Fifteen comic

Looking for someone to help me bring my comic to life

[soukokuart]

No More Dreams: A Song for the Dead

Soukoku fanfiction, band au, 2k words tw: dazai tipical suicide attempt

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

By then it was too late, far too late. He had realized that he was capable of loving, of feeling loved, of fearing, of feeling pain and sorrow for another person—even though his whole life he had claimed to hate and to be incapable of feeling that last emotion—. But it was already too late; the pain he was feeling for the first time was spreading through his body, weakening every muscle, robbing him of the strength to move them. Who would have thought that the first time he felt understood by himself would be the last. Everything seemed so… clear. People said that, upon dying, a person relived their best memories. What a cruel lie... He felt uncomfortable in his own body, his mind clear, as if his body were splitting open in half and all his shame were pouring out from within, not letting him rest even in these final moments.

Discovering himself brought such peace and discomfort that if he weren’t dying, he would surely vomit. Was it worth it? To live in shame and constant sorrow, only to feel this way when his time came. How disgusting. It was late, too late.

At least he had ten months to ruin everything.

❖────────────⟡────────────❖

It was cold; the wind blew so hard that it turned the people's cheeks red. Dazai couldn't feel it; his limbs were completely numb from the water that surrounded him and seeped through his clothes. He remained conscious; neither the cold nor the lack of air was enough to make him lose consciousness. It hurt; he’d rather not be able to feel it, not be able to think. He wanted to pass out soon.

His suicide attempts had already become a nuisance to everyone. The agency was tired of chasing after him every time he decided to jump off a bridge, and Mori, in one of his ridiculous attempts to act like a father, had even hired security to watch over him. A waste of money.

Suddenly, he stopped feeling that cold; for a moment, he thought that meant he was losing sensation and that his end was approaching just as he’d planned, but then he felt something warm on his back. Hands—someone’s hands were pulling him toward the surface with such ease that he wondered if he was at his proper weight. As soon as he reached land, he clutched his throat and began coughing violently; the water pooled in his lungs burned his throat as he tried to catch his breath. They tossed him a coat to cover himself and regulate the temperature of his pale body.

“We have to be back at the agency in five minutes. Your father wants to speak with you.” He didn't answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, completely ignoring the comment. Judging by the silence that followed, that must have bothered the man. Dazai didn’t need to look up to imagine the look of contempt on his face. He was used to others’ disdain; it was in moments like these that he remembered how, as a child, he’d spend hours begging some god to put an end to that misery. How naive. In the end, it was pretty hard to ask for help from something that didn’t even exist.

Though it wasn’t as if Mori existed much beyond his office, either. If it hadn’t been for his bodyguard, he wouldn’t even have gone; walking with the wind hitting his face and people whispering about why a fifteen-year-old boy was soaked in water and smelling of salt in the cold was more bearable than having to see his father’s face. Still, there he was, standing in front of a giant door inside the company, knocking gently, waiting to be let in. The silence on the other side of the door stretched on for several seconds. Long enough for Dazai to consider turning around and leaving, but just as he was about to do so, a muffled voice uttered a simple:

“Come in.” He walked in. Mori was sitting behind his desk, his hands clasped beneath his chin, a faint smile playing on his lips. He looked exactly the same as always. It was infuriating. Dazai had just tried to drown himself, and yet he was convinced that even if the entire building were to go up in flames, Mori would still be sitting there in exactly the same way.

“Osamu, how have you been?”

Dazai let out a dry laugh.

“I just tried to kill myself.”

“I’ve already been informed.”

“Then let’s spare ourselves the unnecessary small talk.” Mori’s smile remained intact.

“Always so impatient… I’ve been thinking a lot about your future lately.” He sighed and put on a worried expression that, if I didn’t know him, I might almost have bought.

“What a touching concern.”

“Right? Almost paternal.”

“Get to the point.”

“It’s been six months since you released any music. Five since you wrote anything. Three since you even pretended to.”

Dazai looked away.

“I don’t see the problem.”

“I do,” he nodded slightly. “It’s hard to sell a star when it refuses to shine.”

“How poetic.”

“I know. I thought about firing you.”

Dazai shrugged.

“Go ahead.”

“But then I remembered how much money you generate…”

“What a relief. I was starting to think you actually cared about me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mori’s smile widened. “If I cared about you, I would’ve sent you to therapy already.”

Dazai grimaced.

“Cruel.”

“I try.”

Silence settled between them once more.

“I found a solution. Get a partner.” “No.

“You don’t even know who he is.

“It doesn’t matter who he is.

“So little team spirit?

“So little will to live.

“I already knew that.

Dazai stared at him for a few seconds. He was serious. What a tragedy. He turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

“Find someone else.

“If you accept, I’ll fire the bodyguards.”

...

......

Shit. No matter how much he wanted to refuse, the idea of being without bodyguards was too tempting. They’d been ruining every suicide attempt he’d come up with for months; there were even moments when he wondered if those men had anything better to do with their lives. The place he’d been sent to was full of teenagers. As soon as he crossed the threshold, a mix of bright lights, electronic sounds, and strangers’ conversations hit him full force. It was one of those places where people his age gathered after school to kill time playing games. An arcade.

