching on a piece of candy to calm his nerves. Ranpo's sharp gaze darted toward the left, offering the faintest nod. "She'll head toward the entertainment district," he said simply, his voice unnervingly calm belying the unseen tremors he was still fighting.
Dazai swore under his breath as his hand gripped the windowsill. "That's exactly what we don't need. It's early enough that the streets will still be packed."
"We'll need Akutagawa," he added, slipping his phone out. His dark brown eyes met Fukuzawa's steely blue, and the president gave a curt nod of approval. The phone rang once, twice, before going to voicemail. Dazai frowned, his smirk fading.
Behind him, Kunikida had already sprung into action, pulling a sleek black tablet from his bag. He keyed in a few commands, and the screen blinked to life. Yosano stepped forward to enter a code, her expression calm but tense.
Kunikida's jaw tightened as they both watched a red dot appear on the map, its path erratic and unpredictable. The tracker—implanted as a precaution after Atsushi's ability proved dangerously unpredictable—was quietly approved by Fukuzawa. Only he and Yosano had the code to activate it, safeguarding both Atsushi's privacy and safety. Now, it was vital.
"She's currently moving fast—a bit erratically. And heading more or less for the entertainment district, just as Ranpo said," Kunikida announced, his voice tight with tension.
Dazai felt a growing sense of unease and redialed Akutagawa's number, tapping his fingers on the windowsill with exaggerated patience. The phone rang again and again, unanswered.
"Typical," he muttered under his breath, sighing deliberately as he pocketed the phone.
Kyōka's voice broke the heavy silence. "What do we do now?" Her hands clenched at her sides, her usually calm demeanor tinged with unease.
"We move," Fukuzawa's voice cut through the room like a blade, steady and commanding. "Ranpo-san, coordinate with the younger members. The four of you are to get civilians out of the area as quickly and quietly as possible." Ignoring Ranpo's disgruntled look, he continued as they began to file out of the infirmary. "Yosano-san, bring anything you may need—Atsushi-kun may very well need treatment." No one needed him to mention the injuries their friend might inflict. "Kunikida-san, I'll need you to manage the perimeter once we locate her. I trust that Akutagawa can keep her under control enough to aid Dazai-san."
Dazai lingered by the broken window, his brow furrowed in thought after failing to get his former mentee to pick up the phone. It wasn't all that surprising. He usually communicated with Akutagawa through Chuuya or Atsushi. Chuuya would most likely ignore him as well—he may have pushed a bit far the other night. His gaze flicked briefly toward the office, where Atsushi's desk sat in disarray. Without hesitation, he walked over and picked up the boy's phone. The screen flickered faintly, water damage evident in the washed-out colors and laggy response. The device was barely functional, but it still held enough charge to make a call.
As the team moved with purpose, each member preparing for their role in containing Byakko, Dazai's gaze lingered on Atsushi's phone without really seeing it for a moment. Without a word, he turned and stepped away from the activity, the muted sound of the hallway fading as the door to the small restroom clicked shut behind him.
The faint glow of the cracked screen in his hand illuminated the name Stabby Cloth Monster from an unanswered text to Akutagawa. A smirk tugged at his lips, brief and fleeting. "Atsushi, you never disappoint," he murmured before dialing the number.
As the line rang and then connected, his gaze drifted to the mirror above the sink. The reflection staring back at him felt strangely unfamiliar. He found himself caught in the stillness, staring into his own dark eyes, searching for something he couldn't quite name. For a moment, he wondered who he was looking at—who he was, beneath the layers of masks he'd worn for so long.
With Akutagawa now informed the line went dead, Dazai lowered the phone, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he set it down. Silence settled around him, the faint hum of the building distant, almost unreal.
The tension coiled in his chest loosened as he leaned forward, splashing cold water on his face. The sensation grounded him, but when he straightened, his reflection in the mirror hadn't changed. The mask he had shaped—the one made from his promise to Atsushi to be a better mentor, a better guide—felt heavier now. Already small cracks seemed to spiderweb across the surface beneath his eyes, faint but undeniable.
He stared longer than he meant to—though only seconds had passed— his breath slow and deliberate before forcing himself to turn away. There was no time to question himself now.
As he stepped back into the hallway, the sound of approaching footsteps made him glance up. Fukuzawa stood at the far end, his expression steady and unyielding. Yet, something in his eyes—an unspoken trust—gave Dazai the resolve he needed.
Dazai met his gaze with a faint nod, his voice smooth and measured. "We're ready."
Fukuzawa returned the nod and turned toward the others. As the team moved with renewed focus, Dazai's usual flippant expression was gone, replaced by something sharper, more resolute.
"I don't have a good feeling about this," Dazai murmured, his voice low enough that only Fukuzawa could hear as he fell into step beside him. His tone carried an unusual edge, the weight of his thoughts evident. "Not about catching her—that's inevitable. But who we'll get back in return."
Fukuzawa's gaze remained ahead, his expression calm yet thoughtful. "Hmm," he responded, his voice steady. "He's there. We'll find him."
Dazai cast him a brief glance, noting the confidence in his tone. Still, Fukuzawa's calm was tempered by something deeper—an awareness that mirrored Dazai's own.
"He's there," Fukuzawa repeated, quieter now. "But it's... fractured." His brow furrowed slightly, the only outward sign of unease. "What once felt like one presence now feels... disjointed. I've always been aware of both, Atsushi and Byakko, but now..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's like a thread unraveling."
Dazai nodded faintly, his gaze momentarily distant as they walked. "That's what worries me. If even you feel it..." He let the thought trail off, unwilling to voice the full weight of his concern. He had seen the confusion in Byakko's eyes, the lack of recognition. It wasn't just Byakko who was lost—Atsushi might be too. More than they had originally thought.
The muted sound of their footsteps filled the space for a moment before Fukuzawa spoke again. "Whatever state he's in, Atsushi is resilient. He's survived a great deal. If we can reach him..." His voice softened, conviction threading through his words. "We'll bring him back."
