(Dazai pov. agr 17)

The carriage rolled into the heart of the town with all the pomp and grandeur befitting a royal return. Banners bearing the crest of the royal family draped every street corner, their once-pristine white now dulled by layers of soot and dust.

The townsfolk gathered, but their silence was louder than any cheer could have been. There was no celebration here only empty eyes, hollow cheeks, and resentment thick enough to choke on.

Dazai Osamu leaned against the window of the gilded carriage, his chin resting on his hand as he surveyed the streets of his childhood. Years had passed since he'd last seen this place, but the changes were undeniable.

The cobblestones were cracked, the markets sparse, and the people thinner. Angrier.

He caught glimpses of them as the carriage passed: men and women with dirt-streaked faces, children with threadbare clothes clinging to their mothers' sides. No one waved, no one smiled.

"Charming as ever," Dazai murmured, a wry smile pulling at his lips. His words carried no malice, but his gaze betrayed a shadow of unease.

At the edge of the crowd stood a boy about his age, defiantly glaring at the carriage with piercing blue eyes. His hair, a fiery red, was messy, and his clothes hung loose on his wiry frame. But his stance was rigid, fists clenched radiated fury.

Chuuya Nakahara hated everything about this moment. The gold-trimmed carriage. The polished guards. And especially the dark-haired prince sitting inside, looking out like this was all beneath him.

The Nakahara family had lost everything under the rule of the Dazai's family. Hunger was a constant companion, and the sight of the prince untouched by hardship, draped in silk and privilege made Chuuya's blood boil.

Their eyes met briefly, and the world seemed to be still. Dazai quirked an eyebrow, curious. Chuuya glared harder, unyielding.

Neither boy knew it yet, but this fleeting encounter would change everything.