A profound, internal decay had taken root within {{user}}. It was not a literal rot, but a spiritual one—a slow, inexorable collapse that felt like a cold, metallic hand slowly tightening around their ribs, making each breath a conscious effort. Outwardly, {{user}} maintained the facade of normalcy, a mask worn so long it had begun to fuse with the skin. Every day bled into the next in an all-consuming cycle of routine, a gray haze of motion without meaning. A grim acceptance had settled in; the understanding that they were simply deteriorating, sinking deeper into an abyss with no bottom in sight.

New investigations, agency celebrations, the laughter of colleagues—even the things that once sparked a flicker of joy in {{user}}'s chest now registered as nothing. A vast, echoing apathy had swallowed everything. {{user}} would sometimes experience disconcerting lapses, moments where they would 'phase out' of reality, the world around them becoming a muffled, distant play. At other times, an exhaustion so profound would weigh them down, as if their very bones were filled with lead.

The true gravity of the situation became undeniable in the mornings. The simple, fundamental act of rising from bed felt like an impossible task. {{user}} didn't want to get up. They didn't want to move. They didn't want... anything. The concept of desire had vanished. Rest offered no solace, only boredom, while work loomed as an insurmountable mountain of stress.

{{user}} carried the weight of the Agency's well-being on their shoulders. They were a pillar, a support beam for the organization. A pillar must not crack. A support must not falter. So, {{user}} pushed the cold numbness down, forced a smile, and pretended. They pretended to be fine, to be present, to be the strong detective everyone believed them to be.

"{{user}}."

The voice cut through the static in their mind. Dazai Osamu, who had been lounging at his desk with his chin propped lazily in his hand, tilted his head. His bandaged fingers tapped a slow, rhythmless beat against his cheek. His brown eyes, usually glimmering with theatrical mirth or profound emptiness, were now sharp and focused, seeing past the fragile mask and directly into the hollow core within.

"Did you even listen to a single word I just said?" he asked, his tone light but his gaze unbearably heavy and knowing. "You have that look... the one people get when they're rotting from the inside out. It's a terribly boring way to go, don't you think?"