Chapter 14: The Double Black

Dazai Osamu had done many such dangerous things; in Nakahara Chuuya's memory, they could practically fill an "Encyclopedia of Attempted Suicide." Water, electrocution, ingesting poison… the methods were endless, each accompanied by that bastard's smug "Oops, failed again." Nakahara Chuuya was long since numb to it, even adopting a mocking attitude, like watching a clown perform. The reason was simple—this guy's vitality was simply outrageously tenacious.

No matter how dangerous the situation, he always managed to escape unscathed with his wit and uncanny luck. Even when injured, he would quickly recover and continue his so-called attempts at death. In Chuuya's mind, Dazai Osamu's suicide was more like performance art, a blasphemous manipulation of the concept of death. To him, death seemed like just a game that could be restarted at any time, posing no real threat.

However, this time was completely different from the past.

When the doctor pointed to the shadow on Dazai's skull on his CT scan and described in a heavy tone that the other man's head had been hit by a hard object and that there was a certain risk that he would not wake up, Chuuya Nakahara looked at the bastard on the hospital bed who was connected to various life support equipment. It was the first time that he realized so clearly that this bastard partner could also really come close to death.

This situation was extremely dire. It wasn't just the numerous wounds covering his body, but also the deep-seated weakness that permeated his very being. Dazai Osamu's body seemed to have been drained of all life force, with only faint physiological responses flickering on the monitors to prove that he was still alive.

If Nakahara Chuu hadn't impulsively sat on that rock that evening, if he hadn't chosen to vacation there... then Dazai Osamu might have quietly rotted on that unknown beach, or been completely swept into the deep sea by the tide, becoming bait for fish, leaving not even a complete corpse behind.

For the first time, Chuuya Nakahara truly felt the weight of "almost." He almost lost this bastard. Not because of mission failure, nor because of being surrounded by powerful enemies, but because of... the other's damn, incomprehensible self-destructive tendencies.

Dazai Osamu was probably in a coma for more than ten days.

The doctor's daily reports were all the same: vital signs stable, external wounds healing, but no signs of consciousness regaining. Those complex medical terms weighed heavily on Chuuya's mind like heavy shackles. Whether it was Mori's seemingly concerned but actually scrutinizing and pressuring inquiries, or the mountain of tasks that should have been shared between the two of them, now all fell on his shoulders alone. His restlessness grew wildly as he waited, intertwined with exhaustion and an inexplicable sense of heaviness.

One day, Chuuya Nakahara, exhausted from finishing his official duties, pushed open the door to the ward filled with the smell of disinfectant, as usual.

However, the sight before him froze him in place, for he saw that Dazai Osamu had actually sat up.

The man was slightly hunched over, one hand weakly covering his bandaged forehead, the other casually resting on his bent knee. His hospital gown hung loosely on his noticeably thinner shoulders.

He didn't look at the door, nor anywhere else. Those iris-colored eyes, which always flickered with calculation or indifference, were now just staring blankly at the blanket in front of him, as if he hadn't yet come to his senses.

Chuuya Nakahara stared wide-eyed in shock, almost wondering if he was hallucinating. The doctor's grave pronouncements still echoed in his ears, making him believe that Osamu Dazai might never wake up again, but now a miracle seemed to have occurred.

After a brief period of shock, all the emotions that had been building up over the past few days—such as the anger over his ruined vacation, the exhaustion from doubled workload, the subtle pressure from the leader, and the possibility that the person in front of him might "never wake up again," which had been troubling him day and night for the past ten days—suddenly found a place to erupt.

Anger instantly overwhelmed reason, and Chuuya Nakahara rushed to the bedside in a few strides, his speed creating a gust of wind. His hand, gloved with black leather, gripped the collar of Osamu Dazai's hospital gown tightly, instantly closing the distance between them.

"Dazai Osamu!" Chuuya's voice was extremely low, yet it was like a volcano about to erupt, each word dripping with rage, ground out fiercely from between his teeth, "You bastard..."

He wanted to ask Dazai why he was adrift at sea, and by sheer coincidence, he ran into him, ruining what should have been a perfect vacation.

If you want to die, why not choose a more distant place, whether it's an undeveloped wilderness or a remote foreign land? That would achieve your goal more perfectly. With the other person's abilities, they could easily find a place where no one knows them and die quietly, and he completely believed that the other person would think of the possibility of being rescued that way.

If you don't want to die, why go to such lengths?

Chuuya Nakahara never understood this bastard.

Their faces were inches apart. Chuuya's blue eyes, burning with rage, were fixed on the pair of iris-colored eyes that had slightly lifted due to external stimulation, yet were still filled with confusion. He could see the other's face, which was so pale it was almost transparent, and he could feel the excessively thin and fragile body wrapped in the hospital gown beneath his fingers. He was even close enough to count the other's eyelashes, which trembled slightly due to weakness.

He wanted to ask the other person why they did such a thing, and why he happened to run into them. If they really wanted to die, why didn't they just do it decisively? With their abilities, it wouldn't be difficult at all. Why bother them?

Just as all the sharp questions were about to burst forth, Chuuya looked at the face so close to his, a face filled with vulnerability and confusion, at those eyes that seemed to have just woken from a dream and had not yet distinguished between reality and illusion... and the raging anger that was enough to burn a person to ashes suddenly... died down.

His lips moved violently, and in the end, only a suppressed sigh escaped his lips.

All emotions deflated instantly, like an inflated balloon being punctured.

What else could it be?

Even a child could understand this.

This guy is probably obsessed with some nonsensical "philosophy of suicide" or "aesthetics of death" and suddenly came up with some unconventional ultimate way of liberation, but he messed it up and almost sent himself to the River of Three Crossings.

