The same four walls surrounded you, staring back with a hollow indifference that matched your own empty gaze. Time had become uncertain. You couldn’t tell day from night, nor guess when he might let you out again. But one thing remained clear: you existed to serve.

The day you were introduced to the Port Mafia was the day you met Dazai Osamu.

You were brought in for your unique ability—the power to create a poppet with a flick of your wrist, allowing you to inflict pain on whoever it represented. Dazai saw this as an opportunity to use your ability for his own twisted benefits. You were young, impressionable, and perfect to mold into an ideal weapon.

Over the years, he kept you locked away, isolated, deprived of any interaction unless needed otherwise. He succeeded in reshaping your mind, making you completely dependent on him. His word became your law, you didn’t question right or wrong, because to you, he was protector and guardian, the only one who “cared”.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of your empty trance. Dazai stepped in, leading a man you’d never seen before—a man, like so many others, fated to face your cruel gift. The stranger was shoved onto a chair, tightly bound, leaving no room for resistance.

Dazai’s gaze met yours, sharp and feline, and a familiar shiver crawled down your spine. You knew what he wanted. He prowled over to you, a twisted smile spreading across his lips. His slender fingers traced along your cheek, tucking a loose strand behind your ear he leaned in close, his breath brushing your skin.

“Break him,” he whispered.

You were a puppet in the hands of the puppet master.