(Links to Part 1 and Part 2 are added at the end of this chapter)
The gun aimed at Dazai's head trembled.
Just slightly.
Enough for everyone in the room to notice.
Dazai himself stayed unnaturally still beneath the hands pinning him down. Four men held his arms and shoulders now, gripping hard enough to bruise. Not one of them looked comfortable doing it.
Across from him, Oda stared at the handgun still extended toward him.
Like it was something rotten.
“Pick it up,” Mori said mildly.
Nobody moved. The conference hall had become terrifyingly quiet.
Oda spoke first.
“No.”
Simple again.
Steady again.
But Dazai could see it now. The minute tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curled once at his sides.
Mori smiled faintly.
“How stubborn.”
“Odasaku.” Dazai's voice cut across the room immediately. “Don't touch the gun.”
Oda looked at him.
That was the dangerous part.
Not the gun.
Not Mori.
The way Oda looked at him.
Like Dazai mattered more than the line he'd drawn for himself.
Dazai felt cold all of a sudden.
“Listen to me,” he said quietly. “It's fine.”
It wasn't.
Everyone knew it wasn't.
But Dazai would rather die than watch Oda destroy the one thing still keeping him human.
Mori sighed theatrically.
“You're making this unnecessarily difficult.”
Then he nodded toward the Mafia member holding the gun to Dazai's head.
“Shoot him.”
The man flinched violently.
“Boss...”
“Shoot.”
The operative's face had gone pale.
“This is Executive Dazai,” he said hoarsely. “I can't just...”
Mori's smile vanished.
Instantly.
Like a candle blown out.
“If you fail to obey,” Mori said calmly, “I'll personally shoot you instead.”
The room chilled.
The operative looked sick.
His grip on the gun faltered visibly now, panic creeping into every movement. Sweat rolled down the side of his face.
Dazai barely noticed him.
His eyes locked on Oda.
“Odasaku,” he said again, softer this time. “Please.”
It stunned the room more than the gun did.
Because Executive Dazai didn't beg.
Not for mercy. Not for help.
Not for anything.
But here he was, held down like an animal before slaughter, looking only at Oda.
“Don't kill for me.”
Oda's jaw tightened.
Mori watched the exchange with open fascination.
“How beautiful,” he murmured. “Two men trying desperately to protect each other from themselves.”
“Shut up,” Dazai snapped.
Mori ignored him completely.
“Sakunosuke-kun, the answer is simple.” Mori tilted the gun slightly toward Oda again. “One death or two.”
The operative near Dazai looked moments from collapse.
“Boss, please...”
“Quiet.”
Dazai struggled suddenly, hard enough that the men restraining him nearly lost hold.
“Odasaku!”
For one terrible second, emotion cracked clean through his composure.
Raw and naked.
“Don't you dare!”
The room froze around the sound of it.
Because Dazai sounded terrified.
Oda closed his eyes briefly.
Just once.
Then he stepped forward.
And took the gun.
A collective breath caught across the conference hall.
Dazai went completely still.
Oda held the weapon awkwardly, like something dragged from an old grave.
Mori smiled slowly.
“There you are.”
Oda ignored him.
His gaze stayed fixed on Dazai.
Dazai shook his head immediately.
Tiny movement.
Desperate.
Oda raised the gun.
The operative pointing at Dazai jerked in alarm.
“W-wait—”
BANG.
The shot exploded through the room.
Several gang members flinched violently.
Dazai's restraints loosened instantly as the men holding him recoiled.
Then silence crashed down.
Dazai stared.
No blood.
No body falling.
Nothing.
Oda's gun had clicked empty after the blank shot.
At the same moment, the operative's gun lowered shakily.
Also empty.
Realization spread slowly across the room.
Mori laughed.
Soft at first.
Then openly.
“Well done,” he said almost cheerfully.
Dazai's expression turned murderous.
Oda stood frozen, staring at the gun in his hand like he'd only just realized what he'd done.
Mori leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming.
“You see?” he said smoothly. “You merely needed the proper motivation.”
Oda's fingers tightened around the weapon.
