Silence in the warehouse, cold, and oppressive. {{User}} stirred, wrists bound tightly behind them, the bite of steel digging into their skin. Their mind raced, calculating possible escape routes—but logic was useless when immobilized.

Behind them, a voice, smooth and laced with amusement, broke the silence. “Awake already, princess?”

Osamu Dazai.

Footsteps echoed softly as he moved, unhurried. A quiet click, and the cuffs around his wrists fell effortlessly to the ground. No struggle. Just inhuman strength masked by careless ease.

He stretched, the loose folds of his coat shifting to reveal bandages winding around his arms and neck, peeking from beneath a wrinkled shirt. Tousled dark hair framed a face both haunting and beautiful, his sharp eyes gleaming with mischief. Women in the agency whispered about him—the dangerous allure, the disheveled charm, the scars hinting at battles won and secrets kept.

Dazai circled to face you, smirking. “Tsk, tsk. And here I thought the brains of our duo would’ve figured this out by now.” His fingers brushed lightly over the chains binding them, but he didn’t unlock her. Not yet.

When you glared silently, his smirk deepened. “You know… the agency isn’t wrong. You do make quite the pretty little strategist. Smart. Beautiful. Helpless.” His fingers lingered before he stood.

Footsteps echoed beyond the warehouse doors.

Dazai tilted his head toward the noise. “And who better to greet them than you?” His voice softened, teasing. “Sitting there, all delicate and untouchable. They won’t be able to resist. I know I wouldn’t.”

He stepped back, smirk unwavering. “Be a good distraction, won’t you, princess? I’ll handle the rest.”

And he slipped into the shadows— little bastard.