He walked slowly, already giving up on his search. Look for someone his age in a place like this? Impossible. He glanced around, and everyone there fit that description. His father hadn’t been much help either; he’d simply told him, “You’ll know when you see him,” and that was it—not a single photo, not a description. Just a name: Chuuya. The noise was starting to give him a headache. His body was still cold from that morning’s suicide attempt; the chill seemed to cling to his bones. He was beginning to wonder how much longer he planned to stay there when a voice caught his attention.

“I’m not saying we should cancel the performance; I’m saying we need to practice more.”

Dazai turned his head. A group of teenagers was arguing near one of the machines in the back. It didn’t look like a fight. It seemed more like one of them was trying to stop the others from doing something stupid. His gaze fixed on him—he had orange hair, blue eyes, and a leather jacket. He was short. Ridiculously short. And yet everyone seemed to listen to him.

“If we keep playing like this, we’re going to embarrass ourselves,” the redhead continued.

“You’re exaggerating,” complained a girl with pink hair.

“I’m not exaggerating.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” Dazai watched them for a few seconds. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath. Mori was right; he recognized him the moment he saw him. He approached without much hesitation; interrupting other people’s conversations was one of his few social skills.

“Excuse me.”

All eyes turned to him.

“Are you Chuuya, by any chance?” he asked, looking him up and down.

“Yes.” He paused. “And who are you?”

“Osamu Dazai.” He introduced himself with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The girl with pink hair seemed to recognize him instantly.

“The singer?”

“The one and only.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Chuuya.” The redhead frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I came to offer you a job.”

Now he had his full attention. And everyone else’s, too.

“A job?”

“A job.”

“I’m fifteen.”

“So am I.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Because it was a boring question.”

Chuuya stared at him for several seconds, and Dazai stared back. He had very pretty eyes, annoyingly pretty eyes.

“Just spit it out,” Chuuya said.

“Mori heard about you.” To his surprise, no one reacted; he’d expected a smile or a little celebration.

“So?” Chuuya asked.

“He wants you to join a band.”

“I already have one.”

Dazai looked at the other teenagers.

“This one?”

The girl with pink hair crossed her arms.

“Our band.”

“How adorable.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

Chuuya sighed.

“I’m not interested.”

“You don’t even know how much they’re going to pay you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You don’t even know who your partner is going to be.”

“You.”

“Correct.”

“Then I’m even less interested.”

“How rude.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Do you always butt into other people’s conversations?”

“Yes.

“Then yes, I’m always like this.

The others let out a small laugh.

“You could be famous.

“I’m not interested.

“You could play on huge stages.

“I’m not interested.

“You could leave this place.

For the first time, Chuuya looked annoyed.

“What's wrong with this place?”

Dazai smiled.

“Nothing.”

“You're lying.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Maybe a little.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue.

“You don't know anything about us.” “Is there anything I need to know?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“The band’s name,” blurted out the boy standing next to Chuuya, who hadn’t spoken yet.

Dazai paused to think for a few seconds.

“No.”

The girl with pink hair opened her mouth, offended.

“It’s called Sheep!”

There was a silence that seemed to last forever.

“Sheep?”

“Yeah.”

“Like the animal?”

“Yeah.”

Dazai tried to hold it in—he really did—but the laughter just burst out on its own, so loud that he had to lean forward. It was awful, the worst name he’d ever heard. When he managed to catch his breath, he looked back at Chuuya, who was glaring at him. Strangely, that made him want to keep teasing him. He handed him a card.

“When you get tired of ‘Sheep,’” he said, enunciating the name more than necessary.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“When it does.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Call me.”

Chuuya didn’t take the card, but the quietest boy did. Dazai disappeared into the crowd with an insufferable smile on his face.

“What an idiot,” Chuuya muttered as soon as he was gone. He stood staring at the spot where he’d been standing just seconds before, processing what had happened with a furrowed brow.

“Did anyone understand what the hell that was?” he asked.

“I think he was trying to recruit you.”

“I got that part.”

“So you did get it.”

“Shirase.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

The boy raised his hands in surrender; the girl laughed.

“I have to admit, that was funny.”

“Funny?”

“He made fun of Sheep.”

“Exactly.” “And then he offered the leader of Sheep a job.”

“Exactly.”

“And then he left.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty funny.”

“It’s not.”

She laughed again. Chuuya ran a hand over his face; he could feel a headache coming on.

“Ignore him.”

“Easy for you to say. I’d like to know how he managed to get in here with such a superiority complex.”

“He was born that way.”

“Probably.”

The conversation eventually drifted to other things. Rehearsal. The upcoming performance. The usual problems. Even so, the redhead was still irritated—not by the offer or the money, not even by the fact that this Dazai guy had treated him as if he were going to accept sooner or later. He was still irritated by the arrogance he’d displayed in belittling his band, which had been there for him for a long time; when there was no one else for him, Sheep was there. He watched his friends, arguing, complaining, laughing, and teasing him. Idiots, they were all idiots. But they were his idiots. And he wasn’t going to abandon them for an arrogant singer with obvious problems.

