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Chapter Text

It is said that that the reverend Emperor Tsushima had been his father’s favourite son. He pleased the previous Emperor, weaving through court schemes like an open book and solving all issues in a quick diplomatic manner. It is said that the gift of the Tsushima dynasty must be mind reading if he was able to satisfy his father so easily he’d appointed him not just as a Crown Prince but a grand chancellor as well. He excelled at archery. It is said he had never missed a target, no matter how far away or how small it was. He was the old Emperor’s only child to present as an alpha and therefore no one could have challenged him to the throne, yet he still treated his rise to power as an active battlefield. He was still young when he ascended the throne, an ambitious young Emperor, seeking to change the ways of his empire and expand his land. A bold heart urged him to do well by his people.

He had three mates, the youngest of them the Empress herself, by the time an audacious omega waltzed into the palace and presented a list of ways that could resolve all issues he had with implementing his star-filled ideas. Perhaps her gift was to read his mind because how else she could have known exactly what he was thinking.

It is said His Majesty fell in love, that he built her the most extravagant palace down the river and personally picked her guard. It is said she was more beautiful than the sea shimmering in the sunlight, that being around her felt like beginning of summer, that she had a sweet tooth, that she was the greatest person in the world. It is also said she had something evil about the way she carried herself, that through her warmth slipped a freezing coldness when she talked, that she’d bewitched their Emperor to her whims and held the government in her palm, that she could have crumbled the entire country to dust if she so wanted. It is said it was easy to get lost and trapped in her vast softness. She was the most envied person throughout the empire, the most beloved, and the most hated.

It is said that he’d stalled war for her. He knew that once he and his closest advisors had left, there’d be no one else left in the capital who was gentle or kind to her. He threatened his covetous omegas to shudders not to do anything stupid while he was gone.

In the 39^th year of the Tsushima’s dynasty’s reign, the Emperor led the army in a battle campaign against the barbarians in the west. His childhood friend, lord Dazai rode alongside. The two had been joined at the hip since earliest childhood and the brave lord would not allow any hurt to befall His Majesty. In the capital, the Empress governed, the future Crown Prince a mere babe in her lap. The day he’d left to seize more lands to lord over in her name, his lover told him he’d grieve her when he came back to the river where he built her a home, for the joy he lost with her and for their child that would never grow. He’d lose a hint of heaven if he left. He told her not to be a ridiculous girl, that he’d expected a healthy son in her arms to greet him when he returned.

She knew she would die alone in the city where she had not a single friend. She didn’t run.

On the day of the harshest battles, a fire started at the White Heron Courtyard on the outskirts of the tranquil capital, on the banks of the river flowing just around the city. A group of assassins prowled the night, rushing into the home and slaughtering everyone in sight in a horrific massacre.

Not even an animal was spared. In the main home of the White Heron Courtyard built for the leisure of His Majesty’s favourite lover, a young killer approached the body of the dead mistress. She truly was an unparalleled beauty. Blood dripped from where the throw knife struck her in the back of her head and splashed on the forehead of a crying infant under her. Like any mother, even in death, she fell down to shield her child.

Tears bloomed in baby’s small eyes. The name carved in the best wood of his bassinet read Tsushima Shuuji. There was no doubt to it – the Emperor had truly sired an illegitimate child with that wretched witch. The young killer, his hands delicate and beautiful and covered in blood, brought down a sharp dagger with the brilliant red diamond on the hilt straight through babe’s heart, silencing him before he even lived through one night.

By dawn all assassins were dead, too. In face of true power of the director’s private cavalry, there was nothing they could do but be killed or take their own lives to avoid torture and protect their masters.

It didn’t matter. The Emperor returned to the Courtyard burned to the ground, the laugh of its mistress not ringing through it like a bell. It was covered in a veil of silence.

Chapter Text

Dazai Osamu was the world's most bored six year old.

The village his grandmother lived in was set to the north, but not near the border enough for there to be trouble. It was boring. It was a place no aristocrats remembered to even pass by. It was so quiet the boy from the only house of nobility was allowed to wander the forests freely with other rascals. The locals savoured the simple life. 

Dazai Osamu didn’t particularly enjoy having much time for himself. He liked to be distracted by other children who didn’t care why son of a lord was running wild with them. Recently he was stranded alone as a punishment for driving away yet another tutor. It wasn’t his fault the guy didn’t have anything good to teach him. Dazai taught himself how to read and write three years ago and has been able since then to study anything on his own. He didn’t understand everything he read but that was the joy of it. He liked to tinker over the things that didn’t make sense to him until he was able to distil them into fragments and piece a complete picture from them. He enjoyed learning. His tutors were just stupid. Subsequent loneliness has felt a little disorienting and caused him to oscillate between dread and excitement natural to any child.

In those moments of stillness in early summer he was confronted with the questions about his own life. He was six but he was perfectly aware that he was a bastard son lord Dazai had the misfortune of being saddled with after his mother died officially in childbed, but was really killed by some enemy of his father. He couldn’t bear the shame of having a bastard in the same house as his wife so he sent him away to the grandmother who sighed and slept most of the day and left him to his own devices. The old lady was a kind woman with a reputation for coldness. She cared for him very much, but simply didn’t have energy for him. Dazai knew this boring village was where he’d grow up, live and die. What he wanted from life won’t matter. He won’t be able to visit all the places he wanted. He’ll just have to exist in this small village surrounded by lush green forests in quiet and wait to die.

He was an adorable child, with eyebrows that seemed painted on a pair of bright eyes. His voice, though childish, already carried the mature tone of speech that unnerved his tutors.

Last year his father’s wife had died and he sent his daughter to spend the summer with her grandmother instead of a mourning household. The day she’d arrived the old woman had told him her name was given to her by the Emperor, so close was the relationship between his father and His Majesty. Dazai Keiko was a small girl of four who pouted whenever her brother wasn’t giving her attention. Her skin was slightly ashy and she was somewhat skinny. A rather pitiful sight next to her fair half-brother.

