Chapter Text
News was broadcasting: a minister from Tokyo, visiting Yokohama, had been assassinated on foreign soil. The attack instantly plunged the two nations' relations into a weak rope.
With political options exhausted and war looming, the Armed Detective Agency (ADA) were now the pivotal, final line of defense.
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The deserted parking structure smelled of stale gas and damp concrete. A man stood waiting, the confidential envelope clutched in his hand.
A jet-black sedan rolled up and stopped. The driver's window slid down, revealing the profile of Yuri.
The man nodded, crossing the short distance to slip the envelope through the opening. The hand-off was swift and clean. The window sealed, and the car sped toward the exit ramp.
The man, momentarily relieved, pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, taking a deep drag. A second later, he heard footsteps approaching from behind.
He turned slowly. Standing ten feet away, cold and furious, was Yuri. The real Yuri.
His cigarette dropped. "Oh no..." he whispered. "He got us again."
...
Two miles away, the black sedan was already on the highway. The driver brought a hand to his face, finding the seam along his jaw. With a practiced, sharp movement, he ripped away the silicone mask.
Beneath the disguise was a surprisingly soft, young face. Short, wavy brunette hair framed dark auburn. His features were perfectly beautiful, designed to disarm.
This man was known only by his infamous code name. This was the Demon Prodigy. A detective of the highly classified Armed Detective Agency (ADA).
He reached for the envelope he had just collected. Tearing it open, his eyes quickly scanned the contents. A faint, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. The file contained the precise details—the path to doom for the terrorist organization his agency had been tracking for months.
...
Meanwhile, miles across the city, the ADA headquarters was anything but quiet.
Three figures occupied a dark, vintage office, surrounded by the heavy silence of intense focus. They stood clustered around a large table dominated by a detailed map of the region. On this map, the two major countries—Yokohama and Tokyo—were clearly delineated.
The three co-workers were deep in discussion, their voices low and sharp.
Finally, a blond man wearing specs straightened up and nodded firmly at a silver-haired man who appeared to be the boss.
"Then," the blond man concluded, his voice ringing with finality, "we are sending him on this mission."
They selected their most efficient detective— to work as a spy.
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The next morning, the Demon Prodigy sat on a wooden bench at the metro station, blending seamlessly into the rush hour crowd. He was dressed in plain, unremarkable clothes and casually held a folded daily newspaper.
He settled onto the bench beside a middle-aged man who also held the same thick bundle. With smooth, synchronized movements, the Demon Prodigy placed his paper atop the man's bundle. At that exact moment, the other man rose, picking up Dazai's newspaper and walked away.
The Demon Prodigy immediately reached down and retrieved the former paper that now rested where his own had been. The silent exchange was complete.
He stepped onto the newly arrived train and found a standing spot, unfolding the exchanged newspaper. It wasn't news. Tucked within the columns of fake headlines were hidden codes and mission details for the Yokohama assignment.
The core objective was clear: Disguise himself as a commoner in Yokohama to infiltrate and dismantle the terrorist organization threatening the regional peace. The ultimate, crucial motive was to locate and neutralize Mori Ougai—a major, secretive influential figure in the parliament, believed to be the true ultimate threat behind the crisis.
The instructions detailed Mori’s almost non-existent public profile. The only reliable opportunity for a face-to-face encounter was during his son's yearly scholar inauguration ceremony at his private school.
The mission required access. The Demon Prodigy would need a child to attend the same school.
His normally composed features twisted into disbelief. He unconsciously clenched the paper in his hands, tearing it clean in two.
"How am I supposed to produce a child in a week!?" he shrieked out, the question escaping him in sheer, bewildered frustration.
The sudden noise caught the attention of several nearby passengers, who glanced sharply at the brunette man.
He immediately lowered his head, whispering a small, embarrassed "My apologies for the commotion," before retreating into the quiet focus of his mission.
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Wasting no time, the Demon Prodigy immediately traveled to the heart of Yokohama, dropping his identity into the common stream. His first requirement was camouflage: a suitable residence.
He stood in a modest apartment on the third floor, its layout standard, and therefore, perfectly discreet. A dealer, a man wearing a too-tight suit, trailed him enthusiastically, detailing the amenities.
"It’s completely suitable for a family, sir," the dealer chirped. "A cozy drawing room, attached kitchen, washroom, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Not lavish, but solid."