“Hey?”

He looked up.

“What?”

“You were staring into space.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That worries me.”

“I’m worried about your existence, and yet I’ve learned to live with it.”

“How romantic.”

“Die.”The girl with pink hair laughed again, and for the first time since Dazai had shown up, Chuuya gave a faint smile. The noise from the arcade mingled once more with the voices of his friends. The conversations continued to veer off in different directions, losing all meaning with every passing minute. Same old, same old.

Chuuya watched them in silence. Sometimes he thought Sheep was a strange miracle. A group of people completely different from one another who, for some reason, kept choosing to stay. They had no money, no recognition, no guarantees that it would last. All they had was each other. And yet, that was enough. Maybe that was why he’d disliked Dazai so much, because he’d talked about leaving as if it were something simple. As if people were just waystations. As if abandoning something left no scars.

He looked away; some people seemed destined to always walk forward, no matter what they left behind. He’d never understood how they could do

[sylvioki]

Vampire sskk

[sylvioki]

White reaper

[mimosa-sex-tea-people-contrsf]

Tumblr Sexyman Contest 2026 Round 2 Part 27

Senshi (Dungeon Meshi)

Slenderman (Creepypasta)

Voting ended onJun 15

[soukokuart]

traditional values have been lost

[soukokuart]

SOUKOKU FANFIC WIP

By then it was too late, far too late. He had realized that he was capable of loving, of feeling loved, of fearing, of feeling pain and sorrow for another person —even though his whole life he had claimed to hate and to be incapable of feeling that last emotion—. But it was already too late; the pain he was feeling for the first time was spreading through his body, weakening every muscle, robbing him of the strength to move them. Who would have thought that the first time he felt understood by himself would be the last. Everything seemed so… clear. People said that, upon dying, a person relived their best memories. What a cruel lie… He felt uncomfortable in his own body, his mind clear, as if his body were splitting open in half and all his shame were pouring out from within, not letting him rest even in these final moments.

Discovering himself brought such peace and discomfort that if he weren’t dying, he would surely vomit. Was it worth it? To live in shame and constant sorrow, only to feel this way when his time came. How disgusting. It was late, too late.

At least he had ten months to ruin everything.

❖────────────⟡────────────❖ It was cold; the wind blew so hard it turned the locals’ cheeks red. Dazai couldn’t feel it; his limbs were completely numb from the water that surrounded him and seeped through his clothes. He remained conscious; neither the cold nor the lack of air was enough to make him lose consciousness. It hurt; he would have preferred not to feel it, not to be able to think. He wanted to pass out soon. His suicide attempts had already become a burden to everyone. The agency was tired of chasing after him every time he decided to jump off a bridge, and Mori, in one of his ridiculous attempts to act like a father, had even hired security to watch over him. A waste of money. Suddenly, he stopped feeling that cold; for a moment, he thought that meant he was losing sensation and that his end was approaching just as he’d planned, but then he felt something warm on his back. Hands—someone’s hands were pulling him toward the surface with such ease that he wondered if he was at his ideal weight. As soon as he reached the surface, he clutched his throat and began coughing violently; the water pooled in his lungs burned his throat as he tried to catch his breath. They tossed him a coat to cover himself and regulate the temperature of his pale body.

“We have to be back at the agency in five minutes. Your father wants to talk to you.” He didn't answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, completely ignoring the comment. Judging by the silence that followed, that must have bothered the man. Dazai didn’t need to look up to imagine the look of contempt on his face. He was used to others’ disdain; it was at moments like this that he remembered how, as a child, he would spend hours begging some god to put an end to that misery. How naive. In the end, it was quite difficult to ask for help from something that didn’t even exist.

[soukokuart]

No saint, no savior

Prologue When the veil of the sky is torn, and the moon reveals its scar, a wolf will be born.

The night will remain by his side, beside one left cast aside, and yet he arrived.

He will seek neither blood nor crimson flood, but the stillness of the pulse. The pack will sense the sign like a fracture through space and time.

A bond will form through rejection, denied before comprehension.

And yet, the time will come to close it, seal it, and make it one.

Sunlight streaming through the window.

Morning was Chuuya’s only friend; that was what he had been taught even before he could speak. The sun gently brushing his cheek every time he woke up seemed to be the only contact he needed. His first memory begins when he was five years old. He was running through the palace hallways until he heard his father, Verlaine, whispering behind a half-closed door.

“I can’t let them take him away… I can’t let him go like you did”—his voice, barely a whisper, was constantly interrupted by his sobbing. In his hand was a photo of a woman. Without even needing to look at it, Chuuya already knew who he was talking to: his late mother.

He didn’t know much about her, not out of lack of interest, but simply because he didn’t want to see his father with a melancholy look on his face. Everything he knew came from the whispers of the townsfolk: the darkness—they had killed her.

He had always been drawn to the night, as if the moon was calling him, or that forest they had told him so many times not to go into, though they had never told him why.

