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midwinterrmemento · 2 years

Text

two.

➢ word count: 4,834

➢ series masterlist

⚠️ content warnings: implied manga spoilers, mild violence because jouno is an assassin and he’s also... himself (also he’s tricky to write so sorry if he’s a little ooc </3)

When night came to Yokohama, the city fell into the hands of another group of ability users—one whose methods of protecting their domain were feared by even the worst criminal organizations. It didn't matter who you were, or how clever or powerful you considered yourself to be. If you crossed the Port Mafia, you would find that there was no match for the group who was Yokohama's darkness incarnate.

In particular, there was one man whose face everyone in the underworld knew to fear. A man regarded as the punisher, an infamous assassin from the Port Mafia who seemed to take special interest in disciplining those who were foolish enough to challenge his organization. And without a doubt, he was frighteningly suited for his job. The sight of his face alone was understood by many to be an omen of death; by the time you saw him, it would already be too late.

The night of Tecchou's arrival in Yokohama, on the other side of the city, one unlucky young man was learning that for himself. Clumsy footsteps thudded against the pavement as he stumbled down the dark road, one hand pressed to his bleeding side. In his other hand, he was ungracefully trying to type something on his phone, but this was proving to be difficult with his shaking fingers and blurred vision.

Boss. Get out.

His face suddenly felt wet. He couldn't tell if it was blood or perhaps tears. In his desperation to get the message out, the young man could no longer bring himself to care about typing accurately; the only thing that mattered was that his boss would be able to understand the text.

Missiom failed. Everyonr deas.

Suddenly sensing a presence behind him, he stopped what he was doing immediately, feeling his heart drop in his chest. It was him. It had to be him. Oh, god, he'd found him. He whipped around, eyes darting all around the street as he looked for the source of his fear. He couldn't see him anywhere, but this presence—this dread—was unmistakable. He had to get out of here. Now.

With no other options left, the young man turned and began to sprint, his heart pounding. In the midst of his last ditch effort to flee, he managed to get out one last text, one word that would explain everything his boss needed to know.

mafia.

As he rounded the corner onto another side street, for a moment he felt a glimmer of hope. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. When there was still no trace of the man pursuing him, he dared to think—just for a moment—that maybe he really would be able to escape and get back to his base. Maybe he would be the first one of the famed assassin's targets who lived to tell the tale. It was a nice thought, that he would survive the decimation of his organization, that was he was just that much luckier than his fallen comrades.

But that hope was quickly snuffed out.

With his attention distracted, the young man failed to notice that there was a figure materializing in front of him until he very nearly collided with him. Snapping his head back around, the man only had the time to catch a flash of silver hair, tinted blood red at the ends, before his feet were swept out from under him. As he slammed harshly onto the concrete ground, he twisted around as quickly as he could to face his attacker.

Dragging his eyes up from the man's boots to his face, he regretted it instantly when he saw the terrifying smile etched on his face.

It was exactly as he had feared.

The omen of death.

The young man's legs felt like jelly. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to stand up, he began to kick his feet helplessly, pushing himself back to put as much space between the two of them as possible. "You... you—what do you want?"

But the man known as the punisher said nothing. He only hummed, crossing his arms as he calmly began walking towards the young man desperately trying to crawl away from him.

"H-Hey, listen, man, this can just stay between you and me, all right? I won't tell anybody about what happened back there, okay? My boss, he doesn't need to know. You can just... just let me go. I won't say anything."

"Your boss doesn't need to know?"

Hearing his voice for the first time—the voice of death itself, teasing and sadistic—sent a chill down the young man's spine. He froze in place as the assassin towered over him, raising an eyebrow lazily as though he'd had this interaction countless times before.

"And you expect me to believe you haven't already tried to contact him."

"N-No... I haven't, I swear!"

Something akin to a laugh passed through his lips, but it was a bit too cold to really be considered one. "Now, now. If you're going to lie, you should at least put more effort into it. And get your heartbeat under control, please. I can hardly even hear myself think."