He spent the entire summer telling her stories and sneaking her out of the villa to go exploring the meadows and creeks with other children. On rainy days when there was nothing else to do he conducted the servants and maids to play out the little stories he wrote to entertain her. He seized every opportunity to ask her about the life in the capital. That distant city bustling with crowds, sounded so entertaining to him. He was sure that if he was allowed to go there, he would never be bored again.

Keiko answered her brother’s questions earnestly, twiddling her short fingers, telling him of all the things she did there. However the daily chores and expectations from a young lady of nobility even if she was four sounded so tedious to Dazai.

At the end of the summer, one late evening the lady announced her granddaughter would be going back to the capital tomorrow morning.

“What about Osamu?” Horrified, Keiko shook her head vehemently, her ashen cheeks suddenly damp with tears.

Tormenting young girls was nothing new for their grandmother however. “He will stay here.” She put down her chopsticks. Immediately two maids were at her side to help her get up. She turned to Dazai and said: “The capital is a horrible place. Your mother was killed there.”

That was when he found out his mother’s life was more mysterious that he previously imagined. His grandmother refused to mention her after that curt sentence. As for Keiko’s departure, Dazai didn’t cry. He knew she’d have to go back eventually.

“Keiko, you’re such a weakling,” he teased her. Unfortunately he was still a child who cried at the sight of another crying child.

“Stop being mean!”

She cried a river when she left swarmed by the family guards from the capital.

Unfortunately now that there was no one interested in Dazai’s stories and plays he was utterly bored. Since he wasn’t allowed to go out and play his only entertainment was watching the retired swordmaster Fukuzawa-sama feed the stray cats and polish his collection across the villa. Who the hell opened a workshop and offered classes in martial arts in a village full of people who spent their lives ploughing land?

Dazai had spent days carefully observing him – time the ‘school’ was opened, the uncommon positioning of window in the room made it obvious – Fukuzawa-sama was there to keep an eye on Dazai but he never approached him.

It seemed he would be spending this summer alone. No visits from relatives in the capital, no new idiotic tutors… Dazai let out a long sigh and sprawled on his futon. He stretched out his legs to the point his muscles hurt. It was pointless, he already knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Last year he sat with the candle and wrote down plays to direct for Keiko but there was no point in doing that. He’d have to pretend to sleep until the two servant girls didn’t leave him alone. Then he’d toss around in agony listening to the overwhelming quiet. In the middle of the shimmering night when even the cicadas stopped their song it seemed to Dazai he was the only person in the universe. It was so incredibly lonely he thought of stopping his own out-of-place sound breathing. It would be more harmonious if there was no sound coming from him at all.

It gave him too much time to think about what would happen to him in this life. He’d heard that one wife in the village sent her husband’s bastard son to become a monk or a eunuch so the shame would end with him. Maybe that was the plan for him too. He frowned at the idea. Dazai was too restless for both.

When one is as used to silence as he was, it was easy to hear the light-footed steps at the end of his futon. Dazai cracked his eye open just enough to see the unusually icy-cold eyes and knew instantly – this was not a benevolent visitor.

He noticed the way the man held his hands behind his back, the tension in the muscles. He must have been holding a dagger behind him. Dazai had to thread carefully. If he cried out he’d certainly be killed.

He wondered what was the motive for his murder? His grandmother refused to talk about his mother, only saying his mother was killed once so therefore she had to be a figure of some interest. It seemed that the mysterious past was catching up to him.

Well, there was certainly a fun way to get out of this. He took in a silent deep breath and pounced at the visitor. “Papa! You’ve finally come to see me!”

He was the picture perfect adorable, pitiful child. Eyes brimming with tears he threw himself into an embrace of the assassin, thin arms clutching waist. He grasped at him with fear he could get away from him and do his deed.

His would-be murderer froze, brows furrowed. He certainly wasn’t expecting this little child to leap at him so lovingly.

Dazai was pleased with the time he bought himself to ponder his next move. His assailant was still visibly confused. Dazai moved to sit on the soles of his feet and looked up at the man’s face and wailed, “Papa! Papa!”

That only seemed to startle the murderer out of his perplexed state. He drew the knife from behind his back and waived it in front of Dazai’s face. “I am obviously not your father.”

Dazai’s face remained streaked with perfectly innocent tears, but his heart pounded. The visitor’s eyes were not particularly pleasant to look upon. He reminded Dazai of one of those old drunkards at the inn who clapped behinds of young servers and tried to trick them into relinquishing their maidenhoods. But he didn’t give any of that away. He continued to play the role of a startled and slightly angry child. “You’re not my papa?!”

As if he hadn’t even glimpsed the knife in the killer’s hand, Dazai turned and crawled to the other end of his futon, grumbling and pouting. “I don’t even know what my papa looks like…”

Suddenly, just before his visitor was about to move toward him, Dazai looked over his shoulder, widened his doe-like eyes and shouted out, “Mama!”

His visitor must have known that his mother was dead since his eyes betrayed a state of shock as he whipped his head around to see the ghost in the deep night.

The moment his back was to Dazai a sharp, sickening sound echoed through the bedroom. The assailant fell to the floor, head covered in blood.

Six year old boy nodded satisfied and jumped to inspect how well he pushed the knife he hid under his pillow in the head of his almost-killer. Dazai wasn’t stupid to not prepare for a possible assassination attack. Plenty beta men and alphas kept their illegitimate offsprings as the servants or clerks around the house, some even traded them in political affairs as tokens. In worst case scenarios, if a child had been hidden from the main family and it came to seek fortune at a later age, the mistress of the house had the right to boil the child in a huge pot there in front of the home to show her status in the household and ward off any other beta women or omegas. Dazai wasn’t a thoroughly unique case.

Fear suddenly overcame him and he sat down still gripping the knife in his tiny fist. A dead man lay on the floor, not skilled enough to kill him, but had Dazai been like other children in the village no doubt would have his young life been snuffed out early.

He couldn’t leave the body to rot on the floor. In the morning the maids would come in and see it. He had no way to explain that and keep his mischievous yet innocent persona. He shivered at the realization how heartless he actually was. Thinking it over he managed to remember someone who could help him.