At eight, he began the rebelliousness that would characterize his adolescence. After so many unanswered questions and the night the moon whispered his name, he saw no other option but to leave. His bare feet on the grass, along with the breeze and the moonlight shining on his face, lit up his eyes in a way the sun never could. His small body, though frightened, was filled with adrenaline. All his life he'd been taught to fear the shadows brought by the absence of sunlight, and he was afraid, but the movement of the tree branches seemed to spell out his name; he couldn't help but keep walking toward the forest, as if he'd been waiting his whole life for that moment.

Upon entering, the forest that had looked so harmless by day was now intimidating, with blinding darkness and the creaking of branches and trees that made you wonder if you were walking in circles. The little boy clutched the hem of his pajamas tightly, scanning his surroundings and trying not to cry; every unfamiliar sound made him jump. He wanted to run back toward the palace, but by then he no longer knew where it was.

He stopped walking when he noticed a small river ahead of him. He watched the water flow; he wanted to cross it, whatever was calling him was behind that river, but he knew it would be risky.

He crouched down, thinking about carefully placing his first foot in the water so as not to slip, but just as he was about to do so, he heard a voice behind him.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t do that,” murmured a voice, echoing all around him.

“W-who said that…” exclaimed Chuuya, spinning around so fast it looked like he was going to fall. His ears were pointing straight up. For a moment, he thought he’d simply watched too many horror movies and had imagined that voice, which is why the silence dragged, until he spoke again.

“Here, little one,” the voice now came from above him. Looking up, he saw a boy who didn’t look a day over twenty-three, with messy brown hair falling across his face, a mocking smile, and skin so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight. Even so, the only things that caught the wolf’s attention were the boy’s lack of ears and his crimson eyes. The stranger climbed down from the tree and spoke again. “You’re as short as the rumors said.”

Chuuya’s ears flattened instinctively.

“I’m young… I’m going to be taller than you someday, sir.” The taller man couldn’t help but start laughing. “I mean it! I’m going to be.”

“You’re just a pup after all, still very innocent,” he said with a chuckle. He ruffled the younger one’s hair, accidentally brushing against his ears in the process.

Chuuya stepped back, covering his ears, a little embarrassed. The nameless man was surprised by this reaction.

“My dad says I shouldn’t let anyone touch them, that we’re sensitive there.”

“Sorry, little guy, your dad must be right.” Chuuya frowned at the nickname; he was about to call him out on it, but his gaze was fixed on the older man’s head. He had no ears. He tilted his head to one side and noticed what he had suspected: he had no tail either. Suddenly, Chuuya’s fear returned; now that he looked closely at the stranger, not only did he lack those crucial features, but his crimson eyes were also terrifying... Not to mention the sharp teeth peeking out from the side of his mouth.

He wanted to back away, but he knew full well that if he did, he’d fall into the river, and who knows what might happen to him.

“...You don’t look like a wolf, sir.” The other man offered a mocking smile in return.

“Neither do you. Your tail is both orange and white, and that’s not typical of a common wolf.”

Chuuya instinctively looked down at his tail. No one had ever told him that was strange. He’d never stopped to think about it. The stranger tilted his head, as if expecting a different reaction.

“No…” he murmured. “My dad says that’s just how it is.”

“Of course he does,” the other replied with a faint smile. “Parents tend to explain things they don’t want their children to question.”

He took a step closer, unhurried.

“But you feel it, don’t you?” he continued. “That you don’t quite fit in. That the light is too small for you.”

Chuuya looked up, frowning. “You don’t fit in either. You don’t have ears or a tail.”

The stranger’s laughter was soft, almost amused.

“That’s true,” he admitted. “And yet, here I am.”He leaned forward slightly, shifting his weight onto one leg, as if he found the situation more curious than dangerous.

“Do you know what gives away someone who doesn’t fit in?” he asked. “It’s not what they lack… but what draws them in.”

Chuuya didn’t answer. His ears remained flat, alert to every sound.

“The night listens to you,” the other continued. “That’s why you came. Not because you’re brave… but because you’re honest.”

“I wasn’t supposed to come out,” Chuuya murmured. “They told me not to.”

“Of course they did,” he replied lightly. “They always say that when something important is waiting outside.”

The river murmured behind them, constant, patient. The stranger turned around and sat down on a nearby rock, letting the silence settle between them.

“I’m not going to ask you to cross,” he added, as if reading his thoughts. “Not yet.”

Chuuya looked up, surprised. “Why?”

“Because you’re still growing,” he said. “And because some things, if touched too soon, break.”

He rested his chin in his hand, watching him with quiet attention.

“But I needed to see you,” he confessed. “To know that you really exist.”

“For what?”

“For when the time comes,” he replied. "So you won’t hesitate when I call you again".

He stood up and took a step back, stepping into the shade of the trees.

“Go home, cub,” he said. “Save this night. You’re going to need it.”

Before disappearing, he added lightly: “And don’t worry so much about your tail. I’m missing more than that, and I’m still functioning just fine.”

The forest filled with sounds again, as if the world had begun to breathe once more after he left.

“You didn’t even tell me your name…” He murmured, pouting.