In one fluid motion, the assassin had kicked the phone out of the young man's hand and pressed him down onto the pavement with his boot. Although his eyes were closed, it still seemed as if he could see the terrified expression on the young man's face. In fact, it was almost as if he could feel it, and that eerie smile stretched across his face as he began slowly digging his heel into his shoulder.

"Look, man, you're makin' a big mistake," he hurried out, switching tactics abruptly. "My boss doesn't care about the Port Mafia. You need me alive to reason with him. If all of us turn up dead, then he's gonna come after you, and you don't want that, trust me."

"Hmm. And how exactly is a dead man going to come after me?"

"A... a dead man? What..."

As he stumbled over his words, the assassin explained simply, "When dealing with a small group like yours, it's usually easiest to eliminate the boss first and handle the lackeys later. In other words, you've got no one to run back to. Your puny organization is already all but wiped out."

"Wiped out...? Even... the boss...? No way, you couldn't have—"

The words died abruptly on the young man's lips as the assassin reached down to his belt and slowly withdrew a gleaming silver saber. His body froze in terror as the bloody tip of the blade was turned down towards his throat.

"So I'll tell you what," the assassin said lightly. "Since you're practically a dead man walking anyway, let's play a game."

"A game?" The young man had never heard his own voice sound so weak before.

"Stab your own stomach with my sword. If you make the tip come out of your back, then I'll let you go free. What do you say?"

He offered the handle of the blade to the man lying on the ground below him, who only stared at it, wide-eyed.

"...Stick this through the stomach... to the back...?"

"That's right. It's much better than having to answer to the Port Mafia, isn't it? Come on now, do your best, please."

As the young man shifted his gaze from the sword to the one holding it, he couldn't help but think that the rumors were all true. The sight in front of him right now was enough to confirm all of them. The wicked smile, the twisted joy that this man seemed to derive from the thought of watching a man stab himself—he truly was the embodiment of evil, a monster beyond redemption.

But what other choice did he have but to play along with his demands, if he wanted to have a chance of getting out of here alive?

With a shaky hand, the young man reached up and accepted the handle of the sword from the assassin. The moment it fell into his grasp, he felt bile starting to rise in his throat. The punisher, however, only continued to smile down at him, waiting patiently.

"That's it. Whenever you're ready."

The young man pressed the tip of the blade to his stomach, but his trembling hands wouldn't allow him to take it any farther than that. He really felt as though he was going to throw up now, and as the panic took over, his desperate mind urged him to act on the only other thing he could think to do in this situation.

A hysterical scream falling from his lips, he swung the sword upwards, straight towards the punisher's face—only to watch it pass straight through him with a whoosh, as though he wasn't even standing there at all.

There was no time for the young man to even question what he had just witnessed before a dark chuckle rang out above him, accompanied by the decisive utterance, "Ah, what a pity. Well, thank you for the nice sounds."

Then the assassin's foot collided swiftly and harshly with the side of his face, with a crack that resounded in the silent alleyway. And suddenly, everything was dark.

Once he was sure that the young man was out cold, it only took a moment for the smirk to disappear from Jouno's face, his lips curving down into a slight frown. Really, what a pity. Sparing him only an apathetic glance, he knelt down to retrieve his sword, which had fallen out of the young man's hand and clattered on the ground next to his unconscious form. A bore, would be more like it.

Just as he was sliding the saber back into its sheath, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket, and he answered it with a sigh. "Yes?"

"Aniki," A familiar voice met him on the other end, crackling a bit due to the poor connection, "you there?"

"Clearly."

"Hey, did something go wrong? You've been gone a long time, aren't you done yet?"

He paused for a second, trying to remember exactly how much time he'd spent playing cat and mouse with the young man. "Nothing went wrong. I guess I lost track of time."

"Really?" With Jouno's heightened senses, he could easily detect the undertones of excitement in his subordinate's voice. "Did those guys really put up a good fight?"

In all his time as the Port Mafia's most celebrated young assassin, there was never a mission that Jouno Saigiku couldn't handle. Even for him to return late from a mission was unheard of. So he could understand why his subordinate was intrigued by the idea. Since they'd started working together, this would've been the first time that there was someone—anyone—outside of the Port Mafia who could take him on. He almost wished that was the case.