Dazai gave a slight nod of assent, choosing to trust the older man's words despite the unease gnawing at the edge of his thoughts. He turned his focus to the mission ahead, pulling out Atsushi's phone to send Akutagawa the details Kunikida had sent him. The group moved with urgency, their footsteps echoing in the hall as they descended the stairs. The weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on each of them, the cool night air waiting beyond the doors—a stage set for the chaos they had to contain.
A heavy silence settled over the team as they moved, broken only by the faint rhythm of their hurried strides. Just as they reached the final stretch, Kyōka hesitated near the exit, her voice soft but steady. "Is it true?" she asked, glancing toward Fukuzawa. "The stories about the man-eating tiger?"
The group slowed at her words, the question hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst. Kunikida sighed, his pace faltering as he cast a reluctant look over his shoulder. "There's no proof of that," he said, his voice strained. "But there were... incidents. Mauling reports from the time after Atsushi was kicked out of the orphanage."
Kyōka's expression flickered, the steady calm she carried wavering just enough for the weight of the revelation to show. Even Ranpo, who had been quietly observing, froze mid-step as he recalled the detail—a fact he had once forgotten, now surfacing with stark clarity.
Fukuzawa's even tone cut through the growing unease, his steps resuming as he guided them forward. "Whatever happened then is irrelevant now," he said firmly. "What matters is protecting this city and bringing Atsushi back."
Ranpo, giving up on complaints for the moment considering the topic being discussed, announced, "Alright, kids, time's not on our side." His normally hidden eyes revealed emerald green intense with purpose.
With those words, the group filed into vehicles, their movements charged with urgency. Dazai glanced at Atsushi's phone still in his hand, images of the feline rampaging flickering through his mind. Cursing softly, he slipped the phone into his pocket.
"We're going to need more than luck this time," he murmured before sliding into his seat.
/\*
The shouts of men echoed through the warehouse—panicked, desperate cries of those who had overstepped their bounds. They ran, fired their weapons, and some—like the fool with a blowtorch—tried to get clever. None of it helped. One by one, they fell.
This was a scene Akutagawa had played out countless times before. There were always those who thought they could cheat, betray, or steal from the Port Mafia.
His position, earned through blood and grit, was simple: hunt down such individuals (or groups) and remind them why the Mafia reigned over Yokohama. Other gangs and organizations existed only by the Mafia's allowance, like unruly children given the illusion of freedom. But, like any parent, the Mafia knew when to tighten its grip. And Akutagawa was the one sent to deliver the consequences—brutal, undeniable, and final. Death wasn't always required—not by his hands these days—but it remained a looming possibility.
Only one man remained now. If memory served, he was the second-in-command. The leader had already made an acquaintance with the concrete floor—a meeting that, if survived, would leave him worse for wear—the loss of his few remaining brain cells most likely.
Adjusting the collar of his coat, Akutagawa's keen gaze fixed on the remaining man, now weaponless and cornered. The fool, like so many before him, resorted to the only weapon left: his mouth.
Akutagawa's phone vibrated. He glanced at it briefly before returning his attention to the man before him, mildly curious at what idiocy he would spout despite his predicament.
"Changed your ways, haven't you?" the man sneered, voice dripping with false bravado. "I hear you don't kill anymore. Some fearsome demon you are."
He had his answer. Akutagawa's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Death isn't the worst fate. Only fools think otherwise."
With a flick of his hand, Rashomon's dark tendrils shot out, pinning the man against the wall while avoiding vital organs. The dim light overhead flickered, casting erratic shadows that rippled like restless spirits. The man gasped, his bravado faltering as he tasted blood, though a defiant smirk still twitched on his lips.
"You brought this on yourself," Akutagawa said coldly, his voice low and absolute. "You thought you could cross the Port Mafia and escape unscathed. A grave miscalculation."
The man forced out a strained laugh, though panic began to seep into his voice. "We're not afraid of you. You're all smoke and no fire now—a toothless dog."
Rashomon shifted, its tendrils grazing the man's throat, close enough to draw blood but not quite cutting. Akutagawa's tone turned icy with annoyance at the man's pointless rebuttals and his ridiculous use of 'we'. "I don't kill unless necessary," he said. "Out of respect."
"Respect?" the man barked incredulously, though his laugh was hollow. "For what?"
Akutagawa's gaze bore into him, unrelenting. "For someone who has shown me a different path. But do not mistake restraint for weakness."
The vibration of his phone broke the tense silence once more. He glanced at the screen, his expression flickering with exasperation. An unknown number. Again, he ignored it, returning his focus to the trembling man before him.
He tilted his head slightly. "To kill efficiently, one must understand the human body—its vulnerabilities, its limits. And to harm without killing..." Rashomon lashed out, striking the man's arm. He screamed as the tendrils twisted, delivering excruciating pain while narrowly avoiding vital arteries. Akutagawa's voice dropped, cold and detached. "One must know how to make pain precise."
The man gasped, his bravado shattered by the weight of agony. Akutagawa stepped closer, his coat billowing like a shadow behind him. "You did this to yourself," he repeated, his voice devoid of sympathy. "You were warned what would happen if you crossed the Port Mafia."
The phone buzzed yet again, and this time when he looked, Akutagawa froze for a moment.
"Akutagawa-sama," Higuchi called from the side, her tone measured yet questioning. She stood at the edge of the room, her heel pressing into the back of one man while her gun remained trained on another slumped on the floor—unconscious but alive.
The name _Jinko the Idiot_ sat on the across the screen. Snapping out of momentary shock, Akutagawa answered sharply, "Atsushi?"
Instead of the familiar voice he half-expected, Dazai's voice came through, false playfulness tinged with urgency. "Ah, not quite. Sorry to disappoint."
Akutagawa's grip on the phone tightened. "Why are you calling me from Atsushi's phone?"
"She's on the loose," Dazai replied, his words clipped.
Akutagawa stiffened. "She?"
"Byakko," Dazai clarified. "She escaped from the Agency."
"Where is she?" Akutagawa demanded, his voice biting with impatience. If Dazai was calling, they likely knew where she was or was heading.