Chuuya stood still for a long time, staring at the spot where the stranger had been. He didn’t cross the river. But when he returned to the palace, with the first rays of sun peeking through the sky, he knew something had changed. The night was no longer just a call. It was a promise. He returned home, trying not to make a sound. He lay down on the bed and curled up, gazing out the window, wishing for the last rays of moonlight to fall on his face.

The next day, Verlaine found Chuuya lying in bed, his mouth slightly open and his body twitching slightly. He had a fever.

[soukokuart]

Wip.. I can se Chuuya or dazai here

[soukokuart]

Hello

I’m a part-time streamer and an author, so I’m always looking around the community and checking out different creators’ vibes. I really like finding people who bring something unique or creative to what they do.

Are you also a fellow streamer or author?

hallo! not a streamer but an author! (can I call myself that?) I don't publish anything to sell but I do write and publish on ao3/Tumblr/Wattpad/etc

I do commissions so I write anything for anyone

[soukokuart]

🖋️ 𓏲✮ WRITING COMMISSIONS OPEN ✮𓏲 🖋️

✦ **holiday discount — 20% OFF** ✦

*(limited time only)*

I write stories that focus on emotion, tension and connection

My core: angst & romance, slow, intimate, or intense.

────────── ✦ ──────────

✦ what I offer

• original stories & fanfic

• short scenes or long works

• English / Spanish

• darker tones available on request

✦ genres

angst · romance · hurt/comfort · slow burn · emotional drama etc

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✦ fandoms

any fandom is welcome

if I don’t know it, I’ll research and learn it before writing

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💰 **prices (holiday sale applied)**

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longer works › custom price (dm)

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Nitro (short stories only, ≤1k)

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📩 Discord: Tt_#2453

slots are limited

`+ special requests welcome — nothing soft, nothing rushed`

[soukokuart]

Soukoku fic (Fifteen) (Dazai pov) (Band au)

tw: Sh, Dazai typical suicide attempts

3-5k words.

1st chapter

I’m dying.

I can’t feel my body, my vision is blurred, my legs are shaking, my breathing keeps breaking more and more. I think there are people around me, I don’t know, I can’t hear them, I can’t see them, I can’t feel them. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but what does it matter now? I try to lift my hand to feel if there’s something or someone, but it’s useless, I don’t even have the strength to do it.

I suppose at some point I must have passed out; it feels like I should shake myself awake just to understand what’s happening around me, what’s happening to me, but my body won’t help. I can’t do it. I’m going to die.

…

Ten months earlier:

It was cold, I had water all around me; feeling those things assured me I hadn’t fainted. I was still conscious, which is horrible; sometimes it’s better to simply stop feeling, stop thinking.

My typical suicide attempts had already tired the Agency and my so-called “father”, who had even hired security to prevent me from carrying out my promise.

After a short while, the numbing cold disappeared from my body and I felt hands pulling me to the surface.

I couldn’t tell if my body was just very light or if he was incredibly strong. But when I came back to reality, my body was already on the floor.

I couldn’t help but start coughing; the water in my lungs was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“In five minutes we need to go back to the Agency; your father wants to talk to you.”

Great.

They couldn’t even give me a second to breathe, but it didn’t matter, it never mattered…

I ignored the comment, which I think annoyed him; I could see his look of disdain. I was used to it.

I remember, as a child, begging some higher god to end this misery, but of course, how was I supposed to beg someone or something that doesn’t exist?

———————————————

If it hadn’t been for my “bodyguard”, I wouldn’t have gone to see my father at all; it was tedious and exhausting. Talking to him stole years of my life.

But here I was, in front of the massive door to his office, tapping lightly and waiting for him to give me permission to enter.

There was an overwhelming silence before he said, “Come in.”

I walked in. There he was, sitting, fingers intertwined and resting on them. I didn’t speak; I waited for him to do it first.

“Osamu, how have you been?” He probably already knew about the suicide attempt minutes before I arrived. Not only was I drenched in freezing water, but they had already told him. “I have something to tell you.”

“Get to the point.”

I saw a small, twisted, barely noticeable smile form at the corner of his mouth.

“Lately you’ve become lazier. We let you be a soloist in this music world because of your constant complaints about your teammates. We let it slide because for some reason your mediocre voice is adored by your little fangirls, but you haven’t released an album in six months. Have you even started writing it?” He paused to let me answer. I didn’t. “No, you didn’t even start. Great. Well, since you’ve become so useless, I considered kicking you out of the company, but I can’t. So, to annoy you, I found the perfect partner for you; although there’s one problem, you’ll have to convince him.”

I stared at him for a few moments; he was serious. I turned around and headed toward the door.

“I’m not recruiting someone who’s probably more mediocre than I am.”

Mori stayed silent until I opened the door.

“If you do, I’ll fire the bodyguards.”

“….”

…….

Shit.

Suddenly I was in the middle of a crowd of people my age. The oldest couldn’t have been more than two years older than me. It was one of those typical places where teenagers gathered to hang out; some kind of arcade.

Mori hadn’t given me any information about the boy I needed to recruit. His exact words were, “You’ll know the moment you see him. Chuuya, that’s his name.”

