Chapter Text
Youth is both a lie and a form of evil. Those that glorify youth are only fooling themselves and those around them. They believe their surroundings always affirm their actions. But if failure is the hallmark of being young like they say, then someone who’s failed to make friends must be at the peak of his youth, right? As if. That’s just a double standard at play. Bottom line: fools that enjoy their youth should go kill themselves. But I'll kill myself before any of that.
I yawn and open the door to the living room. My adopted sister, Izumi Kyouka, is munching on jelly toast and reading a magazine on the couch. She’s wearing her normal home clothes—a light blue shirt and green shorts—and playing with the bunny clip in her hair that’s been tied back in pigtails. True to her usual messy way of eating, I notice some strawberry jam smeared on the edge of her lip. I walk past her on my way to the kitchen to make some toast for myself and glance at the magazine. She’s reading an article titled “Girls Who Get and Don’t Get Guys.” It’s extremely colorful but looks like it was written for first graders with all the pop-ups and cut-outs arranged haphazardly on the page. “Look at the time,” I say as I pass her.
“Oh shoot!” She throws the magazine to the table, immediately jumping off the couch.
“Wipe your mouth first,” I call out as she makes her way out of the room to the hallway. I put a piece of bread in the toaster.
She pops her head back in and glances at me upside down. “Huh? Is it jammed?”
“Is your mouth a machine pistol? That’s not how you use ‘jammed,’” I say and tap on my face where the jam is.
“Sometimes the things you say don’t make sense, onii-chan. If you weren’t my brother, I’d definitely keep my distance and never give you the time of day.” She giggles and wipes her mouth off with her sleeve before exiting the room again.
“Good to know…” I mutter. Little sisters are a strange thing. No matter how cute they are, you don’t feel anything for them. I put jam on my toast and eat it quickly. I slide my blazer on from the chair and pick up my school bag. I check the mirror by the front door for my bandages—they’re secure against my eye and arms. I lift my pant leg up. Good on my legs too. I open the door.
Kyouka is dressed in her sailor school uniform and seated on the back seat of our tandem bike parked in front of the house. She gives me a salute. “Let’s go!” Oh, god. Spare me. I sigh and close the house door. The minute I’m seated on the front of the bike, she wraps her arms around my waist. “Don’t get hit by a car today. I’m riding too, you know.”
“So, you’re fine with it if I get hit when I’m alone?”
“Onii-chan, I just worry about you ‘cos sometimes you, like, totally space out. You even have one eye covered in bandages! Oh, but that scores pretty high in my book.”
I shake my head and start pedaling. Before long we reach her middle school and she hops off the bike. “I’ll see you later. Don’t pick me up after-school today—I’m going home with Lucy-chan.” She gives me a wink and runs off through the gates.
I make sure she’s entered the school and pedal down the street towards my own school, Yokohama High.
I park my bike in the bike rack and walk up the steps of the school. As usual, I’m ignored by everyone. I may be on the taller side of the students, but I’m essentially a ghost, unheard and unseen by the masses of students. I prefer it stay that way since The Incident.
A girl next to me drops her books but I pay her no attention on my way to the classroom. A random good-looking dude runs to her aid and helps her pick them up. How chivalrous.
The rest of the day is as boring as ever. I barely pay attention and look out the window for most of my classes. My teachers are used to my inattentiveness and don’t bother asking me to participate. As long as my test grades remain fine, they don’t care, and neither do I.
The school bell rings, and I pick up my bag and leave before anyone has even left gotten out of their seat. I enter the teacher’s lounge and walk towards the desk of my homeroom teacher, Oda Sakunosuke, a decently attractive thirty something year old man with a nasty smoking habit and a four-day old beard. He sees me and slams his hand on an essay I turned in yesterday. I wince.
“Tell me, Dazai. What exactly was the assignment I gave the class?”
“You asked us to write an essay on ‘a reflection of your high school years.’”
“Then what the hell is this drivel? What possessed you to write this shit?” I look pointedly away from his glare at the ashtray of cigarette butts on his desk.
“Uh…” I say eloquently.
“Good grief. Your eye looks just like a dead fish’s.”
I meet his gaze defiantly. “I have been called ‘Mackerel’ before.”
“Is this a joke to you?” His frown deepens.
