Chuuya genuinely wishes he could say that his night is shit, that he doesn't sleep well in his gigantic bed of fluffy, cloud-like silk sheets and pillows, but the truth, as much as it pains him to admit, is that he slept

heavenly

. Like a babe. So much that the knife he kept under the pillow probably would have wound up useless. Although judging by the unchanged appearance of the room around him, no one was there to use it against anyway.

However, getting through the night is one thing. Getting through his first day and every day that follows after will be quite another caliber of strategic difficulty.

A glance at the clock reveals that it's almost noon.

Less than two weeks ago, sleeping in so late would mean that half of the day's opportunities would be already wasted. No free breakfast at one of the shelters. No easy way to slip through the busy eight o'clock crowd and swipe a few wallets here and there. No quick access to whatever local shower he found that day.

He supposes that routine will change now, but Chuuya doubts being late, especially on his

first day

, is good. Never mind that he has no idea of what his job will even be.

All this knowledge sends him scurrying into the bathroom and then slipping into today's and only choice of clothes he owns. It's a weatherproof, wild-hearted mix of leather pieces, chains, and holsters. Yuan once joked that he looked like a vigilante from one of those superhero shows. Chuuya never watched them, but he knows what the term means ' vigilante ' and he supposes, in a way, he is. The realistic, tattered, and spat-out version of it, anyway.

Once he's ready to go, he all but sprints towards the door that will lead him to the stairs instead of the elevators. He sprints back again when he remembers the damned key card. Then he is off. For real, this time.

The stares, drilling holes into his skull, start as soon as he arrives in the lobby, though every time Chuuya so much as meets someone's eyes, their gazes dart away as if struck by lightning. If he wasn't currently lost in the crowd of people that look like office workers but aren't, trying to find someone or something telling him what the hell to do, then perhaps he'd laugh. As it is, Chuuya's just one '

There.

Yuan.

Not for the first time in his life, he thanks the gods above for her pink hair and how much easier it is to find her that way. The overflowing burst of colorful relief starts ebbing away as soon as he notices the black suit she's wearing. Yeah, they're in the mafia now. After all of Dazai's talk about symbolism, it makes sense to dress them appropriately. Still, somehow, Chuuya foolishly convinced himself that the sheep would get to keep at least one piece of themselves. He has fought against mafia members that don't abide by that awful dress code.

Why not them?

"Yuan! Jesus, I'm so glad '"

"Holy shit, you're alive!" Yuan exclaims at the same time, and before he can utter anything else, she's already dragging him into a corner a bit more private and '

The other kids are there. The sheep. His sheep.

Chuuya's chest sags with relief.

They're all in one piece.

"Are you okay?" Yuan asks immediately, her hands flying to his cheeks and neck, checking for something Chuuya doesn't want to think about right now. "Did he hurt '"

"I'm fine."

"You can tell me, Chuuya. I just want to help '"

"Oi," he places his hands over the hands cupping his face, and meets her worried gaze, "I'm fine. I really am. I spent the whole night alone in my bed. I swear on everything dear to me."

The instant her concern bleeds away, a furious, tight-lipped scowl replaces it, and she punches his shoulder. "You just disappeared last night! I thought that was ' you '"

With a mild wince, Chuuya rubs the spot. "I'm sorry, okay? Dazai kept going on about symbols and shit, so I figured it would be best to give it a few days before I see you guys. You know, instead of giving all these penguin fuckers a reason to doubt us."

"So, it's

Dazai

now, huh?" The person who speaks isn't Yuan, but Luca ' along with Chuuya, Yuan, and Shirase, the fourth and last member of the sheep's inner circle.

Chuuya finds himself faltering. It's not like that name

means

anything. (Of course, it means something, Dazai would say if he was here right now. Names are symbols, too ' a

nd why the fuck is that asshole in his head already?!

)

"I can't call him the port mafia boss for the rest of our time here," Chuuya eventually replies with a shrug. "It's his fucking name, Luca."

Now that Yuan isn't bothering him anymore, he gets to see the rest of his friends. Their cold, guarded expressions make his stomach sink. They are supposed to look at

the mafia

like this.

Not at

him

.

Chuuya's still theirs, all the way, and he opens the mouth to say that before he remembers where they are.

"We made an alliance," Chuuya snaps. "We all fucking agreed to this."

"No,

you

agreed to this," Luca shoots back.

"We still voted! And what was I supposed to do? Let Shirase rot in jail?"

At the mention of his name, Shirase shakes his head silently. It's been an ongoing fight since the minute he was released. He thinks the sheep should have left him there and ran instead. Chuuya thinks he'd rather swallow bullets than abandoning him in a fucking cell.