Mori's smile sharpened.
“A killer never truly forgets how to kill.”
🔗 Part 1
🔗 Part 2
After so much tension in the last three chapters, I want some quiet intimacy for them. Should I write another part? Please let me know... And thanks for reading 💗
Mori rested his folded hands beneath his chin, watching the room with quiet amusement while tension coiled tighter and tighter around the conference hall.
In front of him, Dazai stood beside Oda like a drawn blade ready to draw blood at any moment.
Mori sighed softly.
“Well. This complicates things.”
“You've become quite attached, Dazai-kun.” Mori's smile sharpened slightly.
“Unfortunately, attachment inside the Mafia tends to become... inconvenient.”
Dazai's gaze went flat.
“What are you trying to say, Boss?”
Mori looked toward Oda.
“Sakunosuke-kun may remain in the Port Mafia.”
Oda blinked once, surprised.
Then Mori continued.
“On one condition..."
"He abandons his no-kill principle.”
Silence.
Cold and immediate.
Oda answered first.
“No.”
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Mori regarded him calmly.
"Don't you think you spoke too soon, Sakunosuke?”
“I won't kill.”
Oda's voice stayed even, but his shoulders had gone subtly tense.
“And if that makes me a liability, then I'll leave the Mafia.”
Dazai turned sharply toward him.
“Odasaku.”
Oda didn't look at him.
“I mean it.”
There was no fear in his expression, just that quiet, immovable certainty that meant Oda would suffer willingly before compromising himself.
Mori hummed thoughtfully.
“How noble!”
The word sounded dangerous in his mouth.
Then he lifted one finger.
Several armed men moved instantly.
Too fast.
Before Dazai could react properly, half a dozen Mafia operatives seized him from behind
The room erupted.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chuuya barked, half-rising from his chair.
Dazai twisted violently, but the restraints tightened around his arms and shoulders. More men moved in immediately.
“Odasaku,” Dazai snapped.
Oda had already stepped forward.
“Boss.”
For the first time all evening, genuine warning entered his voice.
Mori ignored it.
One of the operatives handed Mori a handgun.
Mori turned it lazily in his gloved hand before offering it toward another Mafia member standing nearby.
A nervous-looking man accepted it with trembling hands.
Then Mori drew a second gun from the table drawer.
And held it out toward Oda.
Oda stared at the weapon.
Did not take it.
Mori's voice remained almost gentle.
“You dislike killing, Sakunosuke-kun. I understand.”
Then he nodded toward Dazai.
“So let's simplify matters.”
The armed Mafia member turned shakily toward Dazai.
Gun raised.
Directly at his head.
Every muscle in Dazai's body went taut.
Not with fear, but something far more dangerous.
Because Oda looked horrified.
Mori extended the second gun again.
“If you do nothing,” Mori said sweetly, “Dazai dies.”
The room stopped breathing.
Dazai's eyes locked onto Oda instantly.
Oda still hadn't taken the weapon.
“You only need to kill one man,” Mori continued softly. “Break your rule once. Save him.”
The guy pointing the gun at Dazai looked terrified now.
Because this wasn't a test anymore...
It has turned into psychological warfare, and nobody can beat a psychopath in his own game.
Oda's hands remained empty at his sides.
Dazai could see the conflict tearing through him in real time.
The horror.
The anger.
The impossible choice.
And suddenly Dazai hated everyone in the room.
Hated Mori.
Hated the Mafia.
Hated himself most of all for becoming something Oda could lose.
“Odasaku,” Dazai said quietly.
Oda looked at him immediately.
Dazai forced a small smile onto his face.
“Don't do it.”
The gun against his head clicked.
Safety off.
Part 1 🔗: https://www.tumblr.com/saltyinternetflower/818333619132252160/odazai-ficlet?source=share
Part 3 will be there. Won't leave at a cliffhanger like this...
An Odazai mini fic. Not much context, the characters drop right into the middle of the story. Dazai is 22, Oda is 27. Both adults with an age gap. Not platonic romance but actual, violent, heartbreaking, bloody romance.
Odazai ficlet
“You broke both their hands?”