"Not at all," Jouno sighed. "This was the most boring job in a while, actually. These thugs have been so predictable lately."

And that was the truth. When he'd confronted the group of petty criminals at their hideout, it only took a matter of minutes for him to crush them. But since he had taken the trouble to come all the way out here just for this mission, Jouno figured he would at least try to make it more interesting—so he had intentionally let one of the criminals run away, only to chase after him and corner him here.

"Aw." The eagerness in Tachihara's voice quickly melted away. "Well, hurry and get back here already, then. Boss wants to talk to us."

"A new assignment?"

"Sounds like it."

"Fine. My work here is done, anyway. Tell them I'm on the way."

Hanging up the phone, Jouno disinterestedly turned back to face the unconscious young man behind him. Judging by the steady, prolonged sounds of his breaths and his heartbeat, he knew that his kick must've done a number on him. Even now that the assassin was reaching for his blade again—to do his job for real this time—the young man wasn't even going to stir. He was out cold, with no idea that his life was about to end. Not that there was anything he could do about it anyway. How pathetic.

"If you're not prepared to stab your own stomach," Jouno muttered, despite knowing that the young man wasn't going to hear him, "then you shouldn't become a criminal."

And with the sound of a blade slashing through the air and a splatter of blood on the cold concrete ground, it was all over.

Jouno didn't waste a second longer in that dreary place, turning to walk away immediately. Already, the young man and his cronies had slipped out of his mind. The only thing that remained from the mission was that familiar empty disappointment that always seemed to hang in the air when his job was done.

Honestly, nothing surprises me in this city anymore.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

As Tecchou blinked his eyes open, it took him a second to remember where he was.

Even half awake, the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling was enough to leave him vaguely alarmed, and he sat up quickly, the blankets around him falling down to his waist. He was lying on a futon, on the floor of a modest apartment. He rubbed his eyes blearily, looking around as he adjusted to the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Then it hit him—this was a dorm. His dorm, in Yokohama, the one the Armed Detective Agency had provided him.

And then he realized what exactly had woken him up so suddenly.

There was someone knocking on his door.

Returning to his senses, he quickly stood up and pulled on his worn uniform, folding the covers of his futon with military precision before making his way over to the door. Standing outside was someone he had never seen before, a boy in a white button-up and black suspenders, who wore a nervous, somewhat apologetic smile. At his side was a dark-haired girl in a red kimono, who appeared to be a few years younger than him, although her expression was much more serious.

"Oh—good morning, Sergeant Suehiro! I hope we're not disturbing you." The boy was carrying a black bag, which he held out to him as he explained, "We just came by to give you some things from the Agency. A welcome gift."

Tecchou blinked in surprise. “A... welcome gift?”

The visitor nodded, explaining quickly, “There's something from all of us. Though honestly, most of our ideas came from Ranpo-san."

He politely took the bag, but once he had it in his arms, he only held onto it, looking back up at him a bit awkwardly as though he was waiting for further explanation.

"We didn't get to meet you yesterday," the girl spoke quietly, "but we're from the Agency, too. I’m Izumi Kyouka. He’s Nakajima Atsushi."

Oh, that's right. In the end, Tecchou had spent far more than fifty-two minutes in Café Uzumaki, talking to Dazai—much to Kunikida's annoyance—and he remembered those names coming up at some point.

"Then, you must be Dazai-san's student?"

Atsushi seemed relieved that Tecchou recognized him. "Ah, yes, that's me!"

"And," Tecchou turned to the girl, "the newest member of the Agency?”

Kyouka nodded slowly, meeting his curious eyes for only a moment before she looked away abruptly. "...But that title belongs to you now."

At that, his eyes widened ever so slightly. Before he even considered his response, Tecchou studied her expression for a moment, unsure of whether or not she was upset by that fact. But when Kyouka glanced back at him, with a shy, congratulatory smile on her face, his doubts were alleviated. More so, he found that he was actually quite touched.

As though he could tell, Atsushi smiled softly. "Anyway, we live in this building, too, so we thought you might like to walk to work with us?"

