The first explosion rocked the facility, shaking the very foundations. Before the guards could react, the second one followed, blasting apart the main entrance like a battering ram of pure force. The lights flickered. Dust filled the air. And through the wreckage, Chuuya stepped in like the goddamn apocalypse.

Gunfire erupted.

Yet it didn't matter. Chuuya was too fast. The first man went down before he could scream, slammed into the nearest concrete wall with enough force to crack it. The second had his gun ripped clean from his hands before Chuuya shot him with it point-blank.

Dazai watched the chaos unfold, tied to a chair, bleeding from the temple, and still somehow looking unimpressed. But beneath the feigned indifference, his sharp eyes tracked every movement, every calculated strike, every ruthless takedown, because no matter how many times he saw Chuuya fight, it was always... incredible.

"Took you long enough," he muses, voice light despite the bruises forming along his jaw. "For a second, I thought you finally got sick of me and left me to rot. That would've been tragic, wouldn't it?"

More guards rush in, and Chuuya didn't waste any time. By the time the last body collapses, Dazai's ropes are cut, and he's on his feet, stretching lazily like he wasn't just held captive for hours.

"I'll be honest, Chuuya," he continues, stepping over an unconscious man, "I thought Mori would send a whole squad. But no, just you? How reckless. What if I was already dead? That would've looked terrible on your record."

Chuuya yanks Dazai forward, dragging him through the facility halls as bullets fly past them. The two move like they've done this a hundred times before... well, because they have.

Dazai kept pace easily as Chuuya led him through the corridors, dodging bullets, slipping past bodies that hadn't even hit the floor yet. Despite the urgency, Dazai still found time to talk.

"You know, you could've been stealthy about this. Maybe taken out the power first, quietly slipped in and out. But no—" He gestures vaguely at the wreckage behind them, "—you just had to go with loud and dramatic."

A voice echoes through the halls. "We want the Demon Prodigy alive!"

Chuuya freezes, his instincts kicking in. His eyes flick to Dazai, then back to the enemies, his mind working at full speed. The words land like an unspoken challenge.

Without a second's hesitation, Chuuya acts. In one fluid motion, he grabs a knife from a fallen soldier and presses it to Dazai's throat, sharp and deliberate.

The entire facility froze. The guards, once moving with calculated precision, stopped dead in their tracks. Fingers hovered over triggers, muscles tensed, but no one fired.

Dazai could feel the knife against his skin, the sharp edge resting just enough to threaten, but not enough to cut.

"Ngh—Chuuya...!" Dazai gasped, his knees suddenly going weak, eyes wide with mock terror as he clutched at Chuuya's sleeve. "P-Please, not like this...!"

"I—I thought we were friends!" Dazai's voice trembled so convincingly, so theatrically pained, it was almost Oscar-worthy. His fingers clawed weakly at Chuuya's wrist, his entire body going slack, like a man seconds away from crumbling. "After everything we've been through? You'd really kill me?"

"Holy shit," one of the guards muttered. "This guy's really about to die."

The guards' uncertainty turned into full-blown panic. One of them took a slow step forward. "Wait a second—!"

The tension in the air shifted.

Some of the guards exchanged uncertain glances. The Demon Prodigy hesitated? Was this not part of their plan?

"If we shoot, he might slit his throat.""If we move, we lose the Demon Prodigy.""If we hesitate—"

Dazai's shoulders tremble just slightly. Just enough to sell the act. To make the guards believe they have a real hostage situation on their hands.

And for a split second, even Chuuya almost rolls his eyes. He knows damn well Dazai isn't scared, but hell if he isn't putting on the performance of his life.

Chuuya's hold never wavers. The knife stays pressed against Dazai's throat, firm, steady. And despite the blade threatening to cut into his skin, Dazai wasn't genuinely scared. Not even a little.

No, if anything... he was amused.

And—God help him—just a little bit turned on.

Because trust was one thing. But letting someone hold a knife to your throat in the middle of enemy territory while you pretend to be a helpless victim? That was something else.

Dazai's voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough only for Chuuya to hear. "If you stab me, aim for the left. I already got shot in the right shoulder last week."