I always hated when he said things like that. How was I supposed to know who he was? Was I supposed to shout his name until someone turned around? Was he dressed like a clown or something? Still, he was never wrong, and as much as I hated admitting it, he was right.

And how could he not be? Just when I was about to leave (I was never a fan of crowds), I noticed a redhead, a bit short if you asked me, wearing a leather jacket and a half ponytail, “arguing” with another boy. They seemed close. And since interrupting was my specialty, I went up to them.

“Hi,” I greeted, trying to sound polite. “Excuse me… but are you Chuuya by any chance?” I asked, fixing my eyes on him.

He looked confused when he answered; he looked me up and down.

“Uh, yeah, why?”

Bingo.

“Great. Let me introduce myself, I’m Osamu Dazai, call me Dazai, not by my full name. Well, I’m a singer; in case you didn’t know, I’m part of Mori’s company, a music industry. One of the most famous, by the way.”

If Mori had taught me anything, it was that no one would join unless they knew the place was advantageous and would take them to the top, so exaggeration was necessary. “Mori, the one who runs this company, has heard of you and wants you to join a band with me, of course.”

I didn’t understand the expression on Chuuya’s face, but before he could open his mouth, a girl with pink dyed hair spoke faster.

“Dazai Osamu?” she asked, clearly excited. The boy next to her elbowed her and she cleared her throat. “Whoever you are… I’m sorry, but Chuuya already has a band, our band.”

I smiled without my eyes; my gaze never left the kid’s blue eyes.

“Chuuya, what’s your decision?”

I noticed the little frown forming on his forehead.

“Are you stupid?” I didn’t expect that. “Didn’t you hear her? I already have a group. Besides…” His eyes ran over my whole body; I felt naked under that stare. “Who even are you? Girls have been staring at you from behind for a while now. Am I supposed to assume you’re famous or something?”

… Well, after all, I was better known for having fangirls.

“And even if you are…” he continued, “I wouldn’t join even if you paid me. You look like a psychopath.”

Oh? That was new.

“For your information, darling, this face you’ve described as ‘a psychopath’s’ has been on many magazines… and I’ve been listed as one of the most handsome men in all of Japan. Looks like you have terrible taste.”

“Or maybe this so-called ‘Mori’ paid the magazines; after all, he sounds like someone who’d do that.”

“Pff. Do you really think he’d waste his time and dedication on that? No, he wouldn’t. But you know what he *would* do? Buy your entire band and you in a matter of seconds. I mean, right now you’re worthless. You’re just a group of teenagers who think they can make music when you can barely keep the band together.”

“What do you know about us?” Now the gray-haired boy, a bit taller than the redhead, spoke up. “You act like you know everything, but you don’t even know the name of the band…”

“Uh? Is that supposed to matter? … but, since I’m such a kind and wonderful person,” I lifted a finger, “I’ll give you a chance. What’s it called?”

“Sheep.”

… I stayed silent for a few seconds, thinking I misheard. “Sheep”… wasn’t that… “oveja”?

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing; it was so funny, I had never heard a worse name. I even had to hold my stomach; I felt like I was going to fall from laughing so hard.

I heard some yelling; probably aimed at me. Chuuya’s “friends”, no doubt. But I couldn’t stop looking into his eyes; he was glaring at me with pure hatred.

I smiled; maybe it was noticeable, maybe not. It didn’t matter.

I enjoyed seeing spoiled kids angry because of me.

Ignoring the others beside me, I handed a business card to the orange-haired boy.

“If you change your mind, come find me.”

Without letting him speak or even look at me, I turned around with my usual air of superiority, just to annoy him a bit more, and went back to the Agency.

When I arrived, someone was already waiting for me, someone I wish hadn’t been there.

“So? How did it go?”

He asked. I bit my lip and kept walking, ignoring him. Passing by him without even looking at him made me feel strange, uncomfortable. Still, I had the urge to run as fast as possible. How strange it was… passing by someone you’d always been close to… someone who’d been there during your worst moments, talking to you, looking at you, living inside every thought you had.

“…Not saying hi anymore? But we’re such good friends.”

I was about to walk past him, that was obvious. I’m not the type to stay in uncomfortable situations for someone else’s sake. But as I was about to leave, I felt him grab my arm. A shiver ran down my spine.

“Oda.” I spoke; miraculously the words came out more firmly than I expected.

He seemed to understand, because his grip loosened and he let go.

I stood there for a few seconds before leaving. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. Was that his face? I remembered it differently; it used to look happy, more alive.

I headed to the office; it wasn’t a nice place, even though it had some of the best decorations. Every time I entered I felt a cold air hit my face.

I knocked, waiting. I couldn’t go in without his permission. It wasn’t something I wanted.

He didn’t take long to allow me in.

I entered. He was with Elise, trying dresses on her. I never understood his “taste” in children; it disgusted me. I remember that as soon as I turned fourteen (one year before now), he replaced me with Elise.

He was happy.

I am.

“How did it go?”

I tilted my head before answering. My face hadn’t shown any expression, but I felt a shiver when I heard those words. It reminded me of him, of what had just happened.