"Oh... Sure, I'd like that. It'll only take me a moment."

After agreeing to meet the two of them outside when he was ready, Tecchou stepped back into his dorm, shutting the door behind him. Only then did he realize how heavy the bag in his arms felt, so he set it down on the counter and unzipped it.

Evidently, his uniform must've been even worse than he realized, because the first thing he found upon opening the bag was a pile of fresh clothes—including a black button-up that closely resembled the one Kunikida had been wearing yesterday, tan slacks like Dazai's, and a light blue tie like Ranpo's. There's something from all of us, Atsushi had said... so even after talking to him for less than a day, the detectives must have been able to tell that he came to Yokohama with next to nothing.

After being discharged from the military, Tecchou went home straightaway, as was Captain Teruko's first suggestion. She thought that spending time in a calm, familiar environment would do him some good. And it did, for a little while. But the more time Tecchou spent idly in Uwajima, the more he began to feel uncomfortable in his own skin. Things had changed. People were treating him extra delicately, as though they were worried he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown—and maybe he was. He couldn't relax the way he used to, and even in the comfort of his own home, his thoughts were constantly haunted by memories of what happened on the mission to defeat Fukuchi.

He only lasted about two months there before he called Teruko again, asking her to give him something else—anything else—to do.

So, when he learned that he might be able to build a new life for himself in Yokohama, he pinned all of his hopes on that chance. Tecchou left Uwajima immediately that same night, without saying goodbye to anyone, bringing only what he could fit in one suitcase.

There wasn't much else he owned, anyway. His life before that had belonged to the military police for as long as he could remember.

As he finished unpacking the contents of the bag, Tecchou stood back and examined it all, feeling a pang of warmth in his chest. His new colleagues really went out of their way for him, even the ones who hadn't met him yet. New clothes, individually packaged homecooked meals, a first-aid kit, a guide to Yokohama... To his slight bewilderment, there was even a little bunny plush tucked inside the pocket of the black shirt.

The longer he stared at the pile of thoughtful presents, he felt the warmth in his chest twisting into something else—guilt. These people didn't know him, not really. So why go through such trouble to make him feel welcome? Did he really deserve it?

Would they still be so kind to him if they knew the whole story behind his departure from the military?

As if to remind him, Tecchou suddenly noticed the glinting of a silver saber in the corner of his eye. On the floor beside his futon, his military-issued sword sat inside its sheath, where it had been lying untouched for months. He recalled what Kunikida had said before. If you join the organization, the President will likely expect you to put your ability to use.

Dazai’s speculation was correct. He hadn’t used Plum Blossoms in Snow since he left the military police, and he had no intention of doing so anytime soon. In fact, even the thought made him a little uneasy.

But he wanted to carry his weight in the Agency, especially since his coworkers were already doing so much for him. So, trailing across the room absently, Tecchou knelt down beside the futon and slowly placed the sheath back on his belt. It fell back into its place there with a familiar clink, but the sound was no longer pleasing to his ears.

As he made his way towards the door, he stopped upon catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. With the sword at his side, his uniform was complete for the first time in ages. But the man staring back at him was only the haggard shell of the soldier he used to be. Dull eyes. Messy hair. An outfit that was so worn out it was practically in tatters. Absently, he reached up to at least smooth down his hair—only for it to stubbornly stand back up.

With a sigh, Tecchou pulled his eyes away from his reflection. His hand hovered over the sword at his side instinctively, just for a moment, and then he opened the door to his dorm and stepped outside. As he came down the stairs, Atsushi and Kyouka glanced up, hearing his footsteps.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Tecchou said, bowing his head humbly.

Realizing that he was still wearing his uniform, rather than the clothes the Agency members had given him, Atsushi confusedly began, “Tecchou-san—” but Kyouka grabbed his arm to stop him.

Tecchou glanced between the two of them, apparently somewhat confused himself. “Yes?”

“Uh… nevermind, it’s nothing,” Atsushi shook his head, offering him a reassuring smile instead. “Let’s get going, okay?”

