Chapter Text
Chuuya had just woken up and started getting ready for the first day of high school. Since they couldn’t afford a new school uniform, he wore his older brother Paul’s old one. The sleeves and the pant legs were a bit too long on him, but it was good enough. Chuuya didn’t care, he never felt embarrassed about such things. He carefully brushed his red hair; even though he was a boy, his hair reached down to his shoulders, cut in a light wolfcut style with bangs falling over his face. With a couple of clips, he pushed his hair back to reveal his features. With his big blue eyes and freckled cheeks, he looked very charming. Even though he had just turned fourteen and was starting high school, he was still only 1.50 meters tall and weighed around 30 kilos. He picked up the bag his older sister had sewn for him, embroidered with little flowers, and slung it over his shoulder. Finally, he grabbed his sister’s old flip phone off the charger. Chuuya slipped the pink-cased flip phone with a dog charm into his pocket and got his bus ticket ready before heading down to the kitchen.
Chuuya lived with his older brother Paul and his older sister Kouyou. Their home was a small, two-story shanty house. It was an old wooden place left from their grandparents, slightly damp but filled with peace, and more than enough for the three siblings. Kouyou, in her early twenties, worked as a cleaner for households and sometimes sold her embroidered flower works at market stalls. Paul, in his early thirties, was a former chief inspector. After their parents died, he left the army to stay with his siblings and started working as a trainer. As Chuuya walked toward the combined living room and kitchen, he greeted them.
“Good morning, Aniki! Good morning, Ane-san!” Chuuya greeted his older siblings and, before sitting at the breakfast table, showed off his outfit as if expecting comments on his brand-new high school look. “How do I look, huh?”
“Good morning, little brother.” Paul was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee. He was too reserved to match his brother’s excitement, and the fact that Chuuya was wearing his old uniform worried him. “Just make do with this uniform for a while, okay? When I get my paycheck at the end of the month, I’ll buy you a new one.” he reassured him.
Meanwhile, Kouyou was setting the breakfast table. She glanced at her younger brother and smiled. “You look so cute, baby!! How did you grow up so fast?~” she said, unable to hold back her emotions. “Besides, I think the uniform suits you just fine—you look just like your brother in his youth! I’ll take care of the long parts at the tailor’s, don’t you worry!” Kouyou smiled warmly with understanding.
Paul rolled his eyes at his sister. “Kouyou! This won’t do, he shouldn’t have to go to school in an old uniform—besides, it’s a scholarship school. Back in my time, our parents could afford to buy me a new uniform and supplies, so I never stood out in anyone’s eyes. But now we have to be Chuuya’s parents.” He spoke with sadness.
“It’s not a big deal!!” Chuuya waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t make a fuss! I’m totally fine with it! A new uniform won’t make a difference! I’ll only use it for four years and then it’ll just end up in the trash. My brother’s uniform will do just fine. And when I grow taller, we won’t even need a tailor.” He added with understanding. “I’m still growing, aniki!”
Kouyou backed him up. “Exactly! And besides, parents these days always buy uniforms a few sizes too big anyway. Our little Chuuya will grow into it too!” Kouyou was, as always, cheerful and full of energy.
Paul sighed. “We’ll talk about this later.” His voice carried a slight air of authority. Then he looked at Chuuya. His younger brother, the one he had cared for like a child, had grown up and was now a high schooler. He couldn’t help but get emotional. “Our Chuuya has grown up… what a precious sight.” He smiled with pride.
Chuuya grinned wide, flashing his teeth, and giggled. “I know!” he said proudly, tucking a stray lock of red hair behind his ear. For once, he felt happy and hopeful, like he was finally going somewhere in life. He had been afraid of ending up in a bad high school, but with a high score he had won a full scholarship to Yokohama’s best school—the same one his brother had attended. Chuuya hoped this would just be the beginning; he would give it his all and make the best of the opportunities his family had given him.
—
Osamu Dazai was the youngest son of Yokohama’s mayor, Ougai Mori. From the outside, the Mori family looked like a dazzling portrait—an illustrious surname filled with achievements, children who had risen through the ranks of government, and a glittering political reputation. But the truth Dazai knew rested on a far more rotten foundation.