"We all voted," Yuan mutters, keeping her voice quiet. "And it is what it is now."

No one says it, but Chuuya hopes they know that it's not simply going to remain this way. They're not going to live and die as mafia slaves.

Chuuya has a plan.

All they have to do is be patient.

Not all, but some tension drains out of the air and leaves Chuuya with enough time to see that everyone is wearing matching suits. Some, like Yuan, even carry a document. Which means they must have already gotten instructions.

"So you all work?"

"My job starts in..." Yuan glances at her watch. "... less than five minutes, actually. Fuck. I'll have to run in these fucking pants!"

Chuuya scans them. They look chic but not very comfortable. "Where'd you even get them?"

"From our

superiors

," Shirase says, though he makes it sound like a question. "Yours must have forgotten. What do you have to do?"

That's what Chuuya would like to know as well. He crosses his arms. "What do

you

have to do?"

"I'm at the docks," he says with as much of an impressed voice as a factory worker waking up every morning.

"I'm shadowing mine," Yuan offers. "If that bald-headed shithead even thinks of using me as a human shield..."

Chuuya snorts softly. Out of everyone, Yuan is the one he's the least worried about.

"So what about you?" Shirase asks again. "Any fancy job positions?"

Chuuya hardly doubts he'll get any special treatment.

"I'll find out in a few minutes. Yesterday was... hectic."

As if on cue, his people start dispersing. Some of them clap his shoulder in a wordless goodbye, but a few, including Luca, leave without saying anything. Chuuya keeps his expression neutral, even if his throat dries up.

Of course, the sheep are already fighting among themselves on the first fucking day. It's probably what the mafia

planned

.

First, they separate. Then they create problems.

And it's such an obvious trap that it's all too easy to fall into.

Yuan's the only one who hugs him and promises that she'll catch up with him later before taking off.

Now that this is done, Chuuya can go on with whatever the hell

his

job is supposed to be. He figures the only way to find out is to ask Dazai himself.

Chuuya's still not entirely familiar with the building ' all the signs and markings...

confusing

, but one fact is universally known.

The boss resides on the very top floor.

Which is all fine and well, but none of the fancy key cards Chuuya was given yesterday grant him access to the top floor when he tries to use them in the elevator. It's affronting because Chuuya is the boss'

husband

.

He should damn well have the right to visit that man if he wishes to. Then again, understandable because this isn't like any other marriage. Husbands or not, in the end, the port mafia is going to view Chuuya and the sheep as their new pawns first and foremost. The power balance is frustrating, but it's also something he concluded would happen from the moment he said

yes

.

The elevator stops on the... fifth floor, Chuuya thinks, and several people step inside. Chuuya doesn't soften his glare even when their eyes immediately flicker away like they accidentally looked at something they shouldn't have. Most of them are suit-wearers with those stupid-looking shades. (Seriously, who wears sunglasses inside a building?)

Chuuya doubts they have access to the office of the boss either. The one that dares to glance at Chuuya for longer than one brief glimpse, though ' he's wearing a thick colorless coat with a silver fur collar that hides half of his face, but unfortunately, not the disgrace of bangs falling over his forehead. Now this one... he looks like he might get Chuuya where he wants.

Chuuya's lucky when all the grunts shuffle out of the elevator at the next stop, leaving only the two of them. He waits until the electrical hum of machinery working starts up again before speaking. "Oi, you."

He's met with a pair of indigo violet eyes staring back at him. For such a dazzling color, they look morbidly empty.

"Do you have access to the top floor?"

"If Dazai-sama wants to see you," the kid replies with a voice so flat it sounds like a corpse is speaking, "he will call for you."

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Chuuya leans against the wall behind him." Yeah, right, except that I need to see him

right now

, and since I'm

married

to him..." He tilts his head daringly. "... I think I'm an exception."

However, his reply is the same unimpressed stare. "Dazai-sama would have given you a card then."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Within a matter of seconds, Chuuya pushes away from the wall and has the kid pressed against it instead, his hand fisting in that fur collar to keep him pinned.

So flaunting his new status will get him nowhere.

Tough luck.

Fortunately, Chuuya has quite a bit more cards than that up his sleeves.

"Get me to the boss's office," Chuuya snaps. "

Now

."

"Or

what

?"

"Or I'll paint this elevator with the color of your fucking intestines."

Chuuya doesn't like to use

tainted

without a hefty reason, having made it a point not to rely on it too much with a government that has progressed far enough to be able to disable even the strongest of abilities, and because nine out of ten times he doesn't even need it. Sometimes, on days like this, where his patience is strung out and this close to snapping like a rubber band, he's willing to make an exception.

