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Moist soil; damp, asphyxiating air; abhorrent smell in occasion - in this riverbank the child told she had been waiting painful days for a lover to return and take her with him, though in spite of that excruciating period, and the fact that the time of his return was specified not; in spite of the passing of forty-four sunsets and meeting new faces; in spite of the ever-changing river but never-changing view, a promise was a promise, and Saint-Exupéry was bound to fulfill it nevertheless.

"Promises," Kouyou began, a small distance away from (y/n) as the latter dipped her hands on the river out of habit, "are ceramics prettier when broken. And so are hearts, I suppose."

"It's wonderful that you see beauty in hopeless things." Upon standing, she turned to face the executive with a gentle smile. "But the prettiest is the promisor, who stomached the pressure to keep the promise."

They differed perspectives entirely, yet for an inexplicable reason Kouyou adored how it was made on silent terms that they would agree to disagree. She resented the concept of hope and love with a seething passion, but with this child - despite being an obvious epitome of hope - she found in herself neither to abhor the child nor to justify why she was exceptionally fond of her. There was a romance in her words that made Kouyou realize the sickening absence of affection on her part.

"How wise can you be, little one?" Mused the lady. "Who taught you your words?"

"Saint-Exupéry." The child answered.

"And who is he to you?"

"He is many things." She continued. "Like a friend, or a lover, or a beautiful person. But to me he's--"

She gained the interruption of a ringing device. They both engaged in a moment of silence, tempestuous scarlet eyes locking with contradicting (e/c) ones, before finally Kouyou exhaled a sigh and took her phone out from the fold of her kimono.

Chūya, it showcased, and her focus lingered on the name until her thumb opted to hit the option in green. She placed the phone beside her ear and greeted at once:

"Chūya? What is it?"

As the male executive spoke, she looked at the child with endearment while she expressed a kind of attachment with the river's water. Only when Chūya finished his sentence did her cherry pupils contract in apparent shock.

"...what?"

"I said," he repeated rather forcibly, reluctance greatly eminent on his use of tone, "Boss ordered an immediate execution of the child currently in your possession."

Kouyou barely remained her grip on the device. She felt the wavering of her rationality, and when the little girl then again faced her, she froze as if time were irrelevant to the universe.

"I'm sure there's a misunderstanding." Countered the woman. "Just a while ago, he was all putty with her presence."

"I want to believe there's some sort of misunderstanding, because... because I don't want her dead, either."

Her jaw clenched in ardent frustration, though for the sake of the child, she refused to let it resurface. "Drop the call. I'm contacting the boss."

"Hold on, let me explain." He interfered. "Hunting down Saint-Exupéry was supposed to be Port Mafia's initial job given by the government - the S-ranked criminal ability user. It was reported to the government that we have Saint-Exupéry's child ever since Akutagawa had abducted her, and in return they disclosed to Boss further information regarding that girl."

"And? What had the Boss so adamant as to arranging an immediate execution for her?"

"She, well..." there was this obnoxious blockage of his sentence, like opaque against light, and then Kouyou noticed it was only his total disinclination to continue with the little girl's execution. She heard his anxious exhale.

"She's not human."

"What?"

"She's a manifestation of Saint-Exupéry's ability."

And there came the horror of reality: cold, remorseless, drenching her in a brutal plash of unwanted truth. How had she not known sooner? No such child existed with remarkable wisdom and extraordinary words - they only ever cared for stuffed toys they would claim to be their friends, dolls and daydreams. Perhaps she had basked too much on the reverie that the little girl would serve as her escape from love and hope and Port Mafia and all the other things in the world that hurt her more than she had come to realize.

She put the phone down, staring solemnly, sorrowfully at the child.

"Who is he to you, (y/n)?"

She smiled. "He's my creator."

At the moment of deciding (y/n)'s fate, Kouyou closed her eyes and told herself that she was beyond the broken fragments of hearts and promises.

She was a member of the Port Mafia, and people whose duties rely on moral morbidity never deserved joy a child could bring.

"Golden Demon," she whispered under her breath, and there evinced the golden mantle who danced with cadavers and bathed with blood.

Heeding a wordless command, the phantom set her katana towards the unsuspecting child who loved the world for everything it was; who loved the world with everything she was. She was perhaps the purest, most beautiful lily born neither during the bright of day nor the black of night.

And she would leave the world with a final goodbye only Kouyou would get to hear.

"Ability: No Longer Human."

Quite suddenly, a bright, blue light contrasted greatly with the color of Golden Demon, diminishing by force its detrimental capability and soon itself completely. Kouyou let out a gasp and took a step back in abrupt instinct, whereas the child - as she was about to catch a glimpse of abilities on display - was brought with force into the furry arms of a beast, head being cradled as it was shoved against a chest.

Upon realizing the perpetrator of her uncharacteristic flinch, she narrowed her eyes in resentment.

"Dazai."

"Hey, Anē-san." Greeted the detective. "You know, I find it very difficult believe that you'd actually slay a child. I guess the Port Mafia never limits its victims, after all."

"You should know that very well." The mafioso hissed in repulsion towards the man - or perhaps towards herself. "What made you come here with that brat?"

Dazai derisively chuckled in reply. "Just like what Ranpo had said," he spoke, "Port Mafia will eventually find out the real identity of (y/n), and she will have been killed at Tsurumi River. All in courtesy of your boss, yes?"

"It isn't for you to know. Give me that child back; I'm going to execute her."

"Oh, but you won't." Dazai argued. "Because throughout spending time with her you've realized that she's worth discharging the mafia. Later on, you will devise a plan to escape, and dream with the illogical part of your brain about becoming the best parental figure to her."

She was at lost for words, because he wasn't incorrect. He was so accurate that it terrified her.

"You could do that," He continued, "escape from the mafia, live in peace and solitude with this girl for a good while, before you then get captured and killed by the organization for being deemed a traitor. Or, you could lend her to us, I could make this encounter seem like an altercation and this little girl lives. Your choice."

A shrewd man indeed. Dazai knew her answer when the female executive simply walked out of the riverbank and onto the pavement where a black limousine waited.

She looked at him with a glower. "She loses her head, you lose yours." Afterwards, she entered the car and drove away - farther and farther from her beloved child.

And so, the pretty boy with bandages walked back towards the girl still held within Atsushi's arms, rightfully bewildered and confused.

"I don't understand what's going on." She muttered.

Dazai smiled, crouching down to her figure. "(Y/n)," he called, "would you like to play chess?"






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