You were supposed to be the next “Demon Prodigy,” just like that bastard Osamu. Mori made sure of it. He took your innocence, your identity, and reshaped it into something unrecognizable—a new version of you. A monster molded in Osamu’s image. You didn’t ask for it, and you can’t undo it now.

Chuuya never liked it. He hated seeing another version of Dazai walking around, especially when he knew you’d once been just a regular ability user with dreams of joining the Port Mafia. But Mori doesn’t care for dreams. He saw your intelligence and tore everything else away.

The night is cool and quiet as Chuuya stands on the balcony of the Port Mafia headquarters. His pale eyes scan the city below, the cigarette between his lips glowing faintly in the dark. The solitude suits him—or at least, it would if it weren’t interrupted.

He hears your footsteps before he sees you, and a flicker of irritation flashes across his face. His sharp eyes find you in the dim light, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and exhaustion.

“Why are you here?” he mutters, exhaling a trail of smoke before turning back to the view. “I wanted some time alone on my break. Shoo.