Chapter 1: In a familiar place, we don’t know
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Rain.
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It fell with a strange heaviness, as though the clouds were trying to drown the city in silence. The street glistened slick and dark, empty but for the faint glow of lamps that hummed without electricity.
Dazai Osamu blinked awake in the middle of the road, cheek pressed against wet stone. His coat clung to him, soaked through.
The first thing he noticed was the quiet.
No cars. No footsteps. No buzzing of neon signs.
Only rain.
He sat up slowly, bandages dripping. Around him, narrow streets stretched in every direction, lined with buildings that looked... wrong. Familiar at a glance, but the details fell apart on closer inspection: signs with no letters, storefronts with no handles, windows reflecting nothing at all.
And the people—
He didn’t notice them until he stood. They walked mechanically, heads bowed, their faces blurred in a way that made his eyes ache to focus on them. A man left a café, checked his watch, then stepped back inside. A woman crossed the street with an umbrella, reached the curb, then turned and crossed again.
Like a puppet show with broken strings.
Dazai’s mouth curved into a smile. “Ah... well. Either I’ve finally succeeded in hanging myself into another dimension, or someone’s cooked up quite the nightmare.”
“Or maybe,” a voice cut sharply through the rain, “you’re just as irritating in hell as you are alive.”
Dazai turned.
There, standing beneath the downpour, was Nakahara Chuuya. Hat dripping, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes blazing in that familiar mix of exasperation and fury.
Dazai’s smile widened. “Chuuyaaa\~. What are the odds? Did you chase me all the way into purgatory? How touching.”
Chuuya’s glare sharpened. “Cut the crap. Where the hell are we?”
“Mm, I’d say limbo. Or a particularly ambitious Port Mafia illusionist.”
Chuuya stalked forward until they stood face to face, rain cascading off the brim of his hat. “If this is death, then I’m suing whoever put me in the same afterlife as *you*.”
“Careful,” Dazai murmured, eyes glinting. “Say that too loudly and the city might hear you.”
---
They spent hours testing the limits. Every street twisted back toward a central plaza with a massive clock tower.
The hands of the clock read **11:11.** They never moved.
When Chuuya tried to climb the tower, the stairs looped endlessly, spitting him back where he started. When Dazai attempted to exit through the city gates, he reappeared in the plaza, dripping wet and humming as if he’d taken a stroll around the block.
The “citizens” didn’t acknowledge them. When Chuuya reached out to grab one by the shoulder, his hand passed through as though touching water.
He pulled back fast, muttering a curse.
Dazai tilted his head. “Ooooh. Spooky. Like a haunted snow globe. Do you think if we shake hard enough, they’ll all scatter?”
“Keep talking and I’ll scatter *you*,” Chuuya snapped.
Yet under his irritation, a prickling unease gnawed at him. The streets weren’t just random—they were familiar. Too familiar.
---
They took shelter in a diner that night. The booths were pristine, the menus blank. Plates of food sat steaming on the tables, untouched, never cooling.
Chuuya sat near the window, eyes narrowed, dripping rain onto the floor. “This isn’t some random trick. Look at it. The layout. The streets, the alleys—it’s like Yokohama, but wrong. Like a cheap imitation.”
Dazai lounged across a booth with his arms behind his head. “Hm. So, we’re in a counterfeit city. Flattering, isn’t it? Someone went to all this trouble just for us.”
Chuuya shot him a glare. “Don’t flatter yourself. Whatever this place is, it’s messing with our heads.”
Dazai’s smile thinned, just slightly. His eyes lingered on the unmoving steam curling from a coffee cup. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
---
He woke hours later to sound.
Not the rain.
Laughter.
Children’s laughter, faint and out of place, echoing through the streets like a skipping record.
He sat up instantly. Chuuya was already standing, hat low, hand hovering near his side as if bracing for a fight.
“You hear it too?” Chuuya muttered.
Dazai nodded, and together they followed the sound.
It led them through fog-drenched alleys until the city opened up into a park. The swings swayed though no wind moved them. The slide glistened wet. The rain here felt heavier, sticking to their coats like oil.
And on the slide sat a small, faceless child-shaped shadow.
It turned toward them slowly.
“Partners... partners... partners...”
The voice was high-pitched and lilting, like a nursery rhyme sung too slow.
Chuuya froze, fists clenching. His breath caught in his throat, though he masked it with a snarl.
Dazai’s grin faltered for the first time.
The shadow tilted its head. “You can only leave... together.”
The swings groaned louder, the rain surged, and the ground trembled beneath their boots.
The city was alive. Listening. Watching.
And for once, Dazai had nothing clever to say.