Mori had held his position for years, but not through public love or honest policies. Corruption, coercion, and secret deals were his strongest pillars. While he organized cleanup campaigns in the streets, behind the curtain he negotiated with crime syndicates; while he preached transparency in budget projects, he funneled funds into his own pockets. In the public eye he painted the image of a respectable mayor, but at home he was a cold, oppressive, calculating man. All of his children were from different mothers. He was a womanizer, fickle and unfaithful.
His first son, Oda Sakunosuke, worked in a position tied to military intelligence. Oda was the only decent person in the family, guided by honesty, conscience, and a sense of justice. Yet the nature of his work kept him far from home and his siblings. Dazai hardly ever saw him; the distance between them was not only measured in kilometers, but also in years, silence, and the thick walls built by their father. To Dazai, Oda was like a dream—proof that good people could exist, but never a presence by his side.
Ango Mori, on the other hand, was a different story. He always wore a faint, detached smile, spoke in measured words, and carried himself as the so-called responsible elder brother. He had risen in the shadows of the state, carving out a place in the deepest corridors of bureaucracy. But Ango’s loyalty was not to the people—it was to his own interests and murky connections. While he played the role of the dutiful statesman in his siblings’ eyes, behind closed doors he leaked information, buried files in exchange for favors, and treated human lives as bargaining chips. Dazai had long since seen through the mask his brother wore; Ango was not someone to be trusted, but someone who only further sullied their father’s legacy.
And then there was Dazai… the youngest member of the family, yet also the most fragile. In Mori’s eyes, he was the weak link. Dazai’s dark thoughts, his self-directed violence, the madness and exhaustion gnawing at his mind—these were stamped on him like a brand. His father never tried to heal his soul; instead, he turned to doctors, prescriptions, and force. Dazai was made to swallow pills he didn’t want—pills that dulled him, silenced him, and made him a stranger to himself. They wrapped his mind in fog and weighed down his spirit. When, in desperation, he tried to hurt himself, his family saw only shame—a scandal to be hidden, something to sweep out of sight.
From the outside, the Mori family was flawless: a powerful father, successful sons, a respectable household. But for Dazai, the truth was a painting rotting behind its perfect veneer. Being born the son of a mayor had brought him nothing but burdens: a surname woven with corruption, a brother he could never reach, another who betrayed, and a body torn apart by his own mind.
Oda had rejected the surname Mori and taken his late mother’s family name instead. Mori’s first wife, Sakura Sakunosuke, had been a graceful, beautiful, and gentle woman. She was the only person who had ever loved Mori not for his money or his influence, but for who he was. Perhaps Sakura’s only mistake was loving him too madly… Yet Mori, incapable of valuing her, betrayed her all too easily. In the end, Sakura took her own life.
Ango’s mother, Tomoe Sakaguchi, was Mori’s second wife and had lived with him for many years. Tomoe was cunning—almost unbelievably devious. She had aided Mori in countless illegal dealings. She was, without a doubt, his true soulmate. During the time Tomoe was in the household, Oda was only five. His mother had just died, leaving the boy trapped with a vile stepmother and a terrible father. It was in those years that Ango was born, and Oda tried to be the only one in the mansion to teach his little brother a sense of right and wrong. But Tomoe, a woman raised amid drug cartels, eventually succumbed to her own addiction and died when Ango was only eleven.
Soon after, Mori had an affair in a brothel with Kasumi Dazai, Osamu’s mother, and got her pregnant. He never married her, and Osamu automatically took the surname of his prostitute mother. That was how he was known within the family. Kasumi died only a few weeks after giving birth, and it was thanks to Oda’s insistence that Osamu was brought into the mansion to be raised under his father’s roof.
Perched on the high hills overlooking Yokohama’s outskirts, the Mori family mansion stood in silence through the night, the city lights below flickering like fireflies. Yet for those who lived behind its stone walls, silence never meant peace. That morning was no different.
As the first light of dawn slipped past the heavy curtains of his room, the vast bedroom echoed with the faint clink of pill bottles. Dazai studied the rows of medicine lined up on his nightstand, a mocking curve tugging at his lips. The weight that pressed into his stomach, the fog that dulled his brain—it was all part of his so-called treatment. To Mori, his son’s mental health wasn’t a problem to heal, but a disgrace to be managed. And so Dazai’s mornings always began the same way, with mouthfuls of pills he never wanted. Today was no exception. As he tossed a handful into his mouth, he discreetly slipped a few under the carpet. Pretending to comply with treatment had become one of his greatest games.