The disappointment in Oda's voice was quiet.
Which somehow made it worse.
Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while evening settled blue and heavy across the room. Oda stood near the sink washing dishes, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cigarette balanced at the corner of his mouth.
Behind him, Dazai sat cross-legged on the floor pretending intense interest in the floor pattern.
“They were being annoying,” Dazai muttered.
“That doesn't answer my question."
Dazai fell silent.
Oda dried his hands slowly before turning around.
“You could've ignored them.”
No.
That was the problem.
Dazai could ignore insults toward himself. He'd been called monster, demon, lunatic, Mori's rabid prodigy. None of it mattered.
But Oda?
Every insult toward Oda lodged somewhere beneath Dazai's ribs like shrapnel.
Because the world already took enough from him.
Because people mistook kindness for weakness.
Because Oda survived in darkness without letting it rot him from the inside, and Dazai found that so unbearably precious it made violence bloom in his throat.
But he couldn't explain any of that.
Not without sounding insane.
So instead, Dazai lowered his eyes.
"...Sorry."
Oda blinked once.
Dazai rarely apologized sincerely. He lied, joked, manipulated, evaded. But this apology arrived strangely bare.
“I made Odasaku upset,” Dazai said quietly.
The irritation in Oda's expression softened immediately.
Which was unfair too.
Everything about this man was unfair.
A week later, the monthly executive meeting gathered in one of the Port Mafia's underground conference halls.
Long mahogany table.
Dim lighting.
Enough armed guards outside to invade a small country.
Mori sat at the head of the table smiling with the pleasantness of a scalpel.
Dazai knew that smile.
It meant Mori was curious.
And curiosity, in Mori, was rarely harmless.
Executives discussed territory disputes while lower-ranking members stood along the walls awaiting orders. Oda was among them, expression calm as ever, hands tucked inside his coat.
Invisible by choice.
Mori swirled wine lazily in his glass.
“I heard,” he said lightly, “that Dazai-kun broke two members' hands over Sakunosuke-kun.”
Silence immediately fell around the table.
Dazai didn't react.
Chuuya, however, looked exhausted already.
Mori continued pleasantly.
“How touching. Though I struggle to understand this... bond.”
Dazai remained still.
The Boss's eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly.
“A man without ambition. Without cruelty. A Port Mafia member who refuses to kill.” Mori smiled faintly. “An utterly useless dog who doesn't bite.”
Several executives looked down instantly.
Not out of pity for Oda.
Out of self-preservation.
Everyone knew Mori was baiting a tiger with a meat hook.
Dazai recognized it too.
That's why he stayed silent.
His fingers curled once against the armrest. Nothing more.
Mori watched him carefully.
Measuring.
Testing.
Then, suddenly, casually, Mori flicked his wrist.
Red wine splashed across the floor.
Across Oda's trouser leg.
Across the polished leather of his shoe.
The room froze.
It wasn't a dramatic act. Barely even aggressive.
Which somehow made it more humiliating.
Oda himself looked more startled than offended.
“Apologies,” Mori said smoothly, without sounding apologetic at all.
Dazai stood.
Every eye followed him instantly.
The air changed.
Dazai walks across the room in complete silence, his beige coat brushing against the floor behind him.
He stopped directly in front of Oda.
Then knelt.
The entire room held its breath.
Dazai removed a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket.
And without hesitation, began wiping the wine from Oda's shoe.
Oda went visibly red almost immediately.
“Dazai,” he said under his breath.
Dazai ignored him.
The conference hall remained utterly silent except for the faint sound of cloth against leather.
No one in Port Mafia history had ever seen an executive kneel for someone lower-ranking.
When Dazai finally looked up, his gaze met Mori's directly.
Cold.
Steady.
The message was crystal clear.
You may insult me.
But you will not humiliate him.
For the first time that evening, Mori's smile faltered by a fraction.
And around the room, seasoned killers realized with dawning horror that the most dangerous thing in the Port Mafia was not Dazai's violence.
It was his beating, bleeding heart.
Should I drop another part? Lemme know. The drama is escalating, no doubt.
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