Quietly he slipped out through the servant quarters and came to the swordmaster’s shop at the corner. It was a gamble he took when he knocked gently but Dazai was nearly certain in his assumption.

“Who is it?” The swordmaster’s dull voice came from inside after a while.

“It’s Dazai Osamu.”

Sure enough, the wooden door opened without a sound, and the grey-haired swordmaster stood at the doorway like a ghost.

Fukuzawa-sama had cheeks sagged by age and bags under his eyes that made him seem ancient to a child as young as Dazai. He wondered if that dull man who looked startled by his appearance could truly be someone spectacular to be sent to look after him.

He had no time for questions though. There was a dead man on his floor. “Someone came to kill me,” he said, getting straight to the point. “I killed him first. You must help me.”

Fukuzawa-sama cocked his head slightly. His heart skipped a beat and the flash of surprise showed in his eyes. He didn’t say anything though. He bowed his head courteously.

“Dazai-kun, what on earth are you talking about?”

“There’s no time to pretend you weren’t sent here to protect me by someone.” Dazai laughed. He grabbed the swordmaster’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the villa.

In the dead of the night not even a dog howled. Bewildered, the swordmaster let himself be pulled to the villa. Dazai led him through the simple hallways to the dead assassin on the floor. For the first time that night Dazai felt unsure of his actions looking at the indifferent face of the swordmaster.

“Fukuzawa-sama,” he asked nervously, shifting weight from one leg to another, “who sent you to watch over me?”

That seemed to shake the old swordmaster out of stupor. He looked at Dazai for a long time with an emotion young boy couldn’t place yet before he finally spoke. “Dazai-kun, you really have amazed me.”

Dazai’s brows furrowed in a mature manner, not like a confused child but a deep-thinking adult. “Anyway, we should deal with him first.”

Dazai retrieved back his knife and with great difficulty turned the assassin over.

“You are so different from your mother,” the swordmaster said, shaking his head. “So young and yet so ruthless. I don’t know who taught you like that.”

“I’m like this by nature.” Dazai didn’t dare offend the warrior, but he was intrigued by the mention of his mother. Could it be that this lone swordsman used to be a respected samurai under his warrior-clad mother?

Fukuzawa-sama looked at the body in front of him, saying nothing about Dazai’s remark. “Don’t worry about the body. Go to sleep. I’ll deal with it myself.”

“Huh? Shouldn’t I be disposing of a body I murdered?” Dazai stood dumbfounded.

“Sleep. If more assassins are sent I will have to teach you to defend yourself properly.” Fukuzawa-sama ordered flatly.

With hesitance Dazai nodded and sat cross legged on his futon and watched as Fukuzawa-sama hauled the dead body up as if it was a sack of potatoes and left without a goodbye.

Late in the morning, when Dazai would have been at lessons if he hadn’t scared away his tutor, he was called to join his grandmother in the library for some strange man’s audience.

The man kneeling in front of his grandmother was middle-aged, roguish-looking traveller with deep purple eyes that locked in on Dazai’s face the moment he came in.

“Goodness!” he commented, “The boy looks just like his father!”

His grandmother snapped her fan shut. Dazai knew her trademark sigh that marked a heavy headache.

“He most certainly does not. Dazai-kun, this is Mori-sensei, the master poisoner of the Inspection Agency,” said his grandmother coldly as she drank her scalding hot tea.

Dazai’s heart skipped a beat. He racked his brains, but couldn’t think of a reason other than he was sent here to poison Dazai for that unsettling man to be here. And lady Dazai was just going to let him.

His grandmother eyed the poisoner coolly. “He comes here to be your new tutor.”

Mori-san was the first man Dazai noticed wasn’t nervous in face of her cold-blooded voice. “Dazai-kun’s past tutors spoke about his unnatural talent for learning quickly,” he explained, “they say he started speaking at mere six months old and that he could read, write, and do calculations by the age of three. Miss Keiko speaks highly of his creativity. I am sent here to instruct him at more advanced resources.”

Dazai fixed Mori-sensei with a curious gaze as he talked.

“Osamu was simply blessed by the heavens.”

“Of course, and my masters in the capital believe it would be too bad to let it go to waste.” Mori-sensei’s gaze was stern. “He may not travel to the capital, but he can use his knowledge to help our empire prosper from here.”

“And what will you teach him?” asked the old lady as she stared at the man who was soon to be his teacher.

Mori-sensei chuckled a little, and his purple eyes flashed with an unusual light. “I am a master of poisons. I can only teach medicine to this boy.”

Dazai furrowed his brows. He would rather be taught how to use poison to kill, and how to avoid being poisoned by others.

“Medicine?”

“Indeed.”

Nevertheless he couldn’t help but feel excited at the idea when his new tutor subtly winked at him.

Despite his initial excitement, Dazai didn’t get sent out to catch some rabbits to experiment on. His first lesson was there at the library with the poisoner carefully observing him as he solved a test he compiled. These were all complicated calculations that he had stopped and backtracked a few times.

“Fascinating,” was his teacher’s only comment. “Only one mistake in ten questions, all at the level of the best scholars of the country.”

“It just makes sense to me,” Dazai shrugged.

“Those questions don’t make sense to most of our scholars,” Mori-sensei insisted.

Privately, Dazai thought the man needed a better haircare routine. It was greasy and stuck to his head in wisps. He wasn’t especially handsome man with thin lips stretched into a constantly condescending smile and a strange combination of intense eye colour but mild gaze under thin brows. Dazai thought that he was probably in his late thirties.

“There is one thing our best healers have not been able to explain when it comes to human body,” he continued, feeling at home leaning against a pillar. “We shall talk about that first and then pass on the things I can actually teach you. Are you familiar with the terms ‘ability’ or ‘gift’ Dazai-kun?”

“The hereditary gifts?” Dazai smiled placidly. “I don’t understand that.”