Before he does, though, the kid finally grits out a, "

fine

."

Chuuya eases up on the force in his arms but keeps the kid in a hold as he gets out a keycard and holds it to the detector before punching the highest number on the elevator. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I'm only doing this because you're known not to give up that easily, and I don't want to be late to my meeting," the kid mutters, "not because that threat actually worked on me."

Known for being a stubborn asshole, huh?

Chuuya supposes, just like there are rumors about the boss and all his underlings in every corner you sniff on the streets, there must be rumors about him. About the sheep. It's inevitable when their organizations have been facing each other in various conflicts for years now.

He wonders what the rumors say.

"So who are you?"

"I'm the white reaper."

"Yeah, and I am the stupid fool who agreed to marry into a mafia organization. What's your

name

?"

"Atsushi."

The rest of the ride is neither long nor filled with any more words.

When the elevator dings, Chuuya lets Atsushi lead them through the labyrinth of crystalline hallways, each harboring several stiff-faced bodyguards that look more like marble statues than living people, before finally stopping in front of a massive double solid door.

"I'm here to see the boss," Atsushi tells the four men stationed in front of it.

One of the men lifts his hand to his earpiece, mutters something that Chuuya barely understands even though he's only several feet away before the man inspects the keycard Atsushi holds up. Then finally, finally, the doors open.

Considering it seems to be the only room on the entire floor, it's safe to say that's it's gigantic. Big enough to fit a small army in here. However, the walls are all painted in dark, grim colors, and despite the spacious situation, Chuuya feels suffocated.

He wonders how the hell someone could spend so much time in a room this oppressive without going insane.

Atsushi leads them past an expensive-looking, long table and around the corner. And there he is.

Dazai.

Sitting behind a desk.

He's out of the festive clothes he wore yesterday, instead wearing a charcoal grey suit. The only colors in his entire ensemble are his blood-red scarf and his amused eyes as he beholds Chuuya and Atsushi.

"Dazai-sama," Atsushi says, "he wanted to see you. I hope we're not disturbing."

"It's fine. I was about to take a break anyway." A dazzling smile surfaces on his face. It makes Chuuya's scowl deepen. "Thank you, Atsushi-kun. You can go now." Dazai turns to Chuuya. "And you can let go of my prot 'g '."

Chuuya does, albeit with an unimpressed glare. They both wait in silence as Atsushi bows his head and walks out of the office, and then '

"Look at you behaving like a half-wild beast and threatening my poor subordinates on your very first day here. Color me surprised."

"I wouldn't have to if you had just given me a fucking card," Chuuya snaps, taking a step closer, "or, you know, had given me any fucking instructions on where I'm supposed to be. All the sheep have jobs. Meanwhile, everyone's too damn scared to even look at me!"

"So much anger in such a tiny body."

"Who's tiny?!"

"You," Dazai says flatly and pillows his chin on his folded hands. "There are only three people with access to this floor, and these people would rather slit their own throat before even looking at me the wrong way. I can't say the same about you, husband."

Chuuya only shoots him another withering glower.

"As for the job. You're married to me. Isn't that work enough?"

"It's

aggravating

if that's what you mean," Chuuya mutters, crossing his arms, "but this is an alliance, so I want to work."

"Let's see what I can offer you." Dazai grabs a sheet of paper from the stack on the desk. "Too delicate. Too important. No. No. Not enough experience. Nope. No. Hm, no."

Chuuya stalks forward and slams both of his hands on the desk. "Oh, come on, you gave all of the sheep a job!"

"And they're all grunt jobs," Dazai replies easily. "You're not a grunt. You're at the very top of the hierarchy now."

Somehow, it feels like the complete opposite.

Top of the hierarchy

, his ass.

"So what the hell am I supposed to do? Sit around on my ass and do nothing?!"

"Formal training, first of all. Once you stop walking around like you stepped out of a superhero comic," Dazai's not-so-subtle gaze travels over Chuuya's outfit, "we take it from there."

Looking down at himself, Chuuya blinks. "There's nothing wrong with my clothes."

"If you deal with street gangsters and angry children with knives, no."

The i

f you want to be the head of the mafia, yes

goes unsaid.

Chuuya wants to mutter another reply about Atsushi not having to wear a boring suit either, but then his eyes fall to the document Dazai was looking at earlier, and he blanches. It's a blank sheet of paper. There's nothing on it! "You didn't even consider giving me a job!?"

Dazai puts the paper away like it will overshadow his mistake. "Formal training, Chuuya. And I know

just the right person.

" He taps his earpiece, pointedly ignoring Chuuya's accusing glower with a sunny, light-hearted smile. "Send me Kouyou-san, please."

Kouyou.

