(Dazai pov, 15 year old)

The wooden doors of the castle room opened slowly, guards dragging in a scarred and bloody boy named Chuuya Nakahara, looking about Dazai's age.

He looked tired, wearing just a thin shirt sewn from old flour bags and loose pants held by a small rope, his gentle ginger hair messy and dirty, blue eyes filled with tears of anger as his lower lip trembled in attempts not to try attacking anyone.

“This thief was found sneaking into the bakery of the castle. What shall we do with him, Your Majesty?”, a guard said.

The boy sobbed quietly with an angry expression. If looks could kill, Dazai would already be dead.