"Let Me Help You"

One.

“Hello there, Mr. Dazai!”

Q's shrill voice broke through the stillness of the small, dimly lit room. Dazai groaned, pulling the comforter over his head, desperate to return to the blissful silence of sleep. Unfortunately, the child’s face hovered inches above his, a maniacal grin plastered across their features. With a sharp push, he sent them stumbling backward.

“Go away,” he muttered, voice muffled by the blanket.

“But I can’t!” Q replied, unbothered. “Mori said you have to take me to Kai Chisaki’s estate today!”

Dazai rolled his eyes, sitting up begrudgingly. He grabbed the white button-up and red tie off the back of a chair, dressing slowly. His black slacks and blazer hung over the edge of the bed, and he threw them on, completing his ensemble.

“That’s not your uniform,” Q pointed out, their tone mockingly sing-song.

“Fuck off. I don’t care,” Dazai snapped, brushing past the child as he straightened his tie.

Q huffed but followed obediently, trailing after Dazai as they left the tiny apartment. The walk to the nearest train station was a brisk fifteen minutes, the crisp morning air biting at their skin.

“Stay by me at all times,” Dazai warned, his tone low and sharp. “If you wander off, I’ll break every bone in your body. I am not in the mood to deal with a lost or kidnapped six-year-old.”

“Yes, Mr. Dazai,” Q replied, rolling their eyes but nodding.

The two walked in tense silence, the city bustling around them. Dazai’s thoughts wandered, his annoyance simmering just beneath the surface.

Q had always looked up to Dazai, desperately trying to be acknowledged by Dazai. Q always tried to get on Dazai’s good side, but Dazai always disregarded them or pushed them away. Q never understood why. They never did anything wrong. At least, they weren't aware of what it is they did wrong.

They had always been a thorn in Dazai’s side. Despite their small stature and seemingly innocent demeanor, they were a menace—a chaotic force Mori had unleashed upon him. From the beginning, Mori had insisted they act like siblings, but Dazai had never been able to stomach the child’s presence.

It wasn’t just Q’s incessant pestering or their uncanny ability to push all of his buttons. It was what they had done—what Mori had ordered them to do. The massacre was a long time ago, and Dazai had tried to forget, but the image of his fallen men, the crimson-stained ground, and Q’s eerie giggle echoed in his mind like a broken record.

Mori had called it necessary, a strategic move, but Dazai had never forgiven Q. Or maybe he had, and this resentment was just habit—a shield against the vulnerability of acknowledging Q as anything more than a nuisance.

Dazai was over the massacre. Honestly, it wasn'tthat big of a deal to him. He was quickly able to replace his fallen men, his pawns. Now, he resented Q because they were so pesky. Q was always so desperate for his attention, like a little puppy whining for their owner. Dazai was quickly irritated. And then again, every older brother hates their younger sibling, didn't they?

Dazai was still simmering with anger at the absurdity of being forced to go to school. School, of all places. He’d never set foot in one before, never had to. What was the point now? He already knew more than any curriculum could ever teach him. Complex mathematical equations, intricate principles of science and chemistry, fluency in both English and Japanese—these weren’t lessons he’d learned in a classroom but from his life in the Port Mafia. School, with its rote memorization and structure, was nothing but a waste of his time.