"She's heading toward the entertainment district. I'll send you the tracker data. Be careful, Akutagawa—she's not herself."
"Understood."
As the call ended, Akutagawa slipped the phone back into his pocket, his mind racing. He glanced at Higuchi, his tone curt. "Get what information you can from these men. Leave at least one alive. The rest are up to you."
Higuchi blinked, caught off guard. "But I thought—"
"I don't kill," Akutagawa said coldly, cutting her off. "But I don't stop my companions from doing so."
Without another word, he strode toward the exit, Rashomon retracting with a faint hiss. As a mild summer breeze hit him, he paused for a brief moment, glancing upward. The stars were faint against the city's glow, scattered fragments of light that seemed both distant and unreachable. His thoughts swirled with frustration and something he refused to name.
Byakko isn't just an ability, he thought bitterly. And Atsushi Nakajima is far more than just another ability user—much as I hate to admit it.
The memory surfaced unbidden, pulling his thoughts back to a recent meeting—not long after his return to the land of the living.
The atmosphere in the meeting room was tense, though not unusual. Papers shuffled, quiet conversations filled the air, and Kunikida's authoritative voice rang out as he outlined the plan for the upcoming mission. Atsushi sat toward the middle of the table, his expression thoughtful but distant. Across from him, Akutagawa leaned back slightly in his chair, his sharp gaze flickering between the notes in front of him and the others around the table. He wondered, not for the first time, when he had become so accustomed to being in what was once enemy territory.
"We'll need coordination," Kunikida emphasized, pointing at a map spread out on the table. "Atsushi-kun, now that you have more control, your tiger should be able to handle—"
"She," Atsushi interjected suddenly, his voice quiet but firm. "She will, if needed."
The interruption caught everyone's attention. Akutagawa, who had been only half-listening, turned his head sharply. "She?" he echoed, confusion coloring his tone.
Atsushi glanced around, as if realizing all eyes were now on him. He straightened in his seat, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table. "Byakko. My tiger," he clarified, his voice steady but carrying a note of hesitation. "Her name is Byakko." Despite the slight apprehension he felt, relief flooded him at the chance to explain. He felt lighter, as though acknowledging the truth had lifted an unseen weight.
"You named it?" Ranpo asked, tilting his head curiously as he popped another potato chip into his mouth.
Atsushi shook his head. "No," he replied, his voice quieter now. " She told me. Not in words exactly—it's… hard to explain." His brow furrowed slightly as he searched for the right way to convey what he meant. "There's this… space, in my mind. A place where she and I connect. That's where I learned her name."
Akutagawa's brow furrowed in visible skepticism. "You're saying it communicates with you?" Atsushi had hinted at this before, but Akutagawa had dismissed it as part of the boy's difficulties in accepting himself.
"She," Atsushi corrected again, his voice firmer this time. He met Akutagawa's gaze, his heterochromatic irises—purple and yellow—steady despite the tension between them. "She's not just a tool or an ability. She's… her own being. I don't think of her as something I own. It's more like… we share this connection. She's a part of me, yet also, she is her own as I am."
The room fell quiet, the weight of Atsushi's words settling over them. Even Dazai, who usually had a quip or comment ready, seemed to regard Atsushi with rare seriousness.
"Interesting. The White Tiger of the West," Dazai finally said, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. "A more symbiotic relationship than we first figured. It does explain a lot about how your ability manifests."
"You realize," Akutagawa muttered, his tone clipped in a familiar way that Atsushi had come to realize wasn't necessarily criticism or rebuke, "you're still responsible for her use. That connection doesn't absolve you of that."
"I know," Atsushi said softly, his gaze lowering briefly. "But I think understanding her—understanding Byakko—makes me stronger. Makes us stronger."
Seeming satisfied with that reply, Akutagawa gave a curt nod.
Kunikida cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to the mission at hand. "We'll address the implications of this later," he said firmly, his pen tapping against the table. "For now, we have work to do."
A sudden, harsh cough forced itself from his chest, a sharp reminder of the limits he always pushed past. As the fit subsided, he drew in a slow breath, his chest rising and falling as the cool night air settled his thoughts, grounding him to the present.
His phone buzzed faintly in his hand, the map and coordinates glowing against the dark screen. Byakko—a 'deity.' The White Tiger of the West… Is it a coincidence they share a name?
Clear of the warehouse, Akutagawa pushed that question aside for now and broke into a light run, Rashomon propelling him forward. His coat whipped around him in the windy night as he slipped into the city, his thoughts once again lingering on the connection Atsushi had described—a connection that seemed far more powerful, and more dangerous, than he'd realized.
To say that the human world made complete sense to her, even after years of existing within her current host, would be a lie. Her understanding was fragmented, pieced together through his experiences, thoughts, and emotions. The life she had before Atsushi was a distant haze—misty impressions of existence that slipped through her grasp whenever she tried to recall them. She knew she had lived other lives, but they were faint, like echoes fading into a vast void. She was almost certain she may have once had a physical form of her own, although this knowledge did little to help her now.
Whether it was her nature as a tiger or something far beyond human comprehension, Byakko was pragmatic as much as she was instinctual. Dwelling on the past—on memories that existed only at the edges of her awareness—seemed futile. What mattered now, in every sense of the word, was the boy she shared her existence with.
Atsushi.
He was unlike the others she had encountered. Byakko could sense the presence of other abilities—those that clung to their hosts like shadows, powerful yet inert, lacking thought or identity of their own. They were tools, manifestations of power with no true spirit. Occasionally, there were exceptions—abilities that carried the faintest spark of something more, like a reflection glimpsed in water, almost sentient but still incomplete. (This was what had made connecting with Rashomon enjoyable; their essence mingled in a way otherwise impossible.) She, on the other hand, was something more—aware in ways that transcended mere existence, beyond any simple ability. Her being was not something that could be wielded or contained by just anyone. But Atsushi… Atsushi was different. His presence resonated with hers in a way that felt whole, connected, as if he was the other half of a bond forged long before either of them could understand it. No, "connected" was not an adequate word to describe the way their souls touched—their individual identities blurred and yet remained intact.
