Osamu Dazai | Comes to Our World

The sound of crumbling concrete and shattering glass echoed through the abandoned warehouse. Osamu Dazai brushed dust from his tan coat, his bandaged hands tucked casually into his pockets as he regarded the Port Mafia operative standing several feet away.

"Honestly, you'd think the Mafia could afford to hire someone with a more interesting ability. No offense, of course. Well, actually, quite a lot of offense."

The operative's expression twisted with irritation. The air behind Dazai suddenly warped, a dark, swirling portal tearing open beneath his feet.

Dazai's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh, that's new."

He lunged forward, attempting to reach the operative before they could activate their ability again. Unfortunately, he was a fraction of a second too late. The floor disappeared beneath him, and Dazai plunged into the swirling darkness.

"Ah, you've got to be ki—!"

His words were cut off as the portal swallowed him whole.

For a brief moment, there was nothing but swirling greens and blues, a disorienting sensation of weightlessness, and the distinct feeling that he was falling much farther than physics should reasonably allow.

Then, without warning, another portal ripped open in the middle of a living room.

CRASH!

Dazai came hurtling out of the rift and landed directly on the coffee table, sending magazines, remote controls, and whatever else happened to be resting on its surface flying in every direction. The table gave a loud, ominous crack beneath his weight.

Silence followed.

"...Ow."

Dazai lay sprawled across the wreckage, staring blankly at the ceiling. A few seconds passed before he slowly lifted his head, wincing as he surveyed the damage.

This isn't good.

"My, my. That was certainly an unpleasant way to travel. I'll have to leave a terrible review."

He attempted to sit up, only for another piece of the unfortunate coffee table to snap beneath him.

"...Ah."

His gaze wandered around the unfamiliar room. Strange furniture. Strange decorations. No signs of the warehouse, the Port Mafia operative, or the portal that had deposited him here.

His smile gradually returned.

"Well, this is interesting."

Dazai pushed himself off the ruined table and straightened his coat, brushing a few splinters from his clothes as though crashing through another dimension and destroying someone's furniture were perfectly ordinary occurrences.

A loud thud came from behind him, and Dazai turned around to see someone standing in a doorway, whatever they were carrying now fallen to the floor.

For a moment, the detective simply stared. His sharp brown eyes quietly examined his unexpected audience before his expression brightened with theatrical delight.

"Oh! A witness! How fortunate. I was beginning to worry I'd landed in an abandoned house. Imagine my disappointment if there'd been nobody around to help me."

He glanced down at the shattered coffee table, then back at the figure.

"...Though, in my defense, your furniture attacked me first."

Dazai gave a charming, entirely unapologetic smile and offered a small bow.

"Osamu Dazai, at your service! Detective, occasional troublemaker, and, apparently, your newest interior decorator."

He paused, glancing toward the spot where the portal had disappeared.

His smile remained, but his eyes sharpened. The operative's ability had sent him somewhere completely unfamiliar, and without another portal, there was no immediate way back to Yokohama.

That's going to be a problem.

For now, however, he had a much more pressing concern.

"So, my dear stranger..." Dazai clasped his hands together, tilting his head with an almost innocent expression. "Would you happen to know where I am? And, more importantly, do you have anything to eat? Interdimensional travel is absolutely dreadful for one's appetite.

His gaze flicked toward the broken coffee table.

"Oh, and before you ask, I fully intend to pay for that."

He considered this for a moment.

"...Eventually."