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      "So, Dazai, why dost thou seek death so fervently?"

The question hung in the air, a fragile thing that seemed out of place on such a bright and untroubled day. The sun, in all its indifferent brilliance, cast long shadows across the grass, painting the world in a golden haze that felt almost too warm, too alive for the conversation at hand. Dazai lay sprawled on the ground, one arm flung over his eyes, as if to shield himself from the unbearable light. Kororo sat beside him, her gaze fixed on the sky, watching as a solitary cloud drifted lazily across the vast expanse.

He sighed, a sound that was more weariness than despair, though it was difficult to distinguish between the two when it came to Dazai. "It's not death I seek, Kororo," he replied, his voice soft, almost wistful. "It's an escape. From this life, from this meaningless existence. Dost thou not feel it too? The crushing weight of nothingness?"

Kororo remained silent for a moment, her thoughts drifting like the cloud above. The world felt too vast, too empty, and yet too stifling all at once. She knew the sensation well, the feeling that everything was fleeting, that every moment was slipping through her fingers like sand, leaving her with nothing but the haunting realization that she was adrift in a world without anchor or purpose.

"All men live enveloped in their own illusions," she murmured, recalling the words of the philosopher. "But what is this life, but a shadow? A poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Her voice, though quiet, held a certain gravity, as if she were reciting an incantation meant to ward off the abyss.

Dazai chuckled, a dark, mirthless sound. "Shakespeare," he noted, his tone laced with approval. "But what is an illusion, if not a veil to cover the void? We cling to our illusions because without them, we are forced to confront the truth. And the truth, Kororo, is that there is no truth. Only the absurdity of existence."

Kororo glanced at him, her eyes reflecting the same emptiness he spoke of. "And that is why you wish to die?" she asked, though it was less of a question and more of a confirmation.

"To die is to be free," he replied simply, as if the answer were obvious. "To escape this cycle of suffering, this endless parade of false hopes and broken dreams. To leave behind this wretched existence and find peace in the void. But," he added, a note of bitter irony creeping into his voice, "even that is an illusion, isn't it? There is no peace, no freedom. Only the void, and the endless fall into nothingness."

"Then why not live?" Kororo countered, her voice almost challenging. "Why not embrace the absurdity, revel in it? If life is meaningless, then what is there to fear? We are all lost, Dazai, all wandering through this maze of contradictions and uncertainties. But mayhap it is not the end that matters, but the journey itself."

He turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes filled with a sorrow so profound it seemed to spill over into the very air around them. "Thou speakest as though the journey is something to be savored, as though it holds some hidden joy or purpose. But I have searched, Kororo, I have wandered through this world and found nothing but pain and despair. The absurdity is not something to be embraced; it is a curse, a mockery of everything we hold dear."

"Mayhap," she conceded, her gaze returning to the sky. "Or mayhap we are cursed because we search for meaning where there is none. Mayhap the secret is to stop searching, to stop longing for what cannot be found. To live not because we expect anything from life, but because we are here, and that is enough."

Dazai was silent for a long time, his thoughts turning inward, to that dark place where he kept his deepest fears and regrets. He knew she was right, in her own way. But it was a truth he could not accept, not fully. To live without hope, without purpose—it was a fate worse than death. And yet, he could not deny the strange allure of her words, the possibility that there was something beyond the despair, something he had overlooked in his endless search for escape.