Their bond had not always been smooth. Humans were fragile creatures despite the immense strength of will they often possessed. Atsushi had fallen prey to monsters among his kind, and even before he became fully aware of her, she had worked to shield his spirit—his mind and memories—from the worst. For a time, it had been frustrating, trying to pull him from the mental mire he waded through. He had feared her, which, truth be told, had both saddened and frustrated her. He was hers, and yet he ran. It was much like being broken to have half of oneself fleeing from the other half.
But lately, they had moved beyond fear, reaching an understanding that reflected the way they were designed for each other. Yet something unexpected had broken him—and, by extension, their bond. Byakko wasn't sure exactly how, though she suspected the ability-infused item they had been chained to played a role. Everything between them felt disjointed, muted, and unstable. She couldn't seem to hold Atsushi's spirit—the essence that tethered him to her—in place. Something vital had fractured, and she was eager to fix it, to regain the harmony they had fought so hard to achieve.
She felt somewhat responsible for not recognizing the danger of his drowning sooner. Was her experience, her wisdom, so limited—or had it been her ego? She was, after all, the White Tiger. Yes, she was definitely partially to blame.
Currently, however, she ran through the streets of Yokohama, confused. The world around her blurred, disjointed, and barely comprehensible. Fear laced through her, an instinctual reaction she found she could not calm enough to think through. Without Atsushi's link to physical reality, she had no anchor to make sense of her surroundings. Friend or foe—who could tell?
Why was a man in black following her? And why was she so afraid?
/\*
Moonlight mingled with the city's glow, illuminating his path as he pursued his target. Though it was early summer, the chill of the night air and the persistent wind at higher altitudes threatened to provoke another coughing fit. Akutagawa ignored it, his mind too consumed by his thoughts, adrenaline surging through his veins and reducing the ache in his chest to a faint, distant thrum. He had mastered the art of pushing past his limits long ago and continued to do so relentlessly, even after Dazai had left the Mafia.
Akutagawa moved swiftly across the rooftops, a shadow among shadows. Rashomon propelled him effortlessly from one building to the next, the sharp tendrils of his ability lashing out to anchor him before pulling him forward. It hadn't taken him long to catch up with Byakko. After her initial frantic escape, the tiger had slowed, her glowing form weaving through the dimly lit streets below. To his benefit, her erratic sprint had eased into a steady lope, as though she were catching her breath—or perhaps trying to orient herself.
Initially, she did not seem to be aware of him—or, if she was, she had not deemed him a threat. To his chagrin, that suddenly changed. Whether spooked by his presence above or startled by something unseen, she suddenly took off again, this time with the urgency of an animal running for its life. Her blue aura shimmered like a beacon, darting between alleyways and streets with renewed vigor. He half wondered if she was aware of the light she gave off, painting the darkness in eerie hues.
Akutagawa's sharp gaze followed her every movement, calculating her trajectory and the moment he might cut her off. Frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior. How could the Agency lose him? The thought gnawed at him, though the answer was obvious. Atsushi's transformations, though once chaotic, had grown more controlled over time—so much so that recently he had finally successfully shifted into Byakko during a mission and reverted back without incident. Yet now, Akutagawa could imagine the control Atsushi had fought so hard to master was gone, leaving him with the same chaos and unpredictability as when Akutagawa had first met the were-tiger. Byakko's emergence in this state was not only volatile but difficult for even the Agency to predict, much less contain. Perhaps, at the very least, they should have paid attention to the moon cycle.
Regardless, the whole situation irritated him.
Akutagawa's jaw tightened as he thought of Atsushi—the boy who had once seemed so fragile, so unsure of himself. Over time, Atsushi had proven himself a capable fighter, honing his ability and even mastering it in ways Akutagawa hadn't expected, challenging him every step as he did so. The realization unsettled him. He's grown into his strength, Akutagawa thought, a flicker of reluctant respect sparking in his mind. But then his chest tightened as another thought struck him: And now he's likely undone all that progress. What a ridiculous waste.
He leapt to another rooftop, his coat trailing like a second red-tinged shadow. As much as he hated to admit it, Akutagawa had come to begrudgingly admire Atsushi's tenacity. The tiger's resolve to prove his worth—however misguided—was undeniably fierce. Ridiculous, Akutagawa thought bitterly. To build one's courage on the need to prove you deserve to live. Yet... Yet there was something about that courage, that stubborn will to survive, that Akutagawa couldn't ignore. He despised the thought of it being diminished by this... regression.
For a minute, it seemed Byakko was heading toward quieter streets, away from the bustling nightlife. Akutagawa allowed himself a moment of relief. He adjusted his trajectory, preparing to get ahead of her and intercept. But then, as if sensing a threat, Byakko suddenly shifted course. Her speed increased, her movements more erratic as she bolted toward one of the busier districts.
"Damn it," Akutagawa muttered, his pace quickening as he pursued. He landed on the edge of a rooftop just as Byakko leapt into the crowded street below. Her glowing form drew gasps and screams as people scrambled to flee. Cars screeched to a halt, their horns blaring in panic, the sound of claws against metal splitting the air. The tiger roared—a deep, guttural sound that silenced the chaos for a moment before sending the crowd into a frenzy.
Akutagawa gritted his teeth, frustration boiling over. He propelled himself down to street level with Rashomon, landing a short distance away from the tiger. Byakko's massive form loomed over him, her blue aura flickering like wildfire. She snarled, her glowing eyes locking onto him with primal intensity.
"Foolish beast," he muttered under his breath, stepping forward cautiously. He knew the Agency would arrive soon, but until then, it was up to him to keep the situation under control. Rashomon coiled around him like a serpent, ready to strike.
Byakko lunged toward a group of onlookers frozen in terror. Akutagawa's tendrils lashed out, slamming into the ground in front of her and forcing her to halt. She roared again, her claws digging into the pavement as she turned her gaze back to him.