From what Chuuya remembers last night, it's the woman with the red hair who silently judged his make-up and hair. "What exactly does

formal training

mean?" he asks because nothing that comes to his head sounds good.

"Everything that the streets haven't taught you about business." Dazai waves a casual hand as if he's talking about the weather instead of insulting him. "Numbers. Contacts. How to talk, sit, walk properly. How to present yourself. How to dress. Emotional control. All that buzz."

"I don't need that."

"You most certainly do."

Okay, so maybe Chuuya does. What he spent the last century of his life doing? Dealing with street organizations, other kids like him, broken and nowhere to go except the ruthless labyrinth of the cone street, the occasional robberies, and murders? It was a kingdom of sticks and stones. In comparison, the mafia is an

empire.

A real one.

Chuuya's not about to let Dazai trample all over him, though. He's not a dumb child.

"If you just gave me a fucking job," he snarls, only a good foot now separating him and the bastard boss of the port mafia, "I would do perfectly fine '"

"Too late," Dazai cuts in, tapping his chin. "Kouyou-san is already here, and we don't want to waste her time now, do we? She's a terribly busy woman."

Chuuya's glare ebbs into a frown when he sees Dazai's eyes travel

past

him.

Surely, she isn't already ' oh, Chuuya's met with the executive's intense gaze when he spins around. Some skills she must have to walk in here without making a single sound.

Maybe

, Chuuya thinks,

training under her won't be that bad.

"Your new proteg ', Ane-san." Dazai nods towards Chuuya without much preamble, already busying himself with a new stack of papers. "Show him the ropes."

"Yes, boss," Kouyou says and gives him a short bow before signaling Chuuya to follow her.

Feeling hesitant because of how fast and wordless this interaction is happening, Chuuya glances back at Dazai, who waves him goodbye with an idle grin. "Go on. Have fun. Don't kill anyone important."

So much for the legendary hellhound of Yokohama.

This is a fucking

kid

with a scarf around his neck.

Kouyou is quick, and Chuuya hurries to catch up to her as they walk out of the office. As soon as the doors fall closed behind them, Kouyou lifts her finger. "I have rules."

Chuuya blinks.

"Rule number one: your earpiece. Your phones. Your keycards. Keep them safe like your life depends on them. Because it does depend on them." Next, she presses a file with papers into his hands. "Documents with crucial numbers and information. Memorize everything, then burn them."

Chuuya's heart hammers in his ears.

Fuck

.

How is he supposed to ' ?

"Rule number two: if I call you, I expect you to get there as fast as possible. I don't care whether you're dying or a few hundred miles away. You have an ability. Use it.

"Rule number three: you might wear the title of Dazai's husband now, but in reality, you're nothing. A grunt. An inexperienced rookie who has yet to earn any respect. You do what I tell you, write reports, shadow me '

shadow

which means you are quiet, work every night until you pass out, and never complain.

"Rule number four: if I'm sleeping, don't wake me unless someone important is dying, or we're under attack.

"Rule number five: if someone important dies and you could have prevented it, we're going to have problems. Not only would you have gone against the loyalty codex, but you would have woken me up for nothing. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Chuuya blurts out, the knowledge that he's supposed to be the second head of the mafia all but forgotten. Dazai called it

training

, but Kouyou makes it sound like

military boot camp

.

Even though Chuuya has to find a quick solution for the literal problem in his hands right now, everything else sounds

good

. Doable. A way to worm his way inside the port mafia's machinery that has kept it running for so long.

Until now.

Until him.

Kouyou gives him the extended, unclipped version of Higuchi's tour of the tower.

Growing up not knowing how to write or, well, read, Chuuya was forced to rely on memorizing things instead, which is why this is the

easy

part. The mixed-use building is gigantic, even more confusing than cone street, what with the mafia front companies that are settled here, and the actual mafia work behind closed doors, but it's information Chuuya would have killed for not even a month ago.

Here lies the nest, and here is the key to all of it.

Well, not to

all

.

Dazai made it clear that Chuuya's not going to get access to the top floor anytime soon. There is still time, though, and Chuuya intends to use it wisely.

Kouyou's actual destination of their trip is a room on one of the higher floors.

"Boardrooms," she explains when they step into the elevator. "Once you've worked your way high enough to land in the bureaucratic and intern side of the business, you'll spend most of your time there. Planning and discussing numbers."

Chuuya smothers his grimace with a firm nod.

He can do that without having to be an excellent reader, right?

"The meeting we're going to is about a black market auction in two weeks. You'll be meeting some of the most important faces responsible for the money that flows in."