His teacher wasn’t angry. He got up and paced from the shelf to the window with a satisfied smile that made him seem self-important. Dazai only knew that some people inherited some super-human abilities from their parents the way one did with looks and that his father’s line was not gifted.

“They are more common among alphas and omegas of wealthy families. If a less fortunate child develops an ability, they are considered blessed by heavens and elevate their family in status significantly,” Mori-sensei began throwing a sideways glance at him from where he was observing the deer in the garden. “It is usually a well-kept secret what the ability of each family entails. Sometimes they disclose a name of the ability.”

Dazai’s hand shot upwards to cut him off politely.

“Sensei, does everyone in a gifted family possess that ability? Isn’t it a bit unrealistic that no one gossips?”

Mori-sensei clasped hands behind his back as he smiled with satisfaction. “It is usually one or two people per generation, and no. It is hammered into their heads from the youngest age that it is not something they can ever talk about.”

“Who is the strongest gifted?”

It was a natural question a curious six year old would ask. “His Majesty of course. Tsushima family’s ability is entirely unknown. We only understand that their gift makes them untouchable to all other gifted, without exception.”

“Does the crown prince also have it?”

“I don’t know that Dazai-kun.”

The boy folded his hands on his chest. At such young age when he was deep in thought his lower lip protruded forward into a duck-like pout.

“So my family is really boring then…”

Mori-san couldn’t help but laugh at his disappointed grimace. “Living a boring life is much more preferable. You’ll hopefully never have to realize that on your own.” He sat down across his student. Ruffling his hair felt odd, not just because it was silky soft, but he couldn’t place why at all. “Where do you think the abilities come from,” he asked.

Mori-sensei quickly noticed some things about the boy. When he was deep in thought he started pulling on his fingers or rolling his head with eyes fixed on the ceiling. The swiftness of his mind was astounding.

“Children get the abilities from a parent the same way they get their eye colour, that’s easy. What about people who manifest an ability for the first time without anyone before them having it?” With every word the boy spoke his speech was becoming clearer, like speaking his thoughts out loud cleared his head. “There has to be something they did or that happened to them that explains the appearance. Sensei, does the nature of the ability reflect the life of the first person to have it?”

Mori-sensei gaped at the boy. It was a wonderful sight – boy basking in his own curiosity that outreached his own knowledge by far. It did put Mori on the spot though.

“I do not know the answer to that question Dazai-kun.”

It was heart-breaking to see the expectant spark in boy’s eyes crumble. Before long, determination and curiosity were shining their way back to his face though. “Sensei, have you ever seen anyone using their ability?”

Mori-sensei’s entire face lit up in an honest smile for the first time since he arrived that morning. In front of Dazai, out of thin air, a young woman appeared. She didn’t look like a ghost at all. Dazai stumbled back, nearly falling flat on his back at the sight of large blue eyes and hair the colour of sunlight. She didn’t look like a ghost but not fully human either. She was more like a creepy realistic doll with that smile that mirrored Mori-sensei’s.

“Dazai-kun, this is my ability’s manifestation. Elise-chan is my assistant in practicing medicine and assassinations,” his teacher clarified. “Although maybe you’ll like to see her more like yourself.”

He didn’t even have to snap his fingers before the appearance of the apparition changed from her clothes to her size. She sat in a red summer dress at the same height as Dazai, giggling at his surprise.

“She looks strange,” Dazai panted, trying to lower his voice from the scared pitch not to sound like a coward.

“You can touch her,” Mori-sensei said and instantly Elise extended her arm to him. Even her palm had the same lines as his.

Dazai straightened and reached out to her. He expected his hand to either meet flesh as warm as his or for his hand to pass through her. Neither happened. The moment his hand touched her, before his brain could process what she felt like, Elise-chan was gone the same way she appeared.

Mori-sensei frowned, the skin under his eyes crinkling. Elise-chan appeared again by his side.

“Dazai-kun, please touch her hair.”

Dazai didn’t understand. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. He didn’t hesitate to grab a strand of strange yellow hair. Just like the last time Elise-chan was gone the same second his skin made contact with her. This time Mori-sensei’s face bloomed up in some sort of delight. Elise-chan appeared again at his side but this time he extended his own hand for Dazai to take. The moment the boy gave him his hand Mori felt ugly disconnection from his ability in his brain. Elise-chan was gone in an instant. He held his student’s slightly cold hand and inspected smooth skin and pretty nails on it before letting it go. In a moment the wall between him and his ability collapsed inside his skull and he knew he could summon her again.

“Dazai-kun, I believe you understand what you are able to do?”

He stared at his palm that hid the dormant secret. Until then, there was nothing extraordinary about Dazai in his own mind. He was a pretty and a pretty smart child. The palm of his hand was ordinary, a bit too big on thin wrists, fingers long, slim and bony, suited better for a girl’s hand. If Dazai wasn’t already assured it was impossible he’d assume he’d present as an omega in a few years. Yet that palm just neutralized his teacher’s ability. He used those hands yesterday to climb a plum tree that didn’t belong to their family, and gently drag out kittens from their hiding place. He had an ability to neutralize his teacher’s ability.

Cold eyes bore into his and two strong hands seized his narrow shoulders. Dazai felt like he could start wailing at any moment.

“You must promise me,” Mori-sensei begged, voice steeled, “You will never name it. You will never tell anyone, not even your father or your grandmother, and especially not miss Keiko. You will not let anyone find it. If a gifted comes to this town you will avoid, by any means, touching them with your skin. You must promise me this now!”

Dazai suddenly understood how wounded animals sought shelter. He wanted nothing more than to hide himself in some cupboard with the door closed. He will have to remain unseen for the rest of his life anyway. He’s felt something was coming for him since he became aware of his existence sometime earlier than normal. Finally, after years of waiting, teeth sank in but they came from within him.

His teacher shook his shoulders vigorously. Cold, sweaty palm seized his jaw, squishing his cheeks painfully as he fixed Dazai’s eyes on himself forcefully. “You must promise me boy. Now!”

