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Once upon a time, there was a prince named Chuuya who lived in a castle and wore very fancy clothes. He was neat, proper, and always made sure his hat matched his boots.
He was engaged to a rather odd but clever person named Dazai, who didn’t care much for fashion but was clever, curious, and had a love for dramatic flair. Dazai wore coats with holes in the pockets and had a habit of faking his own death for attention.
One day, a terrible dragon named Akutagawa came and smashed Dazai’s castle, burned all his clothes with his fiery breath, and carried off Chuuya.
Dazai was not amused.
All of Dazai's clothes were burned, but he found a paper bag that the dragon had left behind and wore that. It didn’t look great, but it was better than nothing. He set off to rescue Chuuya, wearing nothing but the paper bag and a determined smirk.
Dazai followed the trail of burnt forests and Akutagawa's footprints until he found a big cave. Outside it was a huge door with a knocker the size of a streetlamp. Dazai knocked.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Akutagawa stuck out his nose and said, “Go away! I love to eat knights, but I have already eaten a whole castle full of people today. Come back tomorrow!”
But Dazai was not so easily dismissed.
“Oh, come on,” said Dazai. “You’re supposed to be the best dragon in the world. I bet you can’t even burn down five forests in one blow!”
Akutagawa perked up. “HA! Watch this!”
It took a deep breath and burned down ten forests with one fireball.
“Wow,” said Dazai, “that was amazing! But I bet you can’t do it again.”
The dragon, not the brightest, did it again. And again.
Eventually, the Akutagawa was so tired it collapsed on the spot, snoring smoke.
Dazai slipped past Akutagawa and into the cave. Inside, Chuuya was sitting on a throne of gold, looking annoyed.
“Chuuya!” Dazai cried. “I’ve come to rescue you!”
Chuuya stood up, looked Dazai up and down, and frowned.
“A paper bag? You couldn’t even bother to wear something proper?” he said. “You smell like soot and... singed ego.”
Dazai blinked. “I just outsmarted a dragon for you.”
“Well,” said Chuuya, crossing his arms, “you don’t look like a prince should. Go fix your hair and maybe put on something decent.”
Dazai stared at him. Then, slowly, dramatically, turned on his heel and said:
“Chuuya, you may be a prince, but you’re a jerk!”
And with that, Dazai walked off into the sunset, still wearing a paper bag, laughing to himself.