Worrying his lip, Chuuya glances at the woman standing next to him idly. She said that Chuuya's

nothing

to her, but that doesn't mean she wants him to fail. Not when Dazai ordered her to achieve the opposite.

(For whatever unknown reason.)

"Kouyou-san," Chuuya starts, "those people. They must have heard about the sheep. Right?"

The smile that blossoms on her face is sharp, cutting, like thorns. "Everyone here knows about the sheep, lad."

"Aren't they going to be angry? That I'm there?"

"Don't expect anyone to fall to their knees and treat you like the boss." Chuuya kissed that thought goodbye a long time ago. "But orders are orders. The boss wants you to get trained quickly. No one will go out of their way to defy his wishes..." She trails off as if there's an exception to that rule.

"No one at all?" Chuuya questions.

Interesting

.

That might be worth looking into later.

"Do not say anything you don't know anything about," Kouyou tells him, ignoring his question. "Don't threaten anyone as you did with Atsushi-kun. The mafia's language is respect and hierarchy. Cross that line one too many times, and you'll face the consequences."

Keeping his mouth shut and listening to some old geezers telling him what to do goes against every principle Chuuya has acquired in his time with the sheep. It's not his way of living. Even if it's for a greater purpose.

What else is he supposed to do, though?

Kouyou's right. Chuuya can only lash out so many times before he ends up accidentally endangering his family.

The elevator doors slide open, leaving no more room for any questions or any hesitation. Kouyou's steps are lengthy and graceful as she leads them across the orbicular, sun-drenched hall and towards one of the several rooms on the other side.

The door gets opened before Kouyou even lifts her hand, and Chuuya follows her inside. The first thing he sees is a wide-eyed grunt in a faded hoodie and jacket that closes the door behind them. Chuuya almost stops dead in his tracks. It's a young man ' no, a young boy ' rust-colored hair, a scar on his cheek, and a collar around his neck. It feels a little like looking at a mirror image of himself, except that it's a version of a Chuuya that didn't get lucky enough to get picked up by the sheep and got picked up by the mafia instead. Someone sharply tugs at the sleeve of his jacket, and Chuuya's attention snaps to the three other men around the table. The stares he gets in return are a mix of passive disinterest and cold disdain.

"What's this brat doing here? You know, I don't appreciate strange faces in my meetings,

Ozaki

."

"I don't appreciate a single thing about you, Ace," Kouyou replies as she takes a seat at the table, wordlessly signaling Chuuya to do the same, "and yet I manage to keep these feelings to myself. The boss wants Chuuya-kun here, so that's where he'll be."

The white-haired man's '

Ace

Kouyou called him ' lips press into a thin line as he leans back in his seat and snaps his fingers at the boy who has retreated into the corner of the room as if trying to blend into the shadows. "Karma, another cup of coffee. I need something strong to deal with this bullshit."

Chuuya's fists curl where he keeps them hidden in his pocket as he watches Karma scurry out of the room.

"Well, gentlemen, if no one else has any more irrelevant comments to get off their chest, I suppose we should start."

Throughout the next half hour, Chuuya finds out that the other two men present here are both named Rokuro, brothers, and not directly in the port mafia but working for one of the shell companies. He finds out a lot more, too. Locations of warehouses. Names of important people. Routes of the ships transporting the illegal goods for the auction. A whole bunch of information that the government would probably kill to have, and here Chuuya is, suddenly in on all of it.

It feels like a trick somehow.

It feels way too easy to get the entire gold plate shoved under his nose right away, and as much as Ace makes his skin crawl, his distrust in Chuuya is entirely comprehensible.

At one point, Chuuya's thoughts must stray because Kouyou shoves a sheet of paper in front of his nose.

"Chuuya-kun, you'll be responsible for overseeing the delivery from the docks to the auction hall for now."

Chuuya looks down at the words.

Symbols

. These must be more names, more locations, objects, and prices.

Important things.

But to him, they don't make any more sense than a puzzle. "Okay."

"

Okay

?" Ace parrots incredulously before looking at Kouyou as if these two words alone are somehow proof of Chuuya's incompetence.

"What do you want to hear?" Chuuya asks, crossing his arms. "

Yes, boss?

Because as far as I'm aware, that's Dazai and not some greasy-haired bitch called Ace." The words are out before Chuuya can really think any better of it, but as Ace's expression twists into something shocked and offended, nostrils flaring, Chuuya can't be bothered to regret it.

Ace turns to Kouyou. "Ozaki. Are you really going to let him speak to an executive like that?"

"Chuuya-kun here might still need to work on his manners," Kouyou only gives Chuuya one warning glare before she offers Ace a cold smile, "but he does speak the truth. I gave Chuuya orders. He agreed. I don't see why you're making such a fuss about it."