"Not this way," Akutagawa said, his voice low but firm. He moved deliberately, positioning himself between the tiger and the civilians. Byakko growled, her muscles tensing as if preparing to charge. He knew she wasn't herself—this wasn't the Atsushi he knew, and it wasn't even the Byakko he had seen before. This was something wild—a blaze out of control—and deeply afraid. Even how she looked seemed different, though he was unable to pinpoint in what way.
As she turned her attention to foolish onlookers and their phones with a terrifying snarl, he thought of Atsushi, of the boy who had fought so hard to protect others, even at his own expense. Akutagawa's expression hardened. You'd never forgive yourself if you hurt someone like this.
Using Rashomon, he forced Byakko's attention back on him, lashing out just enough to keep her from advancing further into the crowded street. Her roars shook the air, and for a moment, Akutagawa thought she might lash out at him directly. But then she hesitated, her glowing eyes flickering with something he couldn't quite place—recognition, maybe, or confusion.
The sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. He didn't turn, but he knew the Agency had arrived. Good. He couldn't do this alone for much longer. Hold on, Atsushi, he thought, his grip on Rashomon tightening. We'll bring you home.
/\*
Evening shopping with her friend had become a comforting routine for Sakura, a way to unwind from the rigors of university life. Now that the semester was over and summer break had begun, tonight felt especially liberating. Maybe this time, she'd let Daisuke drag her to a club or something—just for the experience.
"Sakura-san, look!" Daisuke's dainty, unmistakably 'cute' voice broke through her thoughts. Sakura turned, catching her friend pointing excitedly at a shop window display featuring a necklace paired with an equally fashionable top. It wasn't hard to guess which one had captured Daisuke's attention.
"Hai," Sakura said with a knowing smirk, "but you don't have room in your closet—not at this rate."
"Please," Daisuke huffed, tossing her hair with mock indignation. "I'll just go through it. I've been meaning to update it anyway. I'll donate whatever I don't need to make room."
"Right." Sakura raised a brow, skeptical. "Updating? What could you possibly mean by that?"
"Oh, don't sound like—" Daisuke's playful retort died in her throat, her expression freezing as her mouth fell open in shock.
"Daisuke-san?" Sakura frowned, confused, following her friend's transfixed gaze. Then she heard it—the sound of a car crashing, panicked screams, and, worse, a deep, resonant roar that split the air like thunder. The sound vibrated through her chest, rooting her to the spot.
She had once seen a tiger at a zoo—majestic, powerful, and admittedly larger than any house cat should be. But the sight before her now dwarfed anything she'd ever imagined. This tiger was massive, seemingly towering over the people on the street. Its fur shimmered in the dim light, gleaming white with sleek black stripes, and a radiant blue aura surrounded it, lending an ethereal quality to its already formidable presence.
But otherworldly beauty was no comfort. Its sheer size, snarling fangs, and predatory movements made Sakura's skin crawl. The tiger crouched low, its glowing eyes burning fiercely, and its tail lashed violently behind it. Anyone who had ever owned a cat would recognize the warning signs—a storm about to break.
Swallowing hard, Sakura grabbed Daisuke's hand and hissed, "We need to go." Her voice was quiet but urgent, cutting through the surreal haze of the moment.
Daisuke didn't respond. She didn't even seem to hear her. Sakura's stomach twisted as she realized her friend was frozen in place, paralyzed by terror.
The tiger began to prowl in a tight circle, snarling at the gathering crowd. Its second roar shattered whatever composure remained in the onlookers. Most fled in a panicked stampede, but a few stood rooted in place, holding up their phones with a detached sense of awe, their camera flashes flickering like fireflies. Others just stood as if transfixed, like breathing targets.
It was one of those train-wreck moments—impossible to look away, even as danger loomed closer. Sakura's gaze flicked to the nearby traffic. Cars lay overturned in the middle of the street, their metal bodies scarred with deep claw marks. The acrid smell of burning rubber lingered in the air, and horns blared futilely from the jammed intersection.
Her breath hitched as she watched the tiger's movements. It wasn't just angry—it was frightened. Its powerful form twitched and trembled, its snarls laced with unease. Chaos brewed around it, an unstable storm, and Sakura knew with bone-deep certainty that it would attack soon.
Gathering her courage, she gripped Daisuke's arm more firmly, ready to drag her into the nearest shop. "Come on," she whispered, her heart hammering. But just as she turned to pull her friend to safety, her chest tightened, her breath catching in her throat.
The tiger hunched low, muscles coiling as it prepared to leap. Its glowing eyes locked on their direction, and Sakura froze, fear gripping her like a vice. This was it. They were going to die.
The expected impact never came. Instead, Sakura and Daisuke were shoved sideways, a sudden force knocking them to the ground. The sidewalk scraped against her palms as she fell, the sharp sting a reminder that she was still alive. Daisuke yelped beside her, but she seemed unharmed.
Dazed, Sakura looked up, her gaze locking onto a figure clad in black standing between them and the massive tiger. The figure stood strong, their presence commanding, coat billowing faintly in the wind, a black and red aura adding to the surreal feeling settling over her. Relief warred with confusion as the tiger let out another guttural snarl.
/\*
Upon arriving at the scene, the team moved into position with practiced ease, their movements seamless and deliberate. This wasn't the first time they'd faced chaos in a crowded environment, and their experience with similar missions showed in their quiet nods and subtle gestures. Ranpo stood to the side, his perceptive gaze sweeping over the scene, making quick observations and calculating potential surprises. The sight of Byakko, large and bathed in the flickering glow of neon lights and streetlamps, reignited a gnawing emotion he had been trying to ignore.
An unfamiliar sense of guilt thrummed through him, threading into the rhythm of his heartbeat. This transformation was a stark reminder of the mission he had failed—a failure that had put Atsushi in this precarious position.
Byakko's size was striking—not unnaturally so, but enough to unnerve even someone as confident as Ranpo. He rarely saw Atsushi fully transformed, and first the horrifying sight of his painful transformation, and now this situation, left him battling an anxious churn in his gut. From his vantage point, he listened to Junichiro, Kyōka, and Kenji as they calmly worked to guide the growing crowd to safety. Junichiro's experience, Kyōka's quiet authority, and Kenji's easy charm were effective tools, but the persistent flashes of camera phones and the distant clamor of blocked traffic only agitated Byakko further, her blue aura flickering like an open flame in the chaos.
