Dazai Osamu never had a genuine childhood. From a young age, he was forced to mature prematurely to survive in the cruel world of the mafia — even though his true desire was to completely escape this dark universe. Not even the darkest side of his soul, the one that felt inseparable from the thick, filthy paint that the mafia had used to stain his body and spirit, would want to impose a life like that on another person. And much less to a child...

Much less for one that carried its own blood.

No one could blame him for his confusion at that moment. He had no idea. Now, there stood before him, a small child who was like a mirror of Dazai himself, an almost perfect copy of his appearance. With eyes marked by trauma that he recognized so well, the boy sat in front of him, refusing to look at him, as if Dazai were an inescapable shadow. The man couldn't understand why Mori had never used the boy as a blackmail tool – something that seemed so obvious and cruelly strategic. And honestly, Dazai would rather never find out why.