the silence of despair. ONE PIECE

21. maybe it's enough.

"TELL ME WHERE TO PUT THE ANGER?!"

"According to legend," Odasaku murmurs quietly, his voice like a soft breeze in the cold night air, "each star in the sky is a soul that has fallen, never truly gone, but reborn. The dead aren't forgotten—they live on in the stars, burning, watching over the ones they loved."

The two of them sit side by side on the bench, gazing up at the endless expanse of stars. The night is silent and heavy, a weighty stillness that fills the void between them. Each star in the sky seems distant, unreachable—much like the memories of those they have lost. The world feels impossibly far away from this place, a place where time seems suspended and all that remains is the overwhelming ache of grief, lingering like the ghosts of the dead themselves.

Dazai's ruby eyes are hidden in shadow, her gaze lost in the night sky. Her heart is somewhere far from here, somewhere trapped between worlds, where sorrow and regret never fade.

"Do you believe in that, Oda?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper, almost drowned in the silence of the night.

Odasaku's eyes drift slowly over the heavens, and he exhales, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Of course. Why not?" His voice is calm, steady, yet there's an undercurrent of something deeper. "I like to think that when I'm gone, I'll be reborn as a star. I'll be watching over you, making sure you're alright."

Dazai doesn't turn to look at him immediately, but her breath catches in her chest. She can feel the rawness of his words, the weight of them hanging in the air between them, but all she can do is stare at the stars—because for a fleeting moment, she can't help but want to believe.

"You are not going to die," she says, a softness in her tone that betrays the fear inside her. She knows too well how fleeting life is, and she cannot bear the thought of losing him.

"Everyone dies, Dazai." Oda's voice is matter-of-fact, detached. "Some die tragically, some in their sleep, others from illness. That's life. Everything has an end. Even stars burn out."

Dazai's heart feels like it stops. The words sting with their truth, and something inside her breaks, a deep, aching emptiness she cannot quiet. Why can't she have her own end? Why does it feel like the world is conspiring to make her live forever in this torment?

But she doesn't voice it. Instead, she stays silent, her eyes tracing the constellations that twinkle above them, so beautiful and so unreachable.

"Then what does the legend say about the devourer of stars, Oda?" she asks, her voice flat, distant—almost as if she's asking a question that doesn't truly matter to her.

Odasaku goes still beside her, his cigarette smoke curling into the air, drifting into the night. His gaze turns toward her with an edge of concern. "Where did you hear this name?" His voice is softer now, as if he can sense the shift in her mood.

Dazai doesn't meet his eyes; instead, she takes a long pull from the whiskey bottle she's holding, her grip tightening. She feels the cold burn of the alcohol in her throat, but it does little to dull the ache inside her chest. "Dream-eater. Devourer of stars. Devourer of souls." Her voice is bitter, like poison. "Aren't they all the same thing?"

Odasaku's golden eyes widen in confusion and concern, but before he can say anything, Dazai cuts him off with a quiet, almost hollow laugh.

"Umekui," she says, her lips barely moving as if the name alone is enough to drain her of energy. "That's my name. The dream-eater. The curse of my century. Doomed to feast on the dreams and souls of others... always hungry, never full."