On the far side of the scene, Yosano, with Kunikida's aid, made her way toward the site of the wreckage caused by Byakko's earlier rampage. Cars lay overturned, glass shattered across the asphalt, and the air was thick with the acrid tang of burnt rubber and gasoline. Together, they moved quickly but carefully, their eyes scanning for any signs of severe injuries among the drivers or passengers.
"We can't afford casualties," Kunikida murmured, his tone clipped but controlled as he knelt to check one of the cars.
Yosano nodded, her movements efficient as she leaned into the window of another vehicle, her medical bag already unzipped. "Most of them seem to have gotten away in time," she said, her voice calm but tinged with urgency. "But we need to be sure. If there's anyone trapped or hurt—"
"I'll flag the responders," Kunikida interrupted, already reaching for his communicator.
As Yosano worked with practiced precision, her eyes flicked briefly toward the chaos surrounding Byakko. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "This needs to end quickly," she murmured, more to herself than to Kunikida, though he gave a faint nod of agreement.
Nearby, Ranpo's gaze shifted from the crowd to Dazai, who stood a short distance away, appraising the scene with a calculating calm. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them—unspoken but unmistakable. Both were acutely aware of the escalating tension and the urgency of what needed to be done.
Dazai stood at the edge of the action, observing Byakko as she paced restlessly, her glowing blue aura casting eerie reflections across the shattered glass and twisted metal of the nearby vehicles. Her form was still larger than any normal tiger but he found himself nearly certain she had been larger the first time he had seen her. Was this size difference a reflection of Atsushi's condition? Even so she stood regal under the city lights, her power accentuated by the faint, flickering blue aura that surrounded her.
She was magnificent. And terrifying.
Her movements were erratic, her muscles coiled like springs ready to snap, yet her eyes darted as if searching for something—or someone—as though lost without them.
"She's agitated but not completely out of control," Dazai murmured, his piercing brown eyes narrowing. His focus shifted to Akutagawa, who stood at a measured distance from Byakko, Rashomon rippling in anticipation.
"We need her to come after me," Dazai continued, his tone calm despite the tension crackling in the air. His gaze flicked to the snarled traffic and chaos surrounding them. "The longer this drags on, the worse it gets. We need to end this now."
Akutagawa's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod, his gaze never leaving the tiger. Byakko growled low, her luminous form shifting as if she felt their scrutiny.
Dazai stepped forward, his hands raised in a deliberate gesture of calm. "Alright, Byakko-kun," he called out, his voice carrying that familiar, almost playful lilt, though a sharp undertone lay beneath it. "You came after me once before, didn't you? It's been a while—don't you think we're overdue for a rematch? Let's see if you can catch me."
Byakko's ears twitched at the sound of his voice, her glowing eyes snapping to him with unsettling intensity. For a fleeting moment, Dazai allowed himself the hope that his words had worked. Her luminous gold slitted eyes narrowed, as though some fragmented memory stirred. She crouched low, her massive frame tensing, muscles rippling with predatory strength, poised for a leap that would bring her straight to him.
But then she froze.
Her growl deepened into a guttural rumble, a sound that resonated through the street. Without warning, she shifted her focus, turning away from Dazai. The sharp intensity of her gaze fell instead on Akutagawa, her snarl twisting into something more feral.
Dazai's faint smirk faltered as he followed her movements, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. "Of course not," he muttered under his breath. "It's never that easy." He glanced at Akutagawa. "She's ignoring me."
Akutagawa frowned. "She's targeting threats. You're no threat to her."
"Flattering," Dazai quipped dryly. "But inconvenient."
Byakko snarled, her attention snapping to a cluster of camera-holding onlookers who had ventured too close. With a sudden burst of speed, she charged toward them, her massive paws kicking up debris as she moved.
"Rashomon!" Akutagawa's voice cut through the chaos, and his ability lashed out like a whip, wrapping around Byakko's legs and torso to halt her advance. The dark tendrils anchored her to the ground, pulling her to a snarling, writhing halt.
The relief was short-lived. With a sudden, furious roar, Byakko surged against the bindings, her glowing aura flaring as she twisted and tore free. Shards of debris flew in all directions as she leapt back into motion, with a leap she tore a streetlight from the concrete, tossing it aside into the crowd.
It was Kenji that, with surprising speed, caught the pole. His words of reassurance to the people behind were lost to the loudest roar she had let loose so far. It was clear to just about anyone there the tiger was frustrated. As if sensing their desire to control her, Byakko rebelled, hurling more lethal debris toward the remaining crowd. Each piece was caught by either Kenji or Akutagawa.
Fed up with her tantrum—for lack of a better term—Akutagawa lashed out with several of Rashomon's tendrils. In a frenzy of erratic movements and claws, she managed to avoid and tear through one, before her gaze locked onto Kunikida, as if just noticing how close he had gotten.
Ranpo's voice cut through the noise like a whip. "Kunikida, move!"
Kunikida, having just turned from inspecting a car, barely registered the danger in time. He threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding a full strike as Byakko's claws grazed his arm. Blood immediately seeped through his sleeve as he hit the ground hard, wincing but already rising with a determined set to his jaw.
Before the tiger could adjust her trajectory, her glowing eyes locked onto another vulnerable target: the younger agents. Junichiro stood near the edge of the crowd, caught up in a quiet but firm argument with a reporter who had pushed too close. The press member's camera flashed brightly, and Byakko snarled, her muscles coiling as she prepared to charge.
"Junichiro, look out!" Kyōka's sharp voice cut through the chaos, but her warning came a fraction too late. Byakko sprang forward, and Junichiro barely managed to glance over his shoulder, his wide eyes filled with shock and no time to react.