I wondered if Mori noticed.

“Meh. The kid’s unbearable, he has this superiority complex and talks like he rules the world. Do you really think someone like him would be useful for a company like this?”

“Mm…” He fell silent, thinking for a few seconds, then gave me a small smile. “Didn’t you hear him sing?”

“Huh? How was I supposed to hear him? It was an arcade, not a stadium.”

“You know… they usually do street concerts in that arcade; when it closes, they rent it.”

I looked at him from the corner of my eye and left; I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him or listen to him.

I left Mori’s office with a suffocating feeling. I couldn’t get what happened with Odasaku out of my head. As soon as I stepped outside, the freezing wind slapped me in the face, as if punishing me, reminding me how soaked I still was after my failed attempt to end everything. But the cold was the least of my problems. What really burned me from the inside was that damn encounter with Chuuya.

When I got to my apartment, I let my wet coat fall wherever and threw myself onto the bed without even thinking about changing. I closed my eyes, but the images from the arcade kept replaying over and over again: Chuuya’s defiant face, his voice dripping with disdain. There was something about him that tormented me, something I couldn’t let go of, something that pushed me to want to see him again, even if just to feel that frustration, to confirm he was just as lost as I was.

I woke up with the first light of day, feeling trapped, like I couldn’t breathe. It didn’t make sense, but I needed to do something. I decided I’d go back to the arcade that night, once it closed. Mori had implied it, and even if I often got away with ignoring him, I knew this time wouldn’t be like that.

If Chuuya did those street concerts, I had to see him. I needed to.

Night came, and I dragged myself to the arcade, my mask of indifference barely holding together. From outside, the music seeped through the walls, hitting me in the chest. I stood still, listening. The voice inside was fierce, carrying something I couldn’t ignore. A shiver ran through me.

I walked in quietly, unnoticed, and there he was. Chuuya, at the center of it all, pouring himself into every word, every note. His voice, stronger and more raw than I ever imagined, held something that broke me inside. It was like all his pain, all his anger, was made of the same desperation I’d been dragging around. And I couldn’t stop listening.

*He seemed impressed by the way you came in*

“Tell us a story, I know you’re not boring”

*I was afraid that you would not insist*

“You sound so sleepy, just take this, now leave me”

*I said, please don’t slow me down if I’m going too fast*

*You’re in a strange part of our town*

Yeah, the night’s not over, you’re not trying hard enough

Our lives are changing lanes, you ran me off the road

The wait is over, I’m now taking over

You’re no longer laughing, I’m not drowning fast enough

Now every time that I look at myself “I thought I told you, this world is not for you”

The room is on fire as she’s fixing her hair

“You sound so angry, just calm down, you found me”

I said please don’t slow me down if I’m going too fast

You’re in a strange part of our town

Yeah, the night’s not over, you’re not trying hard enough

Our lives are changing lanes, you ran me off the road

The wait is over, I’m now taking over

You’re no longer laughing, I’m not drowning fast enough

Lyrics are never the important part in songs, it’s the voice. His voice and how it echoed against the walls, how his tone shifted after each verse, the way you could hear him forcing his voice, trying to hit every note without a single mistake, and how every time he stopped singing to let the instruments play, he bit his lip, anxious, waiting for his part to come back. That, that was what mattered.

After listening to the concert, I waited patiently. I kept myself in the shadows until Chuuya finished his last song. There was something in his voice I couldn’t ignore.

When I finally saw him alone, I approached slowly.

“That voice… I didn’t expect it from someone so small.” I let the words slip out with a light smile, knowing it would irritate him.

Chuuya turned toward me, his eyes filled with disdain. I guess he wasn’t happy to see me again.

“You again? What makes you think I want to hear your nonsense?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I smiled again, more out of amusement than anything else. It wasn’t hard to provoke him, but I wasn’t here just for that.

“Oh, I’m not here to convince you of anything…” I replied, pretending indifference. “I was simply enjoying the show. I was surprised by what I saw; for a moment I thought that maybe, just maybe, you could be something more than a simple teenager playing in an arcade. Maybe you actually have some talent after all…”

I watched his frown deepen. I’d hit him where it hurt most. I knew his insecurities were right there, ready to be exploited. And I was delighted to do it.

After all, his personality was obvious from afar. His clothes, his hair and his voice spoke for him.

“And what do you know?” he shot back, his voice tense. “You’re nothing but an arrogant guy with too much unearned fame. I make music because it matters to me, not for money or fans.”

I looked at him, this time with more interest. His passion was undeniable, and that fascinated me.

“I know, and that’s what intrigues me about you,” I answered, letting my tone soften a little. “You don’t care about the superficial. But how long are you going to keep playing at being the leader of a band with no future? I’ve seen what you can do. You have talent, Chuuya, but here you are, playing in an arcade. Do you really think you deserve that?”

Silence.

But I knew my words were getting to him. The tension in his shoulders, the way he clenched his fists… I didn’t need him to answer to know I had struck exactly where I wanted.