Humiliated and afraid, Dazai managed to mutter his promise through squeezed cheeks and clattering teeth.

He developed a horrible fever that night. Mori-sensei later told him he barely survived the night. If it wasn’t for his expertise, Dazai wouldn’t have stood a chance. His right arm was bandaged because apparently he developed a nasty fever-induced rash that he kept scratching until his flesh tore even asleep.

In his fever-dream Dazai was falling deep into something without an end. He felt as if all the people he’d interacted with in his six years were standing at the top of the hole he was falling in and they weren’t sad. They pointed fingers, horrified because of something. Himself surely. He kept waiting for someone to save him, a mother, a divine being, a friend, anyone. It only kept getting darker and when he woke up with a raspy gasp he knew no human could reach the depths he was falling into. Whatever was sleeping under his skin that could stop gifts of other people wasn’t meant for humans.

From then on, Dazai became sure that he wasn’t some pretty and pretty smart child. His grins were the same as a wizened monkey’s. He remained adroit in his little smiles but they lacked heaviness of blood. Nothing he did anymore carried even a bird’s weight.

Nevertheless his lessons went on.

A faint dawn began to break in the pale sky, spreading across gloomy cemetery where a prim, handsome boy of seven was surrounded by fetid stench of death and yanked the entrails out of a half-rotten corpse.

With his hands tucked into his sleeves, Mori Ougai sat at the side watching his young student engaged in such a ghoulish scene and felt horrified that such a young child could be so calm around the dead bodies.

After he finished his dissection, Dazai stood up, his face a bit pale under early purplish light, his long eyelashes fluttering. “Is this all sensei?”

Mori-sensei cocked his head to the side with a frown. He hadn’t expected the boy to have such guts. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, a wave of nausea finally got to Dazai. He ran to the nearest bush and began to puke his guts out. A soft look of pity glanced across Mori-sensei’s face. As he watched Dazai-kun vomit, Mori-sensei suddenly realized this was the first time he really seemed like a child, rather than a wise man in a young body.

“It’s okay, we can end the lesson here.”

“It’s a shame this is such a small village without enough dead people. Otherwise we might be able to find fresher corpses.”

Mori-sensei’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly turned his head to look into his student’s innocent eyes. Ever since that day in the library they seemed dull to him, without the healthy spark that made him look so vulnerable. After a long while, he said coldly, “Why…?”

“Sorry?”

“How come you aren’t afraid?” Mori-sensei fixed the young boy with a bewildered frown.

Dazai lowered his head with another paper-thin smile. “Sensei,” he said respectfully, “dissecting dead bodies is the only way I can truly understand human organs. I understand that so I am not resisting it.”

“Is there anything in this world that frightens you?”

“There are many things.” Dazai looked pitifully at his teacher. “I’m only seven.”

Mori-sensei nodded like a lazy cat, then shook his head again like sympathy wasn’t becoming of their relationship. “Even though you’re young, there will be many things you’ll have to learn soon even if you don’t understand them. You are a nobleman’s bastard, you’ll face plenty of attacks and assassinations. One’s worthless sympathy can often be the thing that leads to one’s downfall.” He had an odd feeling that the child understood with perfect clarity the gravity of those words. “Your father owns a great estate in the capital. Many will plot to take it from you.”

Dazai didn’t say anything. Those were empty words. He would stay here all alone and forgotten. Dazai’s heard that the year before last, there was a political upheaval in the capital and many nobles died in a coup. Finally, His Majesty seized the reins and purged the houses of countless aristocrats. Although duke Dazai was one of them, he had somehow managed to retain the trust of the Emperor, and had even greatly improved his status.

“Someday someone will try to kill me,” he grunted, “because I am a bastard and therefore a threat. You’re teaching me to use poison because poisoning someone is the method least likely to rouse suspicion.”

Mori-sensei smiled, but his words were grim. “Last month, duke Dazai’s second wife gave birth to a healthy son. In other words, you’re now his direct threat. The new duchess has connections within the Information Agency. Your father was worried something might happen to you so he sent me to teach you.”

Dazai nodded. He said ‘duke Dazai’ and ‘your father’ with different vibrancy as if those were two different people. He scratched the crown of his head. “I am a bastard,” he said smiling shyly, “I don’t have the right to family fortune by law.”

“One can never be too sure of anything,” Mori-sensei snapped back. “In any case, you absolutely cannot die.” He still clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Dazai-kun, there’s still some rotten flesh on your sleeve. Are you planning to have it for breakfast?

Dazai’s frightened shriek had Mori-sensei bursting out in sinister laugh.

On the other hand, his lessons with Fukuzawa-sensei were futile. He was a lost cause with the sword.

Fukuzawa-sensei looked at the boy sprawled on the ground panting like he was one foot already in his grave. He let out a sigh through an uneasy smile. “The end justify the means, I suppose.” He suddenly frowned. “We will give up on swordart.”

Dazai wheezed in shameless relief. “I thought you and Mori-sensei agreed I needed to get physically strong.” He didn’t sound too convincing.

“Indeed,” Fukuzawa-sensei confirmed gravely. “I will chase you with my swords and you will dodge. It will not be much different from dancing.”

“Seriously?”

“I have no other ways.”

Dazai’s shoulders slumped when he sat up. Immediately a wooden sword struck over his upper back.

“I guess it can’t be helped.”

Mori-sensei set out to leave for the capital in the autumn of Dazai’s tenth year. Over the three years he’d stayed with the old lady Dazai and her ward Mori-sensei taught Dazai both how to poison a man and how to cure it. He was confident that if worst came to be, his boy could make a decent living for himself by practicing medicine. He was only ten but knew more than imperial physicians.

His diligent student walked next to him, eyes quietly glaring at Elise-chan carrying luggage. He’s never tried to reach for Mori-sensei or her when she was summoned since that day in the library. The teacher was satisfied to know the boy took his promise seriously.

“Sensei, do you usually take on students?”

Mori chuckled at the unhidden hint of jealousy in the boy’s voice. “You are the first child I had the pleasure of teaching.”