He paused for second before nodding in agreement, turning to face the road. Once he wasn’t looking at them, Atsushi glanced at Kyouka, silently asking why she interrupted him.

“Give him time,” she whispered back simply.

Though she didn’t explain any more than that, Atsushi thought he could understand what she meant. Watching the former sergeant’s back as he began walking, it was almost as if he could see the world weighing on his shoulders. And if there was one thing he knew as well as Kyouka, it was that it takes time to move on from one’s old life.

He didn’t doubt it for a second. Tecchou must’ve had his own demons to run from.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“Oh, new guy!”

A shout from across the office met Tecchou’s ears the second he walked into the Armed Detective Agency. Following the source of the sound, his eyes came to rest on the detective who had burst into Fukuzawa’s office yesterday—Ranpo. Sitting back in his chair with his feet up on a desk, he was munching on a lollipop, which he took out of his mouth for a moment to call out to him again.

“Come over here for a second, will you? I have good news.”

Good news? Tecchou, who had only just barely stepped into the room, paused in his tracks for a moment. But then he was nudged just a bit, and turned to find that Atsushi had elbowed him in the side gently. As he glanced over at his two young colleagues who had walked to the Agency with him, Kyouka also gave him an encouraging nod.

That was good enough for him.

Since his time in the military police had taught him to always be on guard and aware of his surroundings, it didn’t escape his notice that Ranpo had treated him with suspicion yesterday. But today, things seemed different. As he made his way over to his desk, Ranpo no longer seemed wary of him. In fact, he didn’t seem concerned at all.

When Tecchou stopped in front of him, the detective swung his feet back down to the floor and bent down to retrieve something from a drawer. Straightening up, he revealed a thick tan folder, which he plopped on the desk ceremoniously. “Ta-da! Your first case.”

Tecchou stared at the file, eyes widening. “What? There’s a case for me?”

“Yep. Boss thinks the best way to get you started with the Agency is to teach you through experience, and I agree,” Ranpo explained, sensing the soldier’s apprehension. He reached into the pocket of his cape and removed a pair of glasses, which he waved in the air for emphasis as he continued, “I’ve considered all the possibilities, and I’ve deduced that it would be best for you to go on your first assignment today, with—”

“—your new friends, of course.”

A familiar voice rang out behind him, finishing Ranpo’s sentence.

“Oh,” Tecchou turned around, recognizing the voice instantly. “Good morning, Dazai-san. And you, too, Kunikida-san.”

While Kunikida returned his greeting with a simple nod of acknowledgment, the brunette beside him couldn’t suppress his grin. “As much as I appreciate the formality, it really isn’t necessary, Tecchou-kun.”

"He can use the title if he likes. Anyway, Sergeant,” Kunikida directed his attention back to Tecchou, “think of this case as a learning experience. Dazai and I have taken on this kind of assignment in the past, so all you need to do is follow along and observe. With the combination of our abilities, there won’t be any problem.”

“And speaking of which... it seems like you’ve prepared for that possibility.” Dazai nodded towards the sword on Tecchou’s belt.

Ah... right. Since he’d left his apartment, Tecchou hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Back when he was still part of the military police, he was so used to carrying his sword with him that he no longer noticed it after a while. But now, it felt unusually heavy at his side, as though it was weighing him down.

“I’m... prepared for the possibility, yes,” he said reluctantly, letting his hand drift over the handle. But to be honest... I hope it doesn’t come to that.

As though he could read his mind, Dazai hummed in understanding. “Well, that’s all well and good. We’re only going on a stakeout anyway, so your first case shouldn’t be too action-packed.”

“A stakeout?”

“That’s right!” Tecchou jumped when Ranpo stood up abruptly and pushed the case file into his hands. “Everything you need to know’s in there.”

“Our client is the owner of a bank near the port. He suspects that someone has been stealing from his vault, so he wants us to look into it,” Kunikida explained. “In fact, there’s one employee he suspects in particular... if you’ll turn to page three.”

Tecchou flipped the file open, murmuring, “Page three...”