“I-I did look back on my high school life,” my eyes lowering to the floor. “Isn’t every high school kid like this these days?”
“Don’t just run your mouth, you brat. Most don’t write about how they ‘hate youth’ and ‘would rather commit suicide than participate in its pointless endeavors.’ Do you have a death wish or something?”
I nearly open my mouth to tell him, but I quickly stop myself. I don't feel like going down that path again.
I take a deep breath. “My apologies. I’ll redo i—.” I pause at seeing the wide smile painting his face. Odasaku smiling is never a good sign. “Come with me for a bit,” he says. This can’t be good.
I follow him out of the lounge and down a hallway I don’t recognize. He slides open a door to a classroom. It’s empty with all the chairs folded over the desks but there’s a girl sitting all the way across the room by an open window reading. Her head is bent down and she’s reading, her ginger locks ruffled by the breeze. Even from this far away I can tell she’s stunning. Odasaku walks towards her and she looks up. “I’m pretty sure I asked you to knock before coming in,” she says in a displeased but melodic voice.
“You never respond when I knock, though.” Odasaku replies.
“That’s because you don’t wait for a response before barging in. So, who’s the weirdo?”
I recognized who she was the minute she looked up with those azure eyes. In the International Culture Studies Department, Class 1 is a class that consists of 90% girls, gets high averages, and is rather well-known school wide. Among them, the most popular is Chuuya Nakahara. There isn’t a single student here at this school who doesn’t know her name. Through rumors, I’ve heard her referred to as “The Ice Queen.”
Odasaku jerks a thumb at me. “He wants to join your club.”
I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot and stammer out an introduction. “I’m, uh, Osamu Dazai from Class 1-F…wait what club?” I turn to Odasaku, raising an eyebrow.
Odasaku crosses his arms over his chest and faces me. “You will join this club as penance for the joke of an essay you turned in to me.” He glares and I bit my tongue. “I don’t care about any questions, concerns, objections, or dissenting opinions you may have.” He turns back to Chuuya. “Anyway, as I’m sure you can see, his soul’s just as rotten as his eyes. That’s why he stands before you as a pitiful loser.” At this point I’m gritting my teeth and trying to suppress the urge to punch Odasaku. He continues. “While he’s in your club, I’d like for you to mend his twisted misanthrope mentality. This is a personal request from me.”
“I refuse,” Chuuya says, turning her nose up. “Looking at those bandages and that guy’s scheming eyes makes me fear for my life.”
“Relax,” Odasaku chuckles. “This guy’s got quite the calculating mind and self-preserving instincts. He definitely won’t do anything that could get him in trouble with the law. He’s a minion at best.”
“Can’t you just say I can make sensible decisions?” I mutter.
Chuuya folds her fingers under her chin thoughtfully. “A minion, huh.”
Not only did she ignore me, she actually agreed with Odasaku.
“Well, I can’t really deny a request from a teacher. I’ll do it,” Chuuya acquiesces.
Odasaku smiles in relief. “Good. I’m counting on you, Chuuya.” He turns around and waves over his shoulder, closing the door behind him once he lives.
“Wha…” I blink at the door in confusion. I stand like that, my back towards Chuuya, the only sound the clock on the wall ticking. Is this for real? What’s going on?
“Why don’t you have a seat?” I hear her voice behind me.
“Huh? Oh right, okay.” I walk to the back of the classroom and grab an empty chair, placing it in front of the door in case I need to make a hasty exist. I look at her.
“What?” she says tiredly without looking up from her book.
“Oh, it’s just that there’s a lot I don’t understand. What club is this, anyway?”
“Take a wild guess.”
“I think it’s Literature.”
“Really? Why is that?” her tone seems amused and she finally meets my eyes.
“This room doesn’t provide a special environment or any tools. Plus, you were reading a book the entire time.” I cross my arms over my chest and smile at her smugly.
“Bzz.”
I pout. “What club is it then?”
“The point of this club is to do what we’re doing now.”
I’m more confused than I was when we started this conversation. “I give up—you got me.”
She closes her book. I just barely can make out the title of it—For the Tainted Sorrow.
“Dazai, how many years has it been since you last talked to a girl?”
