High spirit | Dazai Osamu ff

Tochi kun

Whenever the guardian spirit of Yokohama and her successor would practice combat in their courtyard, it would create quite the ruckus in the surrounding forest.

When Dazai claimed that his martial arts were almost below average levels amongst the mafia, it did not sit well at all  with a certain someone. He convinced that he could always avoid engaging in combat with his manipulation skills. But he was still handed a weapon and dragged to the courtyard to start training.

Relieving him of his weapon, just a few minutes into the fight, she was yielding her Yari with the air of a master. She wasn't even using the short blade installed on the long stick. She would constantly hit him with wooden end through the many openings he provided. As a result, the scene resembled a child getting caned by it's mother for being disobedient.

Dazai suffered many injuries in those torture sessions she called training. The half healed wounds from his constant suicide attempts would reopen again and again. 

So he plopped down on the carpeted floor of the drawing room surrounded by bandages and ointments. He intended to create a big mess. Keeping the mansion clean was her job anyways. He was applying a cream on his arm when he heard footsteps in the hallway outside. He gave a gloating smile when she appeared in the doorway. His face immediately twisted into a scowl when he saw what she was wearing.

The choker, the long coat hanging on her shoulder and the strangely familiar hat made him feel annoyed for no reason. For the umpteenth time, he felt like he had seen the outfit somewhere. But he discarded the thought again, if he did not remember those clothes then probably an unimportant person wore them.

She walks towards him and squats down between all the mess he created. Her gaze fixed on the creame he applies in his arm. She silently takes one of the bandage roles and starts wrapping it around his arm. He leans back, placing his other hand on the floor for support. He stares at her concentrating hard even on the menial task. The smell of the ointments lingers in the air around them.

"Why do you have to use chemicals? What's wrong with dried herbs?" She looks up at him with a scrunched nose.

"I know you are a Neanderthal. You don't have to remind me every second of the day." Dazai smiles at her calmly.

She puffs her cheeks and throws his wounded arm on the floor without mercy. He flinches at the sudden pain and tries to look at her with pitiful eyes. She pays no heed to him and stands up to walk to the other end of the room. His eyes follow her movements as she pulls out something from one of the drawers fitted into a ancient wooden console.

She happily waves a paper in front of him as she settles down on one of the windowsills. 

"I thought I'd give this to you as a new year's gift. But alas! Your will to be a moron is so strong, even I have to think twice before trusting you with this." She shakes her head in theatric disappointment. Dazai recognises the paper she is dangling in front of him.

"That's the paper used for issuing the Silver Oracle. How did you get your hands on that?" He asks greedily eyeing the paper.

"I've been up to some mischief of my own." She smiles cheekily.

Dazai knows he could go around spouting orders in the mafia with the Oracle in his hands. Even if he's branded a traitor nobody would question him with the special orders written by Mori san himself. His shoulders slump at a sudden realisation.

"Even with the Oracle, you know it needs to have Mori san's handwriting for it to hold any value." Her brows furrow at that and she frowns at him.

"Do you take me for a fool? Why do you think I've been practicing calligraphy for the past few days?" She looks at him accusingly.