Dazai’s voice was bright and theatrical as ever. The entire office flinched. Dazai stood in the doorway, wearing the unmistakable grin that usually meant trouble. Behind him, half-hidden and clearly less enthusiastic, stood someone unfamiliar.

Atsushi blinked. Ranpo lowered his magazine just enough to peek over it. A silence stretched.

Fukuzawa listened in stoic silence, hands folded, expression unreadable. Dazai was in the middle of an enthusiastic and highly suspicious pitch.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Fukuzawa finally exhaled.

The argument died instantly.

He gave a single, slow nod toward the figure still lingering in the doorway.