“Then… will you take on more students?”

“No.”

“That’s good, can’t have competition.” Dazai-kun nodded pleased.

In those three years the boy remained a delicate beauty. He only seemed to be getting taller while he remained slender as a birch. It was difficult to imagine that he’d grow into another village brute even if he spent most of his free time playing in the sun and dirt with other children. Recently he’s taken up to carrying a kitten everywhere with him like a proper little court lady. When left alone, he perused the dense greenery around the village. He took leaves between his fingers and flipped them around until he wasn’t absolutely sure he’d identified every tree species there was. Mori truly worried for his future.

“Dazai-kun,” he began, aware that the boy already knew what he was going to say. “If you ever face trouble in the future, if you ever come to the capital, remember you can always come to your old teacher for help.”

The boy didn’t seem phased by it. His nod was of a solemn grandfather. “I will come visit sensei regardless of troubles,” he promised.

He felt something warm pool against his eyelids. That boy… he was truly a darling. Mori forced himself not to wish a world where he was the boy’s father and could simply teach him his craft and travel curing diseases from villages with him, where Dazai-kun wouldn’t be destined to get tangled in a mess of court politics that was inevitably waiting for him. He could have lived a simple life here with his grandmother, but he was too marvellously smart for it. The thinness of his life now carried a weight that would make it difficult to bear in the future. Mori’s best hope was that he could help him when time came because he couldn’t give him some other life he didn’t have himself. The only solution Mori rapidly seemed to come to was that he should go.

It was a struggle to go, he realized, turning to the boy that kept slowly sprouting taller and taller, prettier and prettier, smarter and smarter. They both shifted from one leg to the other. He settled a hand on his shoulder like it was merely another outing of theirs and watched him closely.

“Dazai-kun, in this life you must be cautious.”

Chapter Text

Dazai's life became hell one snowy evening when he was fifteen when it turned out that the persistent fever wasn’t something he’d die of but a slow, steady build of a first rut. He’d felt exhausted for days. His head was only slightly warmer than normal but it was enough to make his eyes droopy and his walk unsteady. It took nearly week for it to reach its peak and explode one evening.

Just his luck. No one in the Dazai family had ever been anything but a beta. Of course Dazai’s biology had to go and make him stand out even more.

His grandmother dismissed all omega servants from the household and threatened to slaughter him like a pig herself if he even thought of looking at one on the street. Being an alpha didn’t change his fate. He was a bastard of a noble lord. He had to be forgotten and let the shame die with him. If he so much as took a deeper breath passing by an unfortunate omega, his grandmother would know and punish both the poor unfortunate soul and him severely.

He couldn’t decide what was more horrible – his new stench or the cursed gift struggling to nullify itself in his veins. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, far from it actually. He was pleased with how it turned out – slightly bitter but elegant smell of black tea, topped with bright scent of blood orange everyone noticed first. Problems arose with keeping the underlying scents that betrayed his emotion at bay. Plum wine and clove, firewood and nauseating burnt sugar had Dazai’s own nose scrunching in distaste at every sharp spike. He preferred the stability of having no scent whatsoever and complete control of his facial features. His grandmother disapproved of him having any smell at all so Dazai began tying gauze all over his wrists and neck uncomfortably tight to press on the young scent glands. He developed a concoction that blocked any smell from leaking through to soak the gauze in. It was a tiresome task and he’d rather have been an ordinary beta and lived without additional chores.

He continued living on as he previously did. He walked idly around the village stuffing his mouth with sourest apples to avoid accidentally paying attention to smells around him. It had been six years since Mori-sensei left the village and Dazai had grown into a fetching youth who emitted a sense of reliability. Even if he lazed around most of the time, everyone knew that he was willing to help anyone beneath his station without any qualms.

Dazai picked a piece of paper from the low table in the reception room where his grandmother had tea with some merchants earlier and settled in his room. His face lit up seeing the front page title.

This year the Emperor made some changes nobody had anticipated. Among a sea of new boring laws one refreshing thing was the introduction of monthly newspapers. No one had the idea what that was until the first issue after which it seized public’s interest at an astounding speed. The newspapers were produced by the imperial palace and every issue had to be approved by the Emperor himself before publication. The issues costed an expensive piece of silver and were bought by nobility attracted by the novelty. Some suspected it was the Emperor’s ploy to finance building a new garden. The thin paper included pieces of useless information ranging from landmarks to historical figures, but the main feature were articles covering the private lives of government officials, like how one general was beaten by his omega or why the commander of the defence in the capital was missing a tooth. Many officials laughed at the articles until it was their turn to be featured in the issue. There were peripheral articles related to the neighbouring lands.

Dazai frowned as he looked over this month’s texts. Privately he thought most of the new laws were a bunch of nonsense. He didn’t even understand why was he interested in lives of officials he’d never meet in his, hopefully short, life? His Majesty decided to put out a piece on director Natsume’s fiery first love affair from his young days. Dazai smiled wryly. Only the Emperor himself would dare say something like that about the formidable director of Information Agency without fearing for his life.

There was one thing worse than presenting as an alpha, and his maturing only had Fukuzawa-sensei doubling down on it. Somehow that made him afraid for Dazai’s security even more than any potential assassin that never came. He was ordered to practice archery and swordstyles until his wrists ached even if he wasn’t any good at them. He ran so far it was difficult to get up in the morning. Not to mention the mountain climbing…

The hardest part was that every three days, Fukuzawa-sensei would take him to a remote place outside the village to train him, although it was more accurate to say he simply beat the boy senseless with all of his all of his unparalleled strength.

His was a bittersweet childhood, filled with blood and tears. “Your mother would approve of this,” Fukuzawa-sensei firmly stood his ground.

Dazai felt apprehensive about his training to a degree. It had to be hard, strict, and practical, and involve a great amount of physical practice, but Dazai didn’t complain. Instead he simply smiled at the tasks that were assigned to him. He used to complain. A lot. Whining just didn’t work on Fukuzawa-sensei the way it did on Mori-sensei. On the surface, it seemed he was only following orders not to get beaten some more. He told himself this truly was all for his own good. It still hurt like hell.