When he stood before the mirror, the boy staring back was neither innocent nor ordinary. There were shadows beneath his brown eyes born from sleepless nights, yet within them also flickered a devilish gleam. At the corners of his lips rested a mocking smile, as if he were guarding some secret, as if he were laughing at the entire world and privy to every person’s deepest weakness. Not even the drug-induced haze that dulled his mind could smother that air of derision.
When the servants brought in the black uniform, Dazai sized them up from head to toe. Yokohama High’s uniform was simple yet distinguished, tailored to carry the arrogant frames of wealthy boys. As he buttoned his shirt, he left his collar carelessly loose. His tie hung slack, his jacket barely fastened… For him, discipline was nothing more than an opportunity to catch a victim at their weakest point.
In the grand hall below, the heavy footsteps of his father echoed. Mori Ougai sat waiting with his morning coffee, there not out of paternal pride, but the cold vigilance of a calculating overseer. In his eyes, Dazai was no son—he was a project, a tool, a mark of status. And yet Dazai walked beneath that gaze grinning, savoring the chance to belittle, to provoke, to test his father’s patience. These were his favorite games.
Stepping out onto the mansion grounds, Dazai headed toward the car that would take him to school, only to spot his big brother Ango approaching his own vehicle. At first, Dazai tried to ignore him, though in truth, he couldn’t care less. To him, Ango was nothing but an authority-obsessed lunatic—treacherous and self-serving to the core.
“First day of school,” Ango remarked, his eyes scanning over his younger brother. “You could at least try to look presentable for one day. Father doesn’t want you making a disgrace of yourself.”
Dazai tugged lightly at his loose tie, a sly grin curling across his lips. “Since when have I ever cared what Father wants, Aniki?”
Ango drew in a deep breath. He was used to his brother’s nonsense and had no desire to indulge it. “Just make sure you don’t do anything that keeps you from even attending school. Keep your grades up, join some activities. Try acting your age and stop reading those idiotic suicide manuals. Dying would only make you a burden to us.”
“Don’t worry, anikiii. In the school Father bought, I’ll buy my fun as well. I’ll make things a little… hellish for the students. And really, wouldn’t you understand that sort of thing? After all, both of us enjoy playing with other people’s lives.” Dazai replied with a mocking grin. “Besides, I’ll be in the same class with Kunikida, Yosano, and Ranpo again. I’m sure it’ll be just delightful.”
“This year, the son of the Dostoyevski family we’re partnered with, Fyodor Dostoyevski, will also be in your class. Father made sure of it, so your first task is to befriend him and pull him to your side. I’ve heard he’s a difficult child—though so are you. You’ll get along. Two reckless prodigies.”
“Aww, Anikiii~” Dazai replied in exaggerated mock-sweetness. “Do you really see me as a prodigy? How adorable!!”
Ango said nothing. His silence lingered in that vague gray space between agreement and denial. But Dazai savored even that silence. Every moment without an answer felt like peeling back another layer of his brother’s mask.
The chauffeur opened the door. As the sleek black car glided down toward the city below, Dazai leaned back against the seat. Only one thought circled in his mind, Yokohama High… This school had been bought with his father’s money. From the principal to the teachers to the families of the students, everyone owed Mori—and that meant everyone owed Dazai too. He had already earned a reputation in middle school for his bullying and cruel games. Now, he would wear the same mask—but with more skill. He would no longer be just a student; he would become a devil to be feared, obeyed, and hated, one who unsettled everyone with his sly tricks.
—
Teacher Himari was introducing Chuuya to the class. Since Chuuya had missed the bus, he arrived late to the lesson, and unlike the other students—who already knew each other from the same prestigious middle school—Chuuya was meeting everyone for the first time. That was why the teacher made a point of introducing him. “This is your new classmate, Nakahara Chuuya. He was admitted to Yokohama High on a full scholarship, so please welcome him.”
The classroom buzzed with whispers. A scholarship was practically synonymous with poverty, something rarely seen at this school. Hardly anyone earned a spot here through financial aid—after all, Yokohama High was right in the heart of the city, expensive and prestigious enough that only the wealthy attended. From the back row by the window, Dazai lifted his head slightly. His eyes roamed over Chuuya, and a sly smile curved at the corner of his lips. “A full scholarship, huh..? So poverty has a fancy new name.”
