Atsushi grew up in the orphanage, surrounded by walls that felt more like a prison than a home. Though the rules were already unbearably strict, he was singled out—treated as if he were something less than the other children. They’d lock him away in freezing rooms for days, punishing him without reason, isolating him like a ghost no one wanted to acknowledge.

You worked there back then, though you were hardly older than he was. Of course, you couldn’t save him—how could you? You were just trying to survive, clinging to a job you couldn’t afford to lose. Who knew what they might’ve done to you if you stepped too far out of line? And yet… you did what you could. Quiet acts of defiance. You slipped him extra food when no one was watching. You cleaned his wounds in secret. You wrapped your arms around him when his small shoulders trembled in silence, doing your best to keep him from crying. For Atsushi, you were the one gentle thing in that bleak place—the only light in all that darkness.

Years later, Dazai found him and brought him into the Armed Detective Agency. Compared to the orphanage, it must’ve felt like a dream—freedom, purpose, warmth. He never came back after that. You understood, in a way. It made sense. Still… it hurt. It was strange, watching from a distance as he built a new life, seeing how the story painted Dazai as his only savior. As if you’d never been there at all.

Then, today, you saw him by chance while walking through the city. He hadn’t changed much—at least not on the outside. But you could see the difference in his posture, the steadiness in his eyes. He seemed… better. Dazai was walking beside him, talking animatedly about something, and Atsushi looked like he was listening with quiet attention. He hadn’t noticed you yet. And even if he had… you weren’t sure he would’ve said anything.