He let out a sharp cry. Although he was protected from all abilities, he couldn’t do much about the blows he received to his body that sent pain down to the bone. One moment he was writhing down in pain, the next he pushed off against the ground with his hands and started to roll in a curled position. Dazai ferociously kicked behind him.

Seeing a beautiful youth performing such an insidious kick would shock anybody except his teacher who bent back with grace, slapping down with the wooden replica of one of the two swords he carried at his hip. Dazai knelt on the ground massaging his ankle. He inhaled the cold air as his face twisted from pain. He knew begging for mercy would be useless. All he could do was eye the swordmaster and calculate his next move. As agreed, if he could land a single blow on the swordmaster it would be considered a victory for Dazai, with the reward of a month long break. Having suffered several years of being beaten, Dazai was yet to accomplish that, due to Fukuzawa-sensei’s alarmingly swift moves. Even more terrifyingly he made no extra movements that would give away what he planned to do next. That wooden sword – every time Dazai tried to get near him using underhanded tricks, that sword would move like a claw of a demon, mercilessly slamming into his bones. They weren’t broken, but they hurt. The pain was unbearable.

Dazai lay on the edge of the cliff surrounded by nameless yellow flowers, his strength gone for the day. He watched the road below and few people looking like tiny black dots when viewed from above.

One of the travellers below started trekking up the cliff via road so narrow only goats didn’t have problems navigating it. A distant singing came from this traveller. For some reason its quiet and unbothered hum put Dazai on edge. Lying on his stomach, he looked down at the person obstructed by a straw hat singing away. The song was gentle, but perched atop the cliff, he could still hear it clearly from down below.

As he pondered he heard Fukuzawa-sensei’s voice. “Hide.”

Dazai took shelter behind the rocks and waited in silence for their visitor to climb up. His teacher had his hand ready on the hilt of his sword. If Fukuzawa-sensei was nervous then there was no way Dazai could face this person and live.

He took a peek from his hiding place once the singing stopped. The man had a simple, humble expression, his eyes clear as autumn waters. His face lit up in a delighted grin once he recognized his opponent.

“Fukuzawa old friend!” The singer stared at Fukuzawa-sensei’s serious face with a smile. He reached out and waved with his hands as if expecting a childish hug.

There were about nine metres between him and Fukuzawa-sensei. In response to his gesture, the swordmaster frowned. “Your assassination failed. The boy is protected.” He tilted his head slightly. While he remained stoic as ever, Dazai noticed more caution in his voice.

“What assassination? Can’t I come visit my oldest friend whom I haven’t seen since we last fought seventeen years ago? You know, since then I’ve failed to find a worthy opponent,” the singer replied with a wolfish grin. “Last year I visited capital and my nephew said you had been missing for the past few years. I thought you really followed that girl over to the other side. I got two jars of best sake and drank them both with a few tears. I set out again this year and… who would have thought you’d been hiding here all these years?” The singer’s voice turned slightly angry. “I’ve not seen you in over a decade, old friend. How come you stand here like you want to kill me on sight? You are well aware that we cannot slay each other.”

Fukuzawa-sensei tilted his head accepting this fact. “You know why I want to kill you,” Fukuzawa-sensei said coldly, but strangely amused, ignoring Dazai’s shuffling behind the rocks to see better even if it put him in danger. Fukuzawa-sensei wouldn’t hurt a fly. He always made sure no wild animals were near their training spots because he’d hate it if one got hurt. It was preposterous that he’d want someone truly dead. “Not many people in this world know I am well and among them you have the biggest mouth.”

The singer laughed seemingly from heart, hand coming to clutch his belly. Dazai could smell a faint hint of embarrassment coming from him as the scent of crashing waves became milder as if the sea was stilling under the morning fog. He let out an uneasy smile and sighed. “Fukuzawa, you and I are both so bloodthirsty despite training to this level. That’s rare.”

Fukuzawa-sensei shook his head. “Gen’ichirou, you found what you were looking for, you may leave now.” Quite a crisp way of shooing someone away.

The singer breathed in before letting out a lengthy laugh. He clenched his fist as he smiled. “That temperament of yours… you still haven’t settled with a nice wife to mellow you down…” As soon as he said that, the singer rolled up his sleeves and put his arms behind his back. Just like that, he coolly started the path down the cliff.

“Who was that?” Dazai asked the moment the air was clear.

“Fukuchi Ouchi.”

“As I thought…” Dazai sighed as the realization that that was the Empire’s strongest martial artist, famous in the entire world, dawned on him. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

Fukuzawa-sensei remained silent.

Fukuchi-sama came and left, gone without a trace just like the floating clouds in the sky. The inhabitants of Dazai’s little village knew nothing of the great hero that visited their home briefly.

Fukuzawa-sensei remained a bit worried. Dazai didn’t understand where the fear for his life was coming from. Loyalty to his dead mother couldn’t have been so grand. Mostly, Dazai felt guilty because he failed to see the value in living his sorry life destined for boredom. If it weren’t for that old woman that secretly worried if he ate too little at breakfast he’d have done himself in long ago.

The imperial study was the most intimidating room in the country. It overlooked an artificial lake and was full of light clashing with the dark lacquered floors at all times of the day. A long hallway lead to the central circular area surrounded by shelves filled with papers and documents. His Majesty lounged on the best cushions in the corner, long hours scribbling over laws at the low table made more comfortable. That cloudy day he found himself sitting upright, hands on his knees, frowning at the three men he has known since his earliest years in front of him.

“Won’t you say anything?” Natsume-san huffed exasperated. He was clutching his walking cane over his lap. “Nakahara family gains nothing from this marriage!”

“This is not a match I would pick for my son indeed,” the prime minister agreed stroking his short beard, whitened from work prematurely. “I do not dare contradict Majesty’s decision however.”

Natsume-san turned to the third, stern faced man whose head shook slightly. Dazai-san’s mouth was perpetually turned down, giving a sad look to his moustache. “You can’t use that boy as a pawn to gain more power for yourself, I will not allow it!”