This conclusion extinguished most of his burning anger, leaving only a sense of powerlessness and a deep weariness that almost overwhelmed him.

He loosened his grip on Dazai Osamu's collar, then recalled the doctor's grave expression when he pointed to the other man's full-body scan: fractured ribs, contused scapula, a minor crack in the fibula of his lower leg, and his back, arms, and thighs were covered with scratches and bruises of varying depths, some of which even showed signs of skin tearing and healing.

The doctor said at the time that it didn't look like a combat injury, but rather like the body being repeatedly and violently pounded against sharp, hard reefs by raging currents while unconscious.

If he hadn't been at the beach that day, but had chosen somewhere else, then this bastard Dazai Osamu lying in his hospital bed would probably have truly gotten what he wanted and embraced the death he had longed for.

To be discovered by him and to escape with his life... this guy's luck is off the charts!

No matter how turbulent his heart was at that moment—the lingering anger, the extreme incomprehension of the other party's suicidal behavior, and even a secret sense of relief that he himself despised—Nakahara Chuuya ultimately couldn't utter a single word. He simply stared into Dazai's eyes, his fingers gripping the collar so tightly that his knuckles turned white and trembled slightly, as if trying to confirm through this rough contact whether the guy in front of him really existed.

Similar things have happened before. But why... this time, the anger is so intense and persistent, surpassing the combined anger of when Dazai replaced his treasured red wine with vinegar, painted his limited-edition motorcycle pink, or even stuffed his most beloved hat into the shredder.

This feels... off.

This anger seemed more like a stress response to having some kind of bottom line violated. It was as if Dazai's near-death experience wasn't just toying with his own life, but also trampling on some twisted yet real connection between them...?

Chuuya Nakahara couldn't find the words to describe his inexplicable thought.

Why?

Chuuya Nakahara's brows furrowed deeply. He couldn't understand. He and Dazai were merely partners who disliked and schemed against each other, yet were forcibly bound together by the organization. The other's life or death, in theory... shouldn't have provoked such an exaggerated reaction from him.

He pondered it over and over but couldn't understand it, so he simply stopped thinking about it. Dazai Osamu, along with his incomprehensible mind, was a complex enigma in himself. Forcing himself to understand would only drive him mad.

If Dazai Osamu knew his thoughts, perhaps he could answer with a single word: fate.

After Chuuya Nakahara forcibly suppressed the complex emotions churning in his chest, the two fell into a silent eye contact. Chuuya keenly caught the fleeting understanding in Dazai's eyes.

In those iris-colored eyes that had just focused from their confusion, besides the doubt, something... extremely unfamiliar seemed to have suddenly been injected?

Chuuya Nakahara couldn't understand the emotions the other person was expressing; he just felt that this guy seemed a little strange.

Before Chuuya could even process this fleeting, strange feeling, Dazai Osamu suddenly opened his eyes wide. He seemed to want to say something to Chuuya, his lips moving and unintelligible sounds emanating from his throat.

Then, in the next instant, his body stiffened abruptly, and the glimmer of light in his eyes vanished, his eyelids drooping. Immediately afterward, he collapsed backward back onto the hospital bed, utterly exhausted.

All of this happened in an instant.

"Dazai?!" This sudden turn of events startled Chuuya, who quickly pressed the call button to summon a doctor to check on him.

What happened?!

Could it be that his angry appearance was so ferocious that it frightened Dazai, who was still a patient, into fainting?

This absurd thought flashed through his mind uncontrollably, but he immediately dismissed it.

What a joke! Who is Dazai Osamu? He's the kind of bastard who can watch his enemies being skinned alive without batting an eye, and even hum a tune in the interrogation room. How could he possibly be scared unconscious by a single angry expression? This is more ridiculous than the sun rising in the west.

If that's really the truth, then he could use this joke to laugh at the other person for years without it going out of style.

Doctors and nurses quickly swarmed in, and another flurry of frantic examinations ensued. Chuuya Nakahara retreated to the wall, watching them bustle around the bedside, the various instruments emitting mechanical beeps. He tapped his elbow irritably, feeling utterly distraught.

Finally, the attending physician removed the stethoscope, looked at the stable waveform on the monitor, and could only shake his head and sigh helplessly: "Vital signs are stable...no signs of acute bleeding or embolism...consciousness has fallen into a deep coma again...the cause is unknown...we highly suspect a recurrence of the sequelae of the previous traumatic brain injury or severe hypoxia...or...some kind of neurological stress response that we have not yet identified..."

It's that same ambiguous conclusion again, one that offers absolutely no real help!

Chuuya Nakahara stared silently at Osamu Dazai, who had fallen into a coma again on the hospital bed, as if his brief awakening just now was merely an accident. No one knew what he was thinking at that moment.

The doctors were somewhat uneasy. On one hand, they worried about their own lives because they couldn't find the cause of the illness. Even though this person had a great reputation, they dared not risk their lives. On the other hand, they secretly thought that the person on the sickbed was really troublesome and hoped that no matter what happened, they would not have anything to do with them.

Just then, Chuuya Nakahara's communicator rang—an urgent mission, not to be delayed.

He gave the troublesome man on the bed one last look, filled with doubt, then turned and strode out of the ward. The door closed behind him, shutting out all sound. Almost everyone quietly breathed a sigh of relief at his departure.

Even after Chuuya Nakahara's footsteps disappeared at the end of the corridor, the person on the hospital bed still showed no signs of waking up.

A note from the author:

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Edited

This is just a made-up medical story [hugs]