Bound by Obsession

Part 40

A week had passed, and to the members of the Armed Detective Agency, Dazai Osamu seemed to be making progress. He had begun to speak more, participate in the daily tasks, and even managed to flash a few of his signature smiles. But behind those smiles, behind the casual banter, was a mind still caught in a web—one spun by Fyodor, and one Dazai himself could not fully untangle.

On the surface, everything seemed normal. Dazai joked with Atsushi, teased Kunikida, and offered some strategic insights during missions. Yosano had noted that he was more engaged during their sessions, seeming less withdrawn. Chuuya, though, remained suspicious—watching him from afar, knowing Dazai better than most.

Even the ever-perceptive Ranpo had reluctantly admitted that Dazai might be improving. "Maybe he's shaken off whatever hold Fyodor had on him," he had muttered one afternoon, though his tone lacked its usual confidence.

But none of them knew what Dazai felt every morning. How his chest tightened with a deep, unsettling sense of obedience, as if his mind were no longer entirely his own. The numbness started after breakfast, as it always had in Fyodor's mansion. And despite the distance between him and Fyodor, the invisible pull remained.

Dazai sat at his desk, flipping through a book without really reading it. His thoughts drifted back to that mansion, to Fyodor's steady voice, to the strange comfort he had found in their time together. Every time he tried to push the memories away, they returned, stronger and more vivid.

Fyodor hadn't hurt him. No, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Fyodor had made Dazai see himself differently—had peeled back the layers of his defenses and shown him something that he had long buried. That part of him that craved more than the world around him, that longed for someone who truly understood him.

But understanding came at a cost, and Dazai knew Fyodor wasn't a savior—he was a puppeteer, and Dazai was caught in his strings.