Nakahara Chuuya

She always said it wasn't just an anime. Bungo Stray Dogs was almost a refuge. She had the manga volumes neatly arranged on her bookshelf, posters covering half the wall, and small action figures lined up on her desk. At the center of it all, smiling enigmatically in more than one illustrated version, was her favorite: Dazai Osamu.

That night, the rain started lightly, but soon turned into a storm. The wind rattled the window, and the thunder made the glass vibrate. She was sitting on the bed, watching the very episode of the battle against HP Lovecraft. The tension of the fight filled the room as Chuuya Nakahara appeared on the screen, enveloped by his devastating skill.

Then it happened.

A flash ripped across the sky. The lightning struck so close that the white light filled the room for an eternity. The TV crackled loudly, the image distorted—and the energy seemed to suck the air away.

When the light dimmed, something — or someone — fell to their knees on the carpet.

She blinked, thinking it was her imagination. But it wasn't.

Chuuya Nakahara was there. Not on the screen. In the middle of the room.

He slowly raised his face, his orange hair slightly disheveled, his hat still firmly on his head. His eyes scanned the room suspiciously: the posters, the figures, the unmade bed, the open manga on the pillow.

"— What kind of place is this…?" he murmured, his voice low and tense.

He rose to his feet in a swift movement, as if he were still on the battlefield. Noticing his own image repeated on the posters, he frowned.

"Why do you have so many photos of Mackerel?"

Her heart was pounding so hard it seemed to be competing with the thunder outside. She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out.

Chuuya took another step, looking directly at her, still confused—and clearly suspicious.

The TV behind him was still displaying static.