Drowning in the swamp of memories

Reckoning

I found myself chained in some dingy basement, the faint smell of dampness hanging in the air. It was cold, and the walls were rough against my back, metal cuffs tight around my wrists as they held me firmly in place. My eyes remained shut, feigning unconsciousness, as I listened closely to what was going on around me. The sounds echoed off the concrete—footsteps, angry words, and the unmistakable dull thud of fists hitting flesh.

Dazai was nearby, his smug laughter giving him away even before I dared to look. His wrists were chained above his head like mine, a few scratches and bruises dotting his face, but he seemed unfazed, almost… amused. Akutagawa was snarling at him, fists clenched, each punch landing harder than the last. But Dazai only smirked, taunting him with every strike, his voice calm and laced with that infuriating calm he always had.

"Is that all you got, Akutagawa?" he chuckled, blood on his lip, eyes glinting in the dim light. "You used to punch harder back when I was your mentor."

Akutagawa’s jaw tightened at Dazai’s words, but he held back from lashing out further. "This isn’t about you," he sneered, his voice low. But I could sense the frustration boiling under his composed facade.

I almost wanted to cheer him on. Dazai was infuriating, and seeing him on the receiving end of Akutagawa’s anger was… oddly satisfying.

Then came another set of footsteps, slow and heavy, echoing down the stone steps that led into this cramped basement. A man emerged from the shadows—shorter, but with a presence that could fill the room. His hair was a fiery red, almost too bright for this dark place, and his attire was nothing short of sharp. Black suit, dress shirt, gloved hands. He looked like he could either be attending a mafia gathering or putting on a dance show in some 80s music video.

Chuuya Nakahara.

“Akutagawa,” Chuuya said coolly, his gaze fixed on Dazai with a deadly glint. “Leave us. I’ve got this.”

Akutagawa stiffened but obeyed, casting a final glare at Dazai before storming off. Chuuya’s steps were measured as he approached, the click of his boots against the concrete floor oddly rhythmic. He looked at Dazai, then at me, his gaze narrowing as he took in my chained form, his eyes flashing with something unreadable.

Without a word, he raised his fist and punched Dazai square in the jaw. I almost winced, though I’d seen Dazai handle far worse. Chuuya then turned his gaze on me, studying my face. For a split second, surprise flickered in his eyes.

“Kiki? Is that really you?” His voice softened, but I could hear the edge to it. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out as if to touch my face, but I pulled my head back, glowering.

“Oi!” I barked. “Stop calling me by that name! I told you before, didn’t I?” My words were sharp, biting, but he didn’t flinch. "You're just like Kai, honestly."

Chuuya smirked, tilting his head. “Still the same attitude,” he said, hands slipping into his pockets as he looked at me with a mix of nostalgia and bemusement. “Nice outfit,” I sneered. “What’s the matter, Michael Jackson, couldn’t decide between mafia and rock star today?”

He gave me a dry look, ignoring the insult. “What are you doing here, Kiki?”

I felt the familiar chill settle into my eyes, a coldness that reflected in my words. “Katara’s dead, Chuuya.” My voice barely rose above a whisper, each word weighted with a strange finality. “I came here… for her.”

Chuuya’s expression didn’t change, as if he already knew. He looked down, a flicker of something almost like grief passing over his features. “Yeah,” he said quietly, voice hoarse. “I know.”

My gaze sharpened. “You knew?”

He lifted his head, his blue eyes meeting mine. “I can see it in you,” he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “You have her eyes now… just like him.”

I felt a pang, my hands clenching in the restraints as anger bubbled up. “Don’t mention him!” My voice cracked, words carrying more venom than I intended. “He’s nothing but a coward—a…” I struggled to form the words, anger clouding my thoughts. “He… abandoned us.”

Chuuya’s gaze softened, but his jaw clenched. For a brief moment, his hand raised, and I thought he might slap me. His eyes were hard, but he seemed almost… hurt. However, before he could do anything, a metal clink shattered the silence. Dazai had somehow broken free of his restraints, his body moving with ease as he stepped between Chuuya and me.

“If you touch her, Chuuya, I’ll make sure you regret it,” Dazai’s voice was low, almost a growl. For once, there was no humor, no sarcasm. Just cold, dangerous intent.

Chuuya smirked, looking unfazed. “Relax, Dazai. She’s tougher than she looks. She doesn’t need you to babysit her.” He sighed, looking back at me with a shadow of his earlier coldness. “But you’re both fools if you think you can waltz in here without a consequence.”

Dazai narrowed his eyes, ignoring the jab. “Why are you so intent on Atsushi, anyway?” he asked, his tone demanding. “What does the Port Mafia want with him?”

Chuuya folded his arms, lips twisting into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The Guild’s offering a bounty for the ‘Were-Tiger’,” he said, glancing from Dazai to me. “And… for her, too.” His gaze locked on me, assessing, almost pitying. “Seems like you’re both in high demand.”

“What?” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. My head was spinning, the implications settling like stones in my stomach.

Dazai’s gaze darkened, a look I’d rarely seen from him. “Guess we should get going then,” he muttered, unfazed. He moved towards me, breaking the restraints from my wrists. I didn’t resist his hold; my thoughts were swirling too much to even care. He gripped my hand, guiding me away, his movements quick and sure.

As we reached the doorway, Dazai turned back to Chuuya. “And remember,” he said, his voice sharp. “Her name is Mizuki-san. Not… Kiki.” He smirked, a flash of that usual mischief back in his eyes. But this time, it felt colder, more lethal.

As he dragged me away, I let my mind race with questions, my head barely able to keep up with my pulse. I cast a glance back, catching Chuuya’s eyes one last time before the shadows swallowed him.

“Dazai…” I murmured, but he didn’t let me finish.

“Don’t overthink it, Mizuki-san.” His tone was smooth, almost teasing. But I could feel the weight of his grip, the urgency as he kept moving. Was he worried? Or just playing with me, like always?

But this time, his silence was answer enough.