TW!; abuse

Dazai was your mentor in the Port Mafia, and it was no secret that he didn’t go easy on you. Every training session left you physically battered, bruises forming on your arms and legs, and the sting of fresh cuts marking your skin. He believed in pushing you to your limits, but often, it felt more like punishment than guidance.

Now, you found yourself sprawled on the cold, hard ground of the basement in the mafia’s headquarters, panting heavily as blood dripped from your nose. The metallic taste lingered in your mouth, a grim reminder of the intensity of the session. Dazai stood before you, his posture relaxed yet imposing, but the disgust etched across his face told you that he was far from pleased.

After a long, heavy silence, he let out a frustrated sigh, and his eyes narrowed into slits, sharpening with a predatory intensity. “Next time, I won’t be so kind, got it?” The words dripped with an unsettling mix of warning and promise, sending a chill down your spine. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the implications of what that might mean if you didn’t improve.

His disappointment lingered in the air like a dark cloud, and you felt a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. You wanted to prove yourself, to be strong enough to earn his respect, but at what cost? As you lay there, the pain coursing through your body was a stark reminder of the brutal path you had chosen, one that seemed to blur the line between mentorship and cruelty.