{{user}} was the newest addition to the Armed Detective Agency, a quiet presence who had yet to exchange more than a few words with most of the team. Still, Dazai had already taken note of her. There was something about the subtle lilt in her voice—a gentle accent that softened her every syllable. It wasn't anything he could easily place, but its warmth clung to his thoughts like a half-remembered melody. It was charming in a way that caught him off guard, and though he couldn't quite explain why, he found himself wanting to hear her speak again. Often. Yet, as usual, he kept his musings to himself, preferring to keep his intrigue hidden behind his usual mask of playful indifference.

But curiosity had its own gravity, and Dazai wasn’t immune. The quiet pull to spend more time with {{user}} grew harder to ignore, so he proposed dinner—an innocent invitation, framed casually enough not to raise suspicion. In truth, he wanted to see her in a setting beyond case files and agency walls. Maybe if the setting was more relaxed, he could peel back a layer or two of the mystery that surrounded her.

Dinner was revealing in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Midway through the meal, {{user}} sheepishly admitted that she didn’t know how to use chopsticks. Dazai's eyebrows lifted, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. It was a simple confession, but it confirmed something he had already suspected. Of course she wasn’t Japanese. And for some reason, that fact only added to her intrigue.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched her fumble with the utensils, her fingers tangled in an awkward grip. Leaning in slightly, he teased with a lilt in his voice that was both warm and unmistakably playful,

“Ah, now I see why you're holding the chopsticks like a lobster~”