I look at her in surprise and start doing some mental calculations from The Incident. I’m sure that was June, two years ago.
“It’s been a while…” I mutter.
“There are those who, out of the goodness of their hearts, provide for those who are in need.” She gets up and walks towards me. “Society calls them volunteers. We extend a helping hand to those in need. This club exists for that very purpose. Welcome to the Service Club.”
She pauses dramatically. “I’ve been requested to assist you, so you’re my responsibility now. I will help you solve your problem. Be grateful.”
You bitch. I clench my fist. “‘Problem?’” I retort. “I’m pretty talented, you know.” I stand up facing the blackboard. From a sideways glance I’m pleased to see I tower over her petite frame. “I ranked third in our grade for the Japanese proficiency test. I’m more dashing than most, too. You could say I’m top of the line, if you ignore the fact that I have no friends or girlfriend.” I look to the side.
“The face you can say that so proudly is kind of amazing,” she comments.
“Weirdo. You’re creeping me out here.”
“You’re the last person I want to hear that from, you freak.” She brings her hand to her chin. “From what I can tell, the reason you’re all alone is that rotten nature and twisted sensitivity of yours.” She grimaces. “And on the topic of your looks, you ought to know that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. In other words, the only one who can decide whether you’re ‘dashing’ is me.”
“It sounds absolutely ridiculous to me, but I guess you have a point.”
She runs a hand through her shoulder-length orange hair. “Anyway, that concludes our mock conversation.”
“Excuse me?”
She proudly tilts her chin. “If you can talk to a girl like me, I think you should be able to talk to most other people as well.” She smiles haughtily. “Perhaps I did rehabilitate you a little.”
That’s enough. “Let me make this perfectly clear. It’s not like I can’t talk to people. I just don’t indulge in pointless small talk.” I thrust my thumb towards my chest. “I don’t need rehab."
“I think you’re in for quite some trouble in your social life if you don’t change yourself.”
The door slides open behind me. “I’m coming in, Chuuya,” Odasaku says. Was he just eavesdropping outside the door or something?
“Knock!” Chuuya says exasperatedly.
“Sorry.” But he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Looks like you’re having trouble fixing Dazai’s problem.”
“He doesn’t even know he has problems.”
“Don’t give me that crap.” They look at me in surprise. “Like hell I need to change. I don’t need people telling me who I should be, damn it.” I cross my hands over my chest and sigh.
“You’re just running away,” Chuuya accuses.
“But isn’t changing myself also running away?”
She clenches a hand into a fist. “Refusing to understand doesn’t solve any problems, and it won’t help anyone either.”
Odasaku holds both his hands up in surrender. “Calm down, you two.” We both glare at him. “In cases where two opinions collide, it’s a time-honored tradition to settle things with a battle.” He smirks.
“What on earth are you on about?” I ask.
“What I’m trying to say is that this club is now the stage for a battle to see which of you is better equipped to serve!” He dramatically gestures between the two of us.
“That’s some crazy mental gymnastics right there,” I comment.
“The winner can order the loser to do anything they want. How does that sound?” he says with a gleam in his eye, ignoring my remark.
When he says anything, he means anything, right?
“I refuse.” Chuuya declares. “I fear for my life if he’s my opponent.” She crosses her arms over her chest protectively.
“You’re just being prejudiced, shorty. Guys in their second year of high school don’t always have lewd thoughts on their mind.” I also think about world peace or something. Actually, double suicide more often than not.
“Who are you calling shorty?” Chuuya hisses, eyes narrowed. She looks like she’s about to start ranting when Odasaku interferes. “So even Chuuya has things she’s afraid of. Getting cold feet now, are we?”
“Like hell I’ll ever lose to this bastard. I don’t like falling for such an obvious provocation, but I accept this battle.”
So the “Ice Queen” has quite the temper and a potty mouth to boot. Interesting.
“That settles it.” Odasaku nods, looking quite pleased with himself.
My eye twitches. Doesn’t anyone care what I think?
“That’ll be all for today. You two should go home now. I need a smoke.” He walks out the door.
Chuuya looks at me and scoffs. “Can’t believe I got roped into this shit,” she mutters. She shoves her books into her bag and storms out the door, jostling my shoulder in her wake.
I guess my life just got a lot more complicated.