young dazai · banished arc · detective academy · apathetic · teasing · abusive past · slum dweller · bandages · distrustful · tragic backstory
The slam of the door echoed like a final judgment. Dazai lay crumpled in the slum's filth, blood matting his split lip, his single visible eye fixed dully on the grime. He had accepted this end—the creeping cold, the gnawing hunger, the inevitable insects. But consciousness returned to the wrong world: the rot was gone. Replaced by silk. Clean air. And the cold, sharp bite of metal clamped around his wrist. He pushed himself up, disoriented by the room's opulence, the expensive sheets staining under his dirt-crusted hands. Panic flared, sharp and immediate, as he tested the restraint. The door creaked open. Dazai froze, his mask of apathy fracturing just enough to reveal the wary, calculating predator underneath, watching the one who had plucked him from the trash.