"You're not seriously about to let that

child

oversee one of the most critical parts of the operation?! It's

my

money that'll be lost if this brat betrays us. My money that will vanish if he decides to steal from us."

"I'm not that st '" Chuuya cuts himself off when Kouyou lifts her hand.

"Careful, Ace, before anyone starts thinking that you're working on your own instead of for the mafia."

"Ace isn't entirely wrong to be worried," one of the brothers speaks up with a measuring stare in Chuuya's direction. "That's a lot of responsibility for a ' how old are you exactly?"

"Twenty," Chuuya grits out, not mentioning that it's technically a lie. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You'll be responsible for objects that are worth billions of yen," Rokuro points out.

Chuuya raises his brow. "So?"

Ace rubs his temple and beckons over Karma again, muttering something about a pill for his headache and sake.

"There is such a thing as too much confidence. I suggest you don't treat this lightly. This isn't a gas station robbery that you're about to be responsible for."

"The mafia as an opponent wasn't a gas station robbery either," Chuuya says with a shrug, "but here I am. Still kicking. Just like my people."

Okay, in hindsight, bringing up the sheep's past conflict with the organization he's now supposed to be working for isn't the best idea, but these dudes are starting to get on his nerves. There is a reason why Chuuya is number one on the top of the wanted list in Yokohama. And none of it has ever been a joke.

"If you have concerns, I suggest you take it up with the boss himself." With that, Kouyou stands up, folding her hands together. "Other than that, we are done here. Chuuya."

Right. Right. Collecting the shit ton of papers he acquired over the last hour ' arguably more than he ever had in his entire life ' Chuuya gets up, refusing to spare Ace or the brothers any parting glances.

So much about keeping his mouth shut and not showing them any disrespect.

Just as Chuuya steps out of the room, the door falling shut behind him, someone runs into him at full speed, platter, glasses, and liquids clattering to the floor.

"I-I'm so sorry!" the boy stammers out as he kneels down and starts picking up the broken pieces with bare, trembling hands.

"Oi, don't hurt yourself." Chuuya squats down in front of him, the familiar glow of red outlining his skin as he touches the floor. "Karma. Was it?"

Karma's mouth parts watching the broken pieces elevate and form a neat line before floating towards the closest trash can. Then he must remember that Chuuya asked him something, and his gaze snaps to him. "Uh, y-yeah! Karma. You're Chuuya. The king of the sheep. I heard about you when I '" He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "I heard stories about you."

Chuuya's mouth twitches ever so slightly, even though confusion prevails, especially as he gets a better look at that collar around Karma's neck. It's not like Chuuya's own choker. Not a statement. Not for aesthetics or symbolism. It is what it looks like. A collar.

Chains.

"I thought mafia grunts were supposed to deliver shit here and there, not be some prick's personal servant?"

The smile Karma offers him is nothing short of brittle. "I don't belong to the mafia. Not really. I'm Ace's."

"Wha '"

"Chuuya-kun," Kouyou's voice suddenly calls out. "You don't have time for idle chit-chat."

Fuck.

Chuuya gets back to his feet, offering Karma an apologetic smile. "Work calls."

"It always does," Karma replies with a shrug before dusting off his pants. "And you were right, by the way." Chuuya frowns. Huh? "Ace's hair

is

greasy." With that, he turns around, probably to get a replacement for the drink he spilled. Chuuya jogs over to where Kouyou's waiting in front of the elevator, not wanting to test any more of her patience. Not after she was on his side earlier.

"I did tell you my rules, so you would

listen

to them," Kouyou says even if her tone isn't as sharp as he expected it to be. "Don't make me wait again."

"Sorry, sorry," Chuuya mutters. Then when she narrows her eyes, he holds up his hands. "I apologize, ma'am?"

"You are going to be a lot of work. I have no idea what Dazai is thinking."

That seems to be the case with pretty much anyone. Unfortunately, for the boss of an entire organization, Dazai doesn't seem to share his reasons with many people.

"The boy. Karma," Chuuya glances at Kouyou. "Why is he collared?"

Keeping her gaze planted on the doors of the elevator, Kouyou lifts her chin. "That is not what you should be concerned about right now." Chuuya opens his mouth to argue, but she's quicker. "Instead, I suggest you read the papers I gave you. Carefully. A few dozen times. I defended you because I know better than to question the boss' orders, but that doesn't mean I don't have concerns of my own as well. Underground auctions are some of the most profitable events of the year for us. It is most crucial to be on high alert." The elevator dings as it stops on the tenth floor. Kouyou looks at Chuuya. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Translation: he's going to be in a lot of trouble if anything goes wrong.

