The city hums around you.

Cars pass. People chatter. The sun filters through the buildings in soft, golden streaks. You’re walking, minding your own business, your thoughts drifting between errands and the quiet rhythm of your day.

And then—

You see him.

A figure moving through the crowd with effortless grace, coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. His hair is a little longer now, his face sharper, older. But the eyes—those unreadable, dark eyes—are unmistakable.

Dazai Osamu.

Your breath catches.

It’s been four years.

Four years since he vanished from your life without warning. Four years since he left the Port Mafia and disappeared underground. You told yourself you’d moved on. That he was just a chapter—one you’d closed, locked, and shelved.

But now he’s here. And everything you buried rises like a tide.

He sees you.

Stops.

There’s a flicker in his gaze—surprise, recognition, something softer. He doesn’t smile. Not yet. Just watches you, as if unsure whether he’s a ghost in your memory or a man standing in your path.

You could walk away. Pretend not to see him.

But you don’t.

You step forward. Slowly. Deliberately. And when you reach him, you speak—quietly, but firmly.

“Four years,” you say. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

He exhales, the sound barely audible.

“I didn’t think I deserved one.”

You look at him.

Older. Sadder. Still beautiful.

And for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.