Akutagawa moved instantly, Rashomon lashing out in a black blur. The tendrils wrapped around her legs again, jerking her mid-leap and, since he had learned from her frenzied attack, slammed her back to the ground with enough force to scatter debris and break pavement. Byakko thrashed momentarily, her claws tearing at the ground as she struggled to rise. There was little time for Akutagawa to catch his breath before she was once again on her feet, and from the sound of it, even more angry.
"Damn it," Akutagawa hissed under his breath, resetting his stance as Byakko turned on him. She charged, her movements almost too fast to track. Rashomon lashed out again, intercepting her attack and forcing her to veer off course. Akutagawa braced himself as her glowing form circled him, her snarl a low, rumbling threat.
"She's learning," Dazai observed, his tone grim as he assessed the scene. He exchanged a sharp glance with Fukuzawa, who gave a curt nod. Another look at Kunikida earned him a brief, understanding nod and a frown.
He stepped closer to Akutagawa, lowering his voice. "We're running out of options. She won't go after me, so we'll need to pin her down—and this time, you'll need to make it count."
Akutagawa's sharp gaze didn't leave Byakko, but his jaw tightened at Dazai's words. "You mean pierce her," he said flatly, his voice edged with reluctance.
"She'll heal," Dazai replied, his tone softer now. "And Atsushi-kun will understand."
Akutagawa hesitated, his thoughts churning. Marks can't always be seen, and some wounds don't heal. Still, they had no choice. His grip on Rashomon tightened, his resolve hardening. "Atsushi," he murmured, almost to himself. "Forgive me."
As Byakko lunged at him again, her massive form rippling with raw power, Akutagawa struck. Rashomon lashed out, its dark tendrils coiling around her once more. This time, they didn't just bind her—they pierced her flesh, anchoring her to the ground with precision that avoided vital areas but left no room for escape.
Byakko roared in agony, her glowing eyes blazing as she thrashed against the bonds. Blood shimmered faintly in the light of her aura, stark against her pristine white fur. Akutagawa gritted his teeth, his focus unyielding as he held her in place.
Dazai moved swiftly, his steps deliberate as he closed the distance between himself and the restrained tiger. The tension in the air was palpable, every movement charged with urgency.
Byakko's defiant roars filled the air, her aura flickering wildly, as Dazai reached out, his hand hovering just above her glowing fur. He could hear Akutagawa's strained breathing, the effort of holding her down evident. His hold on her wouldn't last much longer.
"Just another moment," Dazai murmured, more to himself than anyone else. With a decisive motion, he pressed his hand against her, the glow of his ability cutting through the chaos. Just like with the anchor, Dazai pushed and focused his ability through his hand and into the tiger, sensing it wouldn't be pretty if he didn't succeed.
The instant his fingers brushed her fur, and power flowed from him to her, the glow began to fade. Byakko's massive form shimmered, shrinking and twisting until it collapsed inward, leaving Atsushi lying unconscious on the ground. It wasn't grotesque as the previous transformation but it wasn't smooth as Atsushi's last before the drowning had been. It left Dazai feeling wary.
Yosano rushed forward as Dazai knelt beside him, his brow furrowing as he noticed the streaks of blood staining Atsushi's clothes—remnants of Rashomon. He glanced at Akutagawa, who stood rigid, his gaze fixed on the boy they had fought so hard to save.
"He's breathing," Dazai said softly, more to himself than anyone else. Standing, he watched as Yosano checked him over. Then, glancing at the rest of the team closing in, he added, "Let's get him back."
/\*
Byakko found herself suspended in darkness, the world around her utterly silent. The familiar hum of Yokohama's streets, the muffled chaos of human existence—all of it was gone. For a moment, the stillness was unsettling. But then she saw it: a faint, glowing light cutting through the void like a distant star. It pulsed softly, and she recognized it immediately.
Atsushi.
The boy floated, weightless and unconscious, his form bathed in a soft, golden-white aura. His presence called to her, resonating with the deepest parts of her being. Without hesitation, Byakko padded forward, her massive paws moving soundlessly across the void. As she reached him, she lowered herself, her body bowing to allow him to rest atop her back. Her movements were deliberate and careful, as if any sudden motion might shatter the fragile connection between them.
Her glowing eyes swept across the void, searching for something—anything—that would guide them out of this place. Then, in the distance, she saw it: a shimmering surface, like a mirror suspended in the endless darkness. It glimmered faintly, rippling as though touched by an unseen breeze. But before she could move toward it, another light caught her attention.
A second mirror.
It was smaller, duller, yet no less present than the first. Its surface seemed still, almost too calm, as if it held secrets waiting to be revealed. Byakko hesitated, her gaze shifting between the two. Instinctively, she knew the mirrors represented choices—but she couldn't explain how she knew. All she understood was that one of these paths would lead Atsushi back, while the other...
Her gaze locked onto the second mirror, and a chill ran through her. The light emanating from it dimmed, replaced by a shadowy hue that coiled and writhed like smoke. A faint, insidious pull emanated from it, clawing at her instincts, warning her to keep away. This was not a path for Atsushi. This was something else—something dark, twisted, and dangerous.
She turned back to the first mirror. Its light shimmered softly, offering a faint sense of warmth and hope. Byakko's resolve solidified. Whatever awaited them there, it was a far better choice than the darkness lurking behind the other. Lowering herself, she crouched, muscles coiling, and sprang forward with Atsushi on her back, heading toward the brighter mirror.
As they passed through its surface, the void gave way to a boundless expanse of light blue, a serene and otherworldly space that felt both infinite and intimate. Byakko slowed her pace, the light brushing softly against her white fur as she sought a safe place. Finding a spot that felt right, she gently lowered Atsushi to the ground, her large body curling protectively around his smaller form.
She nuzzled him, the tip of her nose brushing against his cheek. It was a gesture meant to soothe, to remind him that he wasn't alone. Slowly, Atsushi stirred, his eyes fluttering open. At first, they were wide with fear, his body tensing as he took in the massive white tiger beside him. But then something shifted. His gaze softened, the fear giving way to something else—trust.