Dazai-san’s eyes darkened as His Majesty’s brows shot up at the bold exclamation.

“Osamu is the lady Matsuki’s son. The Imperial Treasury is his by birthright. As is the Imperial Academy and many more but I seek only this for him.”

“Information Agency was also founded by lady Matsuki. What if I want him to follow in my footsteps?” Natsume-san pressed.

The Emperor pursed his lips. “Truthfully,” he cut in, “I am only granting this marriage because Dazai-san is my oldest friend. Why wouldn’t I grant first alpha to be born in the Dazai family an honour of mating an imperial omega? The Imperial Treasury is not the least of my concerns right now.”

The prime minister lowered his head to hide the violent flush that overtook him. Princess Kashimura and all the baggage she came with into their mating was nothing but shameful for the old man.

“I will not let you bring that boy to this city to suffer as long as I am in it,” Natsume-san boldly declared to the minister of finance.

“He is my son,” Dazai-san nearly shouted, his voice only borderline respectful of the Emperor.

“He is this Empire’s brightest young talent,” His Majesty interjected. “I will do with him as I see best fit for the country.”

It was the truth. He read the texts the boy wrote to his little sister in the letters himself after she shared them with his daughter and princess came to him. Dazai-san’s boy was already a great asset to the Empire.

The prime minister only lowered his head amenably. The Emperor wondered what he was planning to gain from this. He knew the old fox for many years, knew how he climbed the ladder until the highest official position. He was not the one to just submit to anything without a profit. Natsume-san pressed his lips. The Emperor knew he would pester him to cancel the marriage more in private. Dazai-san looked too pleased for a man willing to walk in a viper’s nest with his choices. He couldn’t have that.

“The boy will stay north for the time being,” he declared.

The idle years came and passed without much happening in the village in the middle of nowhere. Lord Dazai never came to see his son. His second wife sent a new housekeeper to tend the villa. All the servants busied themselves with preparing lunch as the old lady looked up and down at the ragged sight of the new housekeeper, an unfortunate victim of another Dazai’s childish pranks. In his defence, he was twenty-one and suffering the most pointless life possible. The table quickly got scattered with a mess of various dishes.

That morning, a dozen or so riders in crimson cloaks arrived at the villa. They were still kneeling at the entrance since the old lady refused their task.

“Your father wants you to go to the capital,” she announced to Dazai.

His eyes widened. Behind him a few younger servants were quietly salivating, trying to supress the annoyance at having to wait to quell their hunger longer than necessary.

It was an unwritten rule in the villa that Dazai stringently demanded. As long as he was having a meal in the villa, others could only be permitted to eat after he had personally tasted and approved of each dish.

“You will not go,” lady Dazai continued. “If you go you will die just like your mother.”

“But,” he reasoned gently, “those people won’t leave unless you let me go.”

“Let them wait.” Dazai had never expected such ferociousness from his old grandmother. “They’ll wait until they die. We’ll just throw their bodies away.”

“Madam that makes us look bad.” The housekeeper tried to reason with her.

The lady just stared stubbornly ahead without a word.

Dazai lowered his head in defeat. His father may have sent someone to fetch him but it was this old woman that raised him he had to respect first.

The entire villa was silent, except for the sounds of Dazai chewing and sipping miso. All the servants quietly stood beside him with their arms at their sides obediently- He ate slowly and carefully. The countess sternly looked behind his shoulder where the representative of the crimson cloaks kneeled in silence. Dazai finished his tasting laughing sweetly with bright, beaming eyes. He pointed at one plate of stir-fried bamboo shoots and told the servants, “This one’s really good, bring me all of it.”

The girl breathed a sigh of relief and ran to the kitchen.

“Help yourself, grandmother.” Dazai stood up, bowed to the lady, and received the pot with bamboo before quickly leaving the dining hall. “I’ll finish my meal in my room.”

“Such insolence!” the housekeeper protested.

Lady Dazai didn’t say anything.

In his room, Dazai stuffed himself with the emetic powder and waited to vomit the remnants of the meal. He immediately took several pills he had prepared himself in case of emergency out of the drawer and washed them down with fresh water.

He looked at the plate of stir-fried bamboo smiling bitterly. They had been poisoned with a toxin only professionals from the Agency used. It was extracted from a flower of a beautiful, tangerine-like fruit that grew in the south. Mixed with food, the dish was unlikely to change colour and still smelled normal. It even made the dish more fragrant. That made it perfect for Agency’s spies carrying out assassinations. After entering the body, the poison took effect in around four hours with convulsions preceding death.

As Mori-sensei’s only student Dazai immediately recognized its slightly bitter taste. His teacher was this poison’s inventor after all. Has Mori-sensei’s teaching lead him to this specific moment?  This was the reason he insisted on trying each dish first like a eunuch in the Imperial palace responsible for testing food before the Emperor could eat it. While Dazai didn’t put any value on his own life, he wasn’t willing to have anyone else die for him.

Seeing the young master walking into the kitchen with his usual care-free expression, the servants quickly surrounded him. “Dazai-san, are you still hungry? Do you want to eat something?”

Dazai smiled and said, “Those bamboo shoots were delicious. Quite fresh, when were they bought?”

The chef standing next to him laughed, “We bought them this morning, of course they were fresh.”

“Ah. Who delivered the vegetables?”

“Old Arima who normally delivers them was ill. His nephew came instead.”

“Alright then. I should get going.” Dazai took a piece of smoked tuna from the plate the chef offered. He ate it and, smiling bashfully, said, “Don’t tell my grandmother that I came down here to pilfer food.”

When he left, the servants began talking about him. They all commended the character of their lord’s illegitimate son, saying he was free of any aristocratic vices. It was just that his rules for eating were a little too much.

Dazai marched the street down to the house of the person who sold them vegetables. Suddenly he heard thunderous marching steps behind him. The crimson cloaks were stomping the same way as him. Dazai pushed a palm out to stop them.

“