The Demon Prodigy didn't listen to the sales pitch. He moved with a practiced, analytical focus, running his hands over window seals, checking the locks, and tapping on walls for structural integrity or hidden flaws. Finding everything structurally sound and conveniently located, he gave a decisive nod.
The deal was sealed immediately.
The dealer beamed, practically rubbing his hands together as he accepted the Demon Prodigy's check and handed over the apartment keys.
"If you don't mind my asking," the dealer ventured, curiosity breaking through his professional facade. "You mentioned you were shifting house with your child. Is it a son or a daughter?"
The brunet remained silent for a few seconds, his dark auburn eyes distant, already processing a hundred different variables.
"Umm, yeah, I will see that today," he finally answered, his tone flat and absolute, before turning to leave the dealer standing alone, thoroughly and comically confused.
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The Demon Prodigy located the address with cold efficiency. It was an orphanage on the outskirts of Yokohama, a battered building in a state of neglect. The moment he stepped inside, the owner appeared from the doorway, his face etched with fatigue and ill-tempered, clearly a man who despised both the place and his duties.
The brunet walked past and stated his request plainly: "I am here to adopt a child."
The owner didn't bother with courtesies. He merely waved a dismissive hand toward the interior. "Choose whoever you wish. They're all the same."
The Demon Prodigy refined his requirement: "I need a child who is proficient in reading and writing."
The owner paused, a flicker of something—memory, perhaps—in his tired eyes. He barked a single name: "Atsushi!"
A moment later, a boy with straight, startlingly white hair and large, round eyes appeared. He approached the guest with an air of cautious curiosity.
"He is quiet and distant, but nevertheless an obeying child," the owner pointed out with a tone of utter disinterest. "He must suffice."
The Demon Prodigy studied the boy, running a professional assessment.He is quite young; judging by his looks, he can't be more than eight years old, he mentally noted. But Mori's son is ten years of age, and if my child is to gain relations with his, he must be of a similar age and class. With this final decision, he was about to turn and search elsewhere.
But before he could speak, Atsushi spoke first, his voice small yet determined: "I am ten years old!"
The brunet blinked, slightly nonplussed by the sudden correction. He quickly recovered, his mind racing ahead. Age is solved, but what about his academic and mental skills? Could he even pass the admission test of that private school?
As if reading the Demon Prodigy’s very thoughts, Atsushi moved. He quickly grabbed a forgotten newspaper and a pencil from a dusty corner. He laid the paper flat, strategically positioning the crossword puzzle area in front of them, his eyes fixed on filling it correctly.
The Demon Prodigy leaned in with curiosity, thinking that a full-sized crossword was too advanced for a child, even a ten-year-old. It's a kid's play for me, anyways, he mused, his own mind running through the solutions: The one on the right is iconoclast. The across must be cacophony; the one left to it is abnegation...
To his complete surprise, the child worked patiently and accurately, filling the complex crossword just as the Demon Prodigy had mentally outlined.
The Demon Prodigy flashed a rare, genuine smile, matching the look of victory and relief on Atsushi's young face. He had found his operative. The decision was final: this was the child for his mission.
He informed the owner of his intent. When the owner was asked to sign the necessary documents, he merely waved a weary hand in the air. "No need for documentation," he mumbled, eager to be rid of the child. "Take him directly."
And so, the critical step of acquiring a child went with shocking smoothness for the Demon Prodigy.
He took Atsushi to the new apartment in Yokohama. The boy was utterly delighted, jumping across the modest drawing room, thrilled by the sudden, profound change in his circumstances.
"Now come here, Atsushi," he ordered softly, settling onto the apartment's acquired sofa.
Atsushi obeyed eagerly, coming to stand by his side.
"You need to present yourself as my biological son, not adopted," the brunet pointed out, his voice now crisp and professional. "You will refer to me as papa, or father, whatever you wish."
"Okay, papa!" Atsushi happily nodded, accepting the parameter immediately.
A second later, his brow furrowed in confusion. "But... what is your name?"
A spike of panic hit the Demon Prodigy. Oh, shit—yes. A child should know his father's name, he thought, momentarily flustered by the oversight. He cleared his throat to dispel the sudden uneasiness, then quickly composed himself and offered a kind, practiced smile.
"I am Dazai Osamu," he replied, settling into the new persona.
And that name, the new name that defined his identity, was who he was for the mission.
"So, that would make me...Dazai Atsushi?" The child responded shyly, blinking at his new name.
Dazai blinks aswell, then gives a short cheerful laugh. "Yup. I guess that settles it."