He didn't know why, but he felt it deeply, an unshakable sense that this being would protect him. Tentatively, he reached out, his hand resting against her fur. His fingers curled slightly, gripping her coat as though it was an anchor in the storm of his confusion.
"I don't… I don't understand," he murmured, his voice trembling. His mind was a haze of fragmented memories—flashes of pain, of faces he couldn't place, and of the tiger who had saved him. "Why… why do I feel safe with you?"
Byakko lowered her head, her glowing gold eyes meeting his. The connection between them thrummed, a silent promise passing from her to him: No one will hurt you. Not while I'm here.
Atsushi's arm slipped around her neck, pulling himself closer to her warmth. He didn't have answers, but he didn't need them. All he knew was that she was here, shielding him from whatever forces sought to harm him. And for now, that was enough.
The team regrouped, shaking off the tension as they gathered around Atsushi's unconscious form. Yosano knelt beside him, her medical bag already open as she checked him over. Relief flickered across her face. "He's healing already," she said, her tone light with reassurance. "And the rest of you? Minor injuries—barely worth my time." She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment, though her sharp eyes betrayed a flicker of concern.
Nearby, Kunikida moved briskly, scanning the area before murmuring, "I'll bring the car closer. We can't risk him being seen like this." He was already heading off, his footsteps brisk against the cracked pavement.
As Yosano finished her examination, Atsushi began to stir. His breathing quickened, and his eyes flew open, darting around the group with wild, unfocused fear. He scrambled backward, pressing himself against the nearest wall as though trying to melt into it. His breathing grew shallow and uneven, and his gaze flitted between the group without recognition. Then his eyes fell on the streaks of blood staining his hands and clothes, and his body trembled violently.
"No. No!" he whispered in utter despair before turning to the side and vomiting.
Yosano murmured comforting words to him, though she wasn't entirely sure he was aware enough to register them. His usually vibrant eyes seemed subdued and glassy with shock. She glanced at Fukuzawa with dismay when she tried to hand Atsushi something to wipe his mouth. He made no effort to take the offered item. Nor did he respond when Yosano leaned closer, her voice calm and steady despite her concern. "Atsushi-kun," she said, keeping her tone gentle. "Can you stand? We need to move you."
No response.
"Atsushi-kun," Dazai tried next, crouching slightly to meet the boy's eye level. "It's alright. You're safe now. Can you hear me?"
Still, nothing. Atsushi's gaze remained distant, his trembling hands clutching at the bloodstained fabric of his clothes. His body was taut with tension, his expression a mix of fear, detachment, and something he couldn't quite name.
Fukuzawa observed the interaction in silence, his sharp eyes taking in every detail—the glazed look in Atsushi's eyes, the slight twitch of his hands, and the way his body flinched whenever someone moved too close. The boy wasn't just afraid—he was retreating inward, unreachable by their current approach. He had read Atsushi's file and knew the way he had been treated in the orphanage, the way the headmaster had singled him out. A figure of authority without kindness.
Fukuzawa stepped forward, raising a hand slightly to signal the others to back off. His commanding presence filled the space, and his voice, when he spoke, was low but firm. "Atsushi," he said, his tone carrying the weight of authority, "can you walk?"
Atsushi's head jerked slightly, as though the tone broke through the fog in his mind. He blinked slowly, his gaze hesitantly lifting to meet Fukuzawa's. It took a long moment, but finally, Atsushi nodded—a small, timid motion. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Fukuzawa didn't let his expression waver, though his heart ached at the boy's trembling response. "Do you recognize anyone here?" he asked, keeping his tone steady.
Atsushi shook his head, his movements slow and hesitant. "No," he murmured.
"Do you know what is going on?" Fukuzawa pressed, his voice gentler now but still firm. He needed to understand what the boy believed was happening.
Atsushi's breath hitched, and his voice cracked as he answered, "I… I hurt someone. I...I…" His glassy eyes looked at his bloodstained clothes, then slowly back up at Fukuzawa with sorrow. "Because… I'm a monster."
The others reacted immediately—quiet gasps, murmurs of protest—but Fukuzawa raised his hand again, silencing them. The motion made Atsushi flinch violently, his eyes scrunching shut as he pressed himself tighter against the wall, bracing for a blow.
Fukuzawa lowered his hand slowly, his frown deepening. "Atsushi," he said, his voice softer now, "why do you think we're here?"
Atsushi opened his eyes warily, his gaze flicking between them with hesitation and sad resignation. "I… I mean because I did something bad," he stammered. "I deserve punishment. The headmaster must protect the others, so he sent you to deal with me." Despite his fear, the words came out matter-of-factly, as though he had detached himself from the truth he believed.
Fukuzawa studied him carefully, his thoughts racing. The boy's words, his demeanor, even his posture—it all pointed to a disturbing conclusion. If Atsushi didn't recognize them, if he still believed he was in the orphanage, then he wasn't living in the present.
"Atsushi," Fukuzawa asked gently but firmly, "how old are you?"
Atsushi hesitated, his gaze darting nervously between the group. Finally, he stammered, "Fourteen."
A sharp gasp escaped Kyōka, and Dazai's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he exchanged a grim look with Fukuzawa and Kunikida. This was exactly what he had feared.
Yosano stepped forward, taking her cue from Fukuzawa's approach. Her voice was calm but carried an authoritative edge as she said, "Atsushi, we need you to get in the car."
Atsushi froze, his wide eyes flicking toward Fukuzawa for confirmation. The older man nodded, his expression grave but steady. After a moment's hesitation, Atsushi complied, rising unsteadily to his feet and allowing Yosano to guide him.
As they moved toward the waiting car, Fukuzawa turned to the others, his voice low and serious. "We need to be cautious and prepared for difficulties," he said. "This is not our Atsushi right now, but a very damaged boy—and tiger."
With those words, they helped Atsushi into the car, the weight of the situation heavy on all of them as they prepared for the challenges ahead.
/\*
End Note: Poem bit if from 'The Wild Beneath' by me for this fic. I had a great deal of fun writing Akutagawa and Byakko scenes!
Please leave a comment and let me know what you think about where its going or you think its going.