Chuuya's eyes drift to the papers, all the information hidden behind a sign system that he has no access to. He

already

is in trouble. But he can still dig his way out of it. Somehow. He's made it nineteen years without reading. He'll manage now too.

"Yes, Kouyou-san. I understand."

***

Chuuya doesn't get back to the apartment until sunset, having spent most of the day following Kouyou around, memorizing everything she told him, and trying to cause as little trouble as possible.

When he finally does, though, he first ransacks the kitchen for something to eat and coffee.

The latter takes a bit longer because he keeps searching for instant coffee, cursing every damn drawer and shelf that doesn't have it ' why have so many of them if they don't even have coffee? ' before he realizes that the fancy thing on top of the marble counter is a coffee machine.

And after a cup of it, he realizes that it's a hundred times better, too. None of that bitter taste that he forced himself to get down his throat when sleep was scarce, and work was not. Just like right now, he supposes, looking at the spread-out papers on the table. Chuuya doubts he will get any sleep tonight either when he has to somehow learn an entire language all by himself.

He has gotten bits and pieces of the information in these documents from Kouyou, tried to assign them to their written equals too, but there was no subtle way to go about it with Kouyou watching him like a hawk.

"Okay, Chuuya," he mutters to himself, grabbing the dictionary he snagged from the library ' because, of course, the mafia has a library, "you can do this. You survived government experiments. A hundred conflicts with the mafia. A few dozen fistfights. Getting chased by rabid dogs. A fire-wielding ability user trying to kill you for stealing his wallet. An angry father. What's learning to write and read compared to that, huh?"

***

One hour later.

He can't do it.

He keeps trying to copy words, but that's only useful when he doesn't know the meaning and when there are a million of them. Chuuya will never learn how to read, let alone memorize all the documents in time.

But it's not like he has another choice.

Chuuya can't allow himself to make mistakes right now, in his first days here, every gesture and twitch of muscle carefully observed and assessed. And asking the sheep ' that's out of the question, too.

It's been hard pretending that their leader isn't illiterate, but he's carried this dirty, shameful secret with him for so long that asking for help all of a sudden makes him feel a little sick. So no, he can't do that.

Instead, he does what he does best: pushing through it.

It turns out that when Kouyou said

if I call for you, I expect you to get there as fast as possible

, she meant it because, at five in the morning, Chuuya's new phone buzzes with an incoming call, Kouyou's cool voice on the other end informing him that he's needed for a job.

Chuuya gulps down another coffee, brushes his hair, and puts it in a high ponytail before rushing out of the door, light-headed and buzzing with the brain fog that comes from lack of sleep. Kouyou's waiting for him outside the building next to a normal-looking car.

"One of our delivery boys got delayed last minute," she says, opening the door for him. "It's the grey backpack in the trunk. The driver knows where to go. Be quick. No stops or detours. You get there. You deliver. Done. If, in any case, you get stopped and questioned, you say nothing. You only give them this." Chuuya frowns at the business card she hands over. "It's a lawyer. Don't say anything until they come. They will get you out."

"That happens?"

"Everything is possible, and the force is always looking to find something."

"In and out," Chuuya repeats, trying to stifle a yawn. "That's it?"

Kouyou nods.

Well, Chuuya would rather sleep or see his fucking friends again or literally do anything other than the mafia's grunt work, but it seems simple enough.

His driver is a bald man that doesn't spare him any words as he starts the car and pulls into the street. Chuuya watches blurry street signs and shop windows with neon lighting fly by, trying not to pay attention to the suffocating feeling that wraps around his ribcage, tightening and tightening and tightening. It's a little maddening to be bound by invisible shackles.

No matter how uncomfortable his bed was that he slept on, and no matter how shitty his coffee tasted, at least Chuuya was

free.

It's a silent, fifteen-minute ride, and by the time the car pulls to a stop in front of a two-story house in the middle of a deserted street, the first rays of the sun are starting to break through the darkness. Chuuya's about to ask whether this is it, then thinks better of it. No stops, Kouyou said. Obviously, it's their destination.

Wordlessly, Chuuya gets out of the car and opens the trunk.

The backpack in question is hard to miss, so he grabs the thing and spins around to '

Thud

.

Chuuya only feels the beginning of searing, staggering pain cracking his skull open before he slumps forward.

Then darkness takes over.

Consciousness tugs at his mind, first gently, then mercilessly, making Chuuya come to it again with a slight groan.

What is this pain?

Opening his eyes, he has to blink several times to make sense of his surroundings. Something dark and grimy and small. Something that smells like rust and mold.

