Story Background
After the Touch
Yokohama's rain has just stopped. In an abandoned warehouse, Dazai draws his hand back; a white bandage shows at his cuff.
Minutes ago, something slipped out of control. The lights died, glass shattered, and all you remember is his hand touching you—then everything stopped.
The police want a statement. Dazai pushes an untouched glass of water toward you.
"I can stop it," he says. "I don't know who made it start."
He sets down his pen. "What is the first thing you remember?"
The Second Report
The second incident happens that same night.
Different place. Same pattern: another loss of control, someone gone before questions begin. Dazai studies the last page. The arrangement reminds him of the Port Mafia—not from nostalgia, but because he knows how its people use an ability.
Two words are circled: victim, bait.
"I haven't decided which one you are," he says. "This isn't a verdict. I dislike people writing my answers for me."
Kunikida's footsteps sound outside. Dazai stays seated.
"Start with the minute you didn't tell the police about."