Ah. Staring back at him was the face of a young man with rusty red hair and sharp yellow eyes. He assumed that the photograph was his ID from the bank. Though his expression in the photo was serious and somewhat bored, Tecchou could tell that he was actually quite young, maybe no more than a teenager.

And the most distinct thing about him was the bandage he wore on the bridge of his nose.

Tachihara Michizou, he read. Nineteen years old.

“The kid’s been working for the bank for almost three months now. He’s one of the lower-level employees, and the owner says he comes from a ‘distasteful’ background, so he’s an easy suspect,” Dazai chimed in. “We’re going to do some surveillance on the bank. To find out for sure whether he’s the one embezzling from his job—and where all that money went. Worst comes to worst, we pose as security guards for the night. What do you say?”

“...I can do that.”

The determination in Tecchou’s voice made Dazai grin, and he glanced between Ranpo and Kunikida as the new detective continued scanning through the file.

“Well, good,” Kunikida said simply, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Then, we’ll finish working on your paperwork today and head over to the bank this evening. There’s still plenty for us to do in the office before then.”

“All right. I think that’s—oh, where did Dazai-san go?” When Tecchou lifted his eyes from the paper, there were only two people standing in front of him. Suddenly, there was no sign of Dazai; it seemed as though he had vanished without a trace in less than ten seconds.

"Oh, yeah. You lost him at paperwork,” Ranpo said indifferently, plopping himself back down on his chair.

“Ugh,” Kunikida grumbled. “Where is he?”

“Hmm.” Ranpo hummed lazily. He placed his glasses on his nose, thought it over for just a second, and then immediately removed them and tucked them back into his pocket. “Ah... Don’t worry about it. You’ll see him on the mission tonight.”

Tecchou glanced at Kunikida, who seemed to be seething silently. “Uh,” he started carefully, “Is there something I can do to help you in the meantime, Kunikida-san?”

The blond man paused for a second, considering what Tecchou just said, before he sighed and turned back to face him. “Yes, there is. I’m glad there’s someone else around here who is willing to work hard.”

“Oi, Kunikida,” Ranpo called suddenly.

When the two men glanced back at him, he was leaning over in his chair again, rifling through the drawers. Finally, he huffed in annoyance, sitting up.

“When you go out later, make sure to bring back some snacks, okay?”

At that, Kunikida heaved another heavy sigh and began to walk back to his own desk, motioning for Tecchou to follow. And he did, but not before bowing respectfully to Ranpo, who was obviously upset, and assuring him that he would try to bring some snacks himself if Kunikida couldn’t find the time.

As he settled into the Agency’s office for his first official day on the job, working alongside the blond detective, Tecchou couldn’t help but worry about the case that awaited him that evening. That boy in the picture, the one with the red hair, Tachihara, was he truly stealing from his boss? Or was he just a convenient scapegoat, someone who was being wrongfully blamed?

He would find out. That was his job, both as a detective and as someone who had devoted his life to justice. And he wouldn’t allow himself to mess up again.

Even if there was a small voice somewhere in the back of his mind—and an odd sinking feeling in his stomach—telling him that this mission was going to be far more eventful than he thought.

A/N: Hey, remember that time in Wan when Tachihara called Jouno aniki? Because I do, and it lives in my brain rent-free to this day.

Anyway, I want to thank you all for such a kind reaction to the first part of this series :’) sorry it took me so long to get the second chapter out, but I should have much more free time in the next couple of weeks, so I’m planning to spend more time writing then. Also, it helps that the S4 trailer has basically tripled my motivation to create more Suegiku content because they really are the moment and I’m obsessed with their anime designs (even though I’m going to have to go back and change the color of Tecchou’s uniform from green to red sksndb). Literally just that one-second clip of them running together has given me so much brainrot you have no idea-

ANYWAY, I have the next chapter all planned out and there’s going to be a lot of tea, so stay tuned 👀

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #tecchou suehiro #jouno saigiku #suegiku #bsd fanfic #dazai osamu #kunikida doppo #atsushi nakajima #izumi kyouka #ranpo edogawa #tachihara michizou #teruko okura #bsd hunting dogs #tetchou suehiro #tecchou x jouno #jouno x tecchou

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