He was supposed to do a delivery. He was on the way out of the car and then '

Panic rises inside him. Sharp and fast. Chuuya jerks up and finds himself on the floor, hands bound. He searches

for the tainted sorrow

and ' he comes up

empty

.

It's like his ability's just

gone

.

"What the hell?"

"You're awake," a voice suddenly says behind him. "Then let's begin."

The man ' no, the two men that come into view are dressed in night-blue uniforms, and Chuuya's brows instantly tug into a frown.

Feds? Really?

They don't look like the ones Chuuya has dealt with in the past, but he has heard about special units that focus on organized crime. What he didn't know is that the state allows knocking someone out and '

"Who do you work for?" the taller one of the two asks. His face, graced with a thick scar running down his one eye, betrays no emotion whatsoever, radiating pure ice.

Don't say a word

, Kouyou told him, right? Chuuya's lips press together as he glares up at them.

The man takes a step closer. "I'll ask again, and if you insist on making it difficult, I will make the decision easier for you."

"Look," the other one suddenly says, and Chuuya's overcome with the odd sensation that he doesn't belong in that uniform. Not with his bleached hair and the pink streaks. Maybe that's stereotyping,

but

' "We already have a lead. All we need is tangible proof, okay? So give us a name, locations, anything, and we'll work out a deal that will protect you from them."

Chuuya's thoughts race through his head as he considers his options here. He has names. He has locations. He has an entire empire of dirt on the mafia that could probably buy him a one-way ticket to freedom, but Chuuya didn't spend his whole life dealing with shitheads to be convinced so easily. There is a larger game at stake here.

"Give it up," the taller one says. "He won't talk. Not unless I make him."

"Last chance," the white-haired guy tells him with something akin to a grimace.

What is this?

Chuuya thinks.

Good cop, bad cop?

"Time's up."

Chuuya sees the fist coming, expects it, but it doesn't make the pain hurt any less when it comes crashing down on his face, numbing every thought with the throbbing that pulses through him.

Usually,

for the tainted sorrow

is quick to heal him, not instantly, but it slows down injuries, protects Chuuya; without it, everything feels rawer, louder, more keen.

"Who do you work for?"

Chuuya lifts his head only to bare his teeth. "Fuck you."

"So you do speak." The man's fingers fist in Chuuya's shirt before he downright punches him against a wall behind them. "Give us a name then."

The utter nonchalance of every word makes this entire ordeal that much more frustrating.

"We know who you are, Chuuya," the other voice says. "We can protect you. Just cooperate. Give us

something

."

Chuuya can't give anything but a sick gasp of breath as his head tosses back from another blow.

"Who do you work for?"

"Give us a name, Chuuya!"

"Talk."

"Even something as simple as a warehouse would be enough!"

Their voices blur together into one endless stream of noises that Chuuya blends out as his lungs burn to catch up with his shallow breathing until '

"We can protect you and the sheep."

Chuuya's eyes flutter open.

The sheep.

Wasn't that his only goal before Shirase got arrested and everything went to shit? Keeping them safe? Protected, instead of making them work for an organization like the mafia?

It'd be so easy. So incredibly easy to open his mouth, tell these fuckers what they want to hear, and be done with it.

Except nothing in life is ever that simple.

It's

too

easy.

Too convenient.

"I already said what I have to say," Chuuya hisses. "

Fuck you.

"

The man in front of him sighs like he's stepping around a piece of dog shit on the street. A minor nuisance. He blindly holds out his hand, and the other guy, looking upset as he does, places a gun in his hand.

"Our boss has no use for useless people like you."

"I guess I'll have to call him and deliver the news," he hears the other guy mutter. "He won't be happy."

The barrel of the gun points straight at Chuuya's face. He lifts his chin, jaw muscles clenching.

"One."

"Last chance, Chuuya. Come on. We can

help

you."

"Two."

It's not about loyalty to the mafia. It's not about the clear instructions and warnings Kouyou gave him either.

"Any last words?"

It's about a voice inside his head calling

bullshit.

"You're not going to do it."

The man pulls the trigger.

Despite his intuition being 95% sure something is

off

about all this, Chuuya's eyes still fall shut in silent prayer when it happens. He doubts he'd get into heaven with all the blood on his hands, but maybe something in-between? A place where he can rest? Find some peace?

Maybe he actually does. Because it's

silent

. No pain or blood or '

Chuuya opens his eyes.

The two men look at him in unhurried silence.

He was right?

Then the mouth of the white-haired guy twitches suspiciously as he crosses the distance between them to hold the phone in his hand to Chuuya's ear. "Our boss wants to talk to you."

Chuuya's pulse is still hammering loudly inside him when he does, so much that the voice on the other end of the line gets almost drowned out by it.

Almost.

"Hey, Chuuya."