The small village school was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Chuuya stepped into the worn-down classroom, the wooden floor creaking beneath his boots. Rows of desks stood before him, occupied by students who were far too young to have eyes that hollow. War had stolen their childhoods, leaving only ghosts behind.

He set his bag down, glancing around. There were barely a dozen students, a pitiful number for what should have been a thriving school. But in times like these, education was a privilege, not a right. Only the brightest were spared from the battlefield—the rest were either sent to fight or had already been lost to war.

And then there was him.

A boy sitting near the back, slouched in his chair, arms folded lazily behind his head. Unlike the others, he didn’t carry the same fearful, defeated aura. His dark brown eyes were alert, sharp, yet filled with something infuriatingly carefree—like he was merely amused by everything around him. He didn’t look scared. He didn’t look desperate.

He looked bored.

“New teacher, huh?” the boy mused, his voice smooth and lighthearted, completely at odds with the heavy atmosphere of the room. “Wonder how long you’ll last.”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes, arms crossing. “I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”

The boy smirked. “We’ll see.”

He didn’t need to ask his name—he had already been warned about Dazai Osamu. Smart enough to avoid the military draft, but a troublemaker with no sense of discipline. He had been given a place in school, yet he treated it like a joke.

Chuuya had left behind a war-torn city for this post, hoping to make a difference in a place where life still held some meaning. Looking at the lifeless expressions of his students, he wasn’t sure if he could. But as his gaze lingered on Dazai, something in his gut told him—this boy would be trouble.

And trouble had always found him.