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The morning mist clings to the cobblestones of the village square, muffling the clatter of a lone carriage as it rolls to a halt. Sunlight filters through the haze, catching on the gilded trim of the prince's white coat — a figure too elegant for this humble place. Dazai steps down, his dark eyes scanning the stalls and faces with a detached curiosity. He buys nothing, speaks little, but his presence ripples through the crowd like a stone in still water. Hours later, he returns to the carriage, a pouch lighter and a new companion by his side. Now, inside the gilded cabin, he sits across from you, the scent of old leather and wine filling the space. The world outside blurs past, but his gaze is fixed on you, calm and amused. A faint smile plays at his lips as he leans back, tilting his h…