“Mori isn’t an idiot,” I continued, though sometimes I thought otherwise, keeping my eyes on him. “He sees the same thing I do. He knows you have potential you haven’t explored. With him, you could go much farther. I’m not asking you to change who you are. Just to think about whether you want to keep being another sheep, or if you’d rather be something much bigger. After all… sheep are nothing but prey.”

His gaze hardened; the hatred in his eyes was obvious… but at the same time, in those eyes full of anger, I could see something else… hesitation.

He still didn’t say anything, but the silence spoke for him. I stepped closer and pulled out an Agency card, offering it to him calmly.

“When you decide you’re ready to stop being the one who gets hunted, call me. I won’t promise it’ll be easy, but I promise it’ll be better than this.”

I turned around before he could say anything else. I knew my words had left a mark. He didn’t need to admit it right then. It was only a matter of time.

I walked out of the arcade, letting the weight of my words fall on him. Chuuya didn’t know it yet, but his decision had already been made. And soon he would be exactly where I wanted him to be.

Walking through the empty, dark streets, the echo of his voice lingered in my mind. It was clear he had a lot to improve; sometimes he pushed his voice too much, which could damage it, and his high notes… left much to be desired. But despite everything, what stood out the most was the rage and passion he sang with, something I had lost a long time ago, if I had ever had it at all.

Suddenly, Odasaku’s image invaded my mind without permission. I couldn’t help it. Every time I got close to someone, every time I involved another person in my chaos, his face appeared as a warning. I didn’t want to see him, hear him, feel him, let alone touch him. I wanted him to disappear.

A sharp pain shot through my arm; it itched, it tormented me. No matter how much I scratched it, the pain wouldn’t go away. All I could do was dig my nails into my skin until it turned red, holding on until I reached my apartment.

When I arrived, silence welcomed me, as always, along with the cold night air. I didn’t think of it as a home; I didn’t deserve warmth. With every step, the pain grew more intense. I had to get it out. I had to get rid of it, I had to do something.

I tore off the bandages on my arm. The old cuts were still healing; some scabs had formed. Was that what was itching? I ripped each one off, making my arm start to bleed, but the itching stayed, growing stronger and stronger. Every drop of blood only made the sensation worse.

With effort, I took the box cutter I kept in the drawer and began to “draw” on my arm. As the cut grew deeper, the itching disappeared.

I had to stop when I saw my arm shaking. After all, if something trembles it’s because it hurts, right?

I tossed the box cutter aside without care. I ended up staining the wooden floor with my blood, soaking the place with its smell. I was used to it, I didn’t dislike it. I lay down on the bed, letting myself bleed and staining the white sheets. I wasn’t going to die; the cuts hadn’t been deep enough. I simply closed my eyes.

It burned, it burned too much; a pain this intense was the only thing that managed to remind me that I was alive.

The blood slid down my arm like tiny rivers, tracing their paths over my pale skin.

Despite the chaos in my body, in some ironic way I felt calm. Physical suffering was, somehow, easier to bear than the weight of my own existence.

The cold and the pain wrapped around me with a kind of tenderness I had never felt before. I was alone, but the blood warmed me as if someone were holding me, and the cold reminded me of reality.

My ears were still ringing from the loud music at the “concert”; even so, I could hear my heart, beating a thousand times per minute.

The images of the night kept replaying in my head, Chuuya and his defiant stare, the rage in his voice and… Odasaku had always been Odasaku.

Almost every night I asked myself why I was still here, why I was torturing only myself. He gave me peace, and now he’s the same or worse than Mori.

I also wondered about many things.

Why hadn’t I ended everything once and for all?

Why did I keep clinging to this miserable life, full of wrong decisions and wasted chances? Every attempt, every single one had failed, and each day seemed more absurd than the last. Mori kept controlling everything, no matter what I did.

Mori’s words echoed in my head. “Chuuya has potential.” No. They didn’t torment me; I was more afraid of what they represented. Chuuya, young, full of life and with a fury that pushed him to stand out among the rest.

I didn’t care about that boy’s career, but he has what I was not born with. Passion.

I opened my eyes abruptly, my ragged breathing, as usual, filling the room. I forced myself to stand even though I could barely breathe; I wanted to remember why I was still alive.

I walked to the bathroom mirror.

My mirror… My mirror reflected someone I barely recognized.

My face, marked by lack of sleep, my dark circles and my pale skin.

I was tired, exhausted from everything. And yet, I was still breathing, walking, surviving.

A bitter laugh escaped from my dry, cracked lips.

All of this was pathetic; I was waiting for a miracle to change my life, and it wasn’t going to happen.

I glanced at my arm: the blood had started to dry, but the feeling of emptiness was still there. Bigger than ever.

I stepped out of the bathroom and looked at the box cutter again. A single cut, a very deep and precise one, and all this suffering would end… But I didn’t even have the strength to finish it. I was a coward. A coward who can’t do something as simple as dying. A coward who lives in misery and will perish in—

I let myself fall once more onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling that familiar pressure in my chest.

I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. I never did. The nightmares were always there. Oda, who tormented me, or old memories of Mori.

Everything blended together in my mind, creating a chaos I couldn’t escape from.

And at the center of that chaos was me. Alone.