A few students snickered. The teacher frowned sharply, but she ignored Dazai. After all, he was Mori’s son, a special student; teachers had no real authority over him. Dazai leaned back in his chair as though nothing had happened. Chuuya froze for a moment. Something inside him quivered, but then he straightened his back, firm and proud. His small, delicate fingers clenched tightly around his bag.
Teacher Himari pointed gently to an empty desk in the middle rows. “You can sit right over there, dear.”
As Chuuya made his way to the desk, he carefully slid his embroidered bag from his shoulder. The strap had been digging into his skin, but he didn’t show it. I’ll just stick to myself here—it’s fine, he thought. He liked being alone anyway. He only wanted to finish school without anyone bothering him.
But just as Chuuya was about to sit down, Dazai raised his hand.
“Miss Himari!” Dazai stood up. “That seat belongs to Sigma and Nikolai, though they said they’ll be late today.” With that, he blocked Chuuya from sitting there. Clearly, there were no other empty seats in the class—except the one next to Dazai.
“I see… is the seat beside you free, Dazai?” Himari asked, her hand thoughtfully resting on her chin.
“Of course!~” Dazai answered with exaggerated delight. His tone startled the class—normally, Dazai preferred sitting alone, stretching his legs across the empty desk beside him as if everything in the room belonged to him. This behavior was unusual, and all the more unsettling.
Chuuya walked toward Dazai’s desk with hesitant steps. From the moment he moved, Dazai’s eyes were locked onto him. Lounging by the window with his arms slung back and his body tilted to the side, he watched Chuuya with a smile that looked polite at first glance, but carried nothing but boredom and disdain in his eyes.
As Chuuya bent down to pull out the chair, Dazai casually stretched his leg beneath the desk and shoved the chair backward. The chair slid, and Chuuya lost his balance, crashing to the floor with a loud thud. His bag toppled with him, spilling a small notebook, a pencil case, and his flip phone with the little dog charm onto the ground.
The classroom erupted with murmurs. Some students burst into laughter.
Dazai leaned his elbows on the desk, propping his chin into his hand as that sly grin curled across his face. “Ah, forgive me. Was the chair too slippery? Couldn’t handle your little body, huh?”
Roars of laughter filled the room.
Chuuya’s face flushed red as he scrambled to gather his things. His small hands picked up the notebook—its corner bent—and the phone, now scratched across the sticker on its cover. His chest tightened, but he silently tucked everything back into his bag.
Then he straightened, standing tall, and fixed his gaze on Dazai.
"Don't touch my chair. I'm telling you for the last time." There was a hint of hurt in his voice, but his blue eyes, burning with anger, were locked challengingly on the boy across from him.
Dazai burst out laughing. Throwing his head back, he laughed and then pointed at Chuuya with his finger. "Look, look! Our mascot actually has a voice! How cute, right? Staring so seriously with those big eyes… ahaha, it was almost convincing."
The classroom filled with laughter again. A few students leaned toward each other, whispering.
"Isn't he too short? Like a kid…"
"Check out his bag. He must think he’s living in some ’80s sitcom."
"He looks weaker than my little sister, oh my god, what kind of man is this?"
Chuuya’s face burned red like fire, but he didn’t back down. He placed his bag on the chair, pressed his hands against the desk, and leaned toward Dazai. "I don’t care what you or your friends think. Unlike people like you, I came here to study. So leave me alone."
Dazai narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. Lowering his voice so only Chuuya could hear, he whispered, "You got it wrong, little thing. People like you catch my interest, so you should be grateful you’ve been chosen as my personal entertainment. Because you’ll never belong to anyone else."
Because you’ll never belong to anyone else.
Chuuya’s heart nearly stopped for a moment. He couldn’t tell what angered him more: being knocked down, being mocked in front of everyone, or Dazai’s possessive tone. All of it was awful—this wasn’t how he imagined high school would begin.
He staring at Dazai without looking away.
"I won’t be your entertainment. Ever."
Dazai let out a soft laugh. There was a shadow-like gleam in his eyes.
"We’ll see, Chibi."