cat's out of the bag

Dazai let out a low, amused chuckle, his gaze drifting lazily toward Levi, fingers tracing idle patterns across the polished surface of the desk.

"So… here's how this is going to work." His voice carried that ever-present blend of casual menace and playful arrogance. "On one hand, I could simply hand Mard Geer over to the Hunters Guild and collect his full bounty. Or…" His smile sharpened, eyes half-lidded like a predator playing with its food. "You could fast-track my promotion to S-Class and pay me half the reward instead. Reasonable, no? Considering who this man is."

Levi's throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her fingers curling tight against the desk's edge. Whispers flared up among the gathered adventurers, quick and hungry, darting from one mouth to the next like sparks dancing across dry grass.

But before Levi could speak, another voice rang out—smooth, soft, but with a quiet authority that sliced through the room like a blade through silk.

"You must be the Noir Renegade everyone's so obsessed with lately."

Each step down the staircase was deliberate, each heel striking wood with measured confidence. Her long sky-blue hair cascaded down her back like a frozen waterfall, and her fitted black jacket and pants moved with her like a second skin. Sapphire eyes—calm, cold, unwavering—met Dazai's with the kind of directness that left no room for pretense.

Dazai tilted his head, a low hum curling in his throat.

"Ah… the elusive guild master finally graces me with her presence. How kind."

Sarcasm coated every word, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood.

Rose Juliette barely spared him a glance as she reached the floor, her arms folding across her chest with effortless grace.

"You're a peculiar one, I'll give you that." Her tone was even, polite—but beneath it, steel lurked, waiting to be unsheathed. "But you'd do well to watch that tongue of yours. Not everyone here shares my patience."

Dazai sighed, long and theatrical, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

"True, true…" His voice dropped a notch, just enough to make the room lean in. "But let's not forget why we're here. The capture of Mard Geer—ringleader of the Men in Black. No more caravans packed with beast-kin, no more auctions under the blood moon." His smile faded. "This is the turning point."

Rose's expression didn't flicker.

"You get your S-Class." Her words dropped like stones into the silence. "But you'll take ten percent of the bounty. Not a coin more."

Dazai's mouth opened, but before he could object, Akatsuki blurred into motion. His hand darted out, fingers reaching for Rose's wrist—a flicker of instinct born from years of survival.

Rose sidestepped with effortless grace, his fingers brushing empty air.

"And you are?" Her brow arched, curiosity tempered by cool detachment.

Akatsuki straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, his grin crooked and predatory.

"Akatsuki," Dazai said with a long-suffering sigh. "Don't mind him. He's… a connoisseur of bad decisions."

Akatsuki's attention flicked to Levi, his grin widening into something deliberately roguish.

"Forget those two." His voice softened, dripping mock romance. "There's a particular quest I'm interested in—one that involves raiding your heart, beautiful. Care to point me in the right direction?"

Levi's face went scarlet, her mouth opening—whether to curse him or laugh, she hadn't decided—when the rising noise of the guild drowned her out.

Hidden among the crowd, a cloaked figure scribbled furiously in a leather journal, fingers trembling with excitement. With practiced ease, the figure tied the parchment to the leg of a waiting crow. A soft whistle sent the bird soaring through a crack in the window, vanishing into the sky.

Dazai, either oblivious or uninterested, stepped closer to Rose, his earlier playfulness dimmed into something sharper.

"So…" His voice softened. "How exactly did you know who I was? Not many people see past the Noir Renegade."

Rose's lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"If I couldn't recognize Ryomen's son, I wouldn't deserve to call myself his friend."

For the briefest of moments, something flickered in Dazai's eyes. Surprise. Calculation. And beneath it all, a rare sliver of something close to vulnerability—buried so deep, only the sharpest observer would catch it.

"Oh," Dazai murmured, his smile returning with just a touch more edge. "Now this is getting interesting."

---

Meanwhile — The Obsidian Depths

Far below the earth's skin, in a realm where sunlight dared not tread, lay the Obsidian Depths. The air was thick, heavy with dark mana that pulsed through veins of black crystal embedded deep in the walls. Each pulse was a heartbeat, the very lifeblood of the underworld kingdom.

In the center of this shadowed empire stood a fortress—a jagged black monolith carved from obsidian itself. Within its heart stood a man dressed entirely in white, his pale skin almost luminous beneath the violet glow seeping from the stone.

His hair, a cascade of liquid black, hung in soft waves over his shoulders. His eyes—ordinary brown—should have been forgettable. But those who met them knew better. They were the eyes of someone who had seen death so often, it no longer felt like an event, but a conversation.

A soft flutter broke the silence.

A crow, its feathers slick with oily mist, landed gracefully on his outstretched arm. With the delicate precision of someone who rarely rushed, the man untied the parchment from the bird's leg, unfolding it with fingers that had long forgotten warmth.

"Lord Coy Slytherin—

Mard Geer has been captured.

The one responsible is Dazai Carnage, residing in the Carnage family domain.

He holds membership in the Silent Ocean's Guild…"

The paper didn't burn—it disintegrated between his fingers, reduced to ash by the faintest pulse of mana.

"Carnage…" The name slithered from his lips, each syllable steeped in venom. "So… Ryomen left behind more than corpses. A son. A family. Blood that still carries his stain."

The smile that stretched across Coy's face was thin, humorless—a split wound, not an expression.

"The gods finally stopped mocking me," he whispered. "They've given me prey worth hunting."

His cloak, the same blinding white as his robes, billowed as he turned. The shadows themselves recoiled from him, fleeing like wounded beasts.

He glanced once toward a sealed chamber at the end of the hall, where ancient runes shimmered faintly on the door's surface. Behind that door, a figure slept—a power dormant, a queen in exile.

"She won't wake," Coy murmured, his smile twisting. "Not yet."

The darkness folded around him as he stepped into the void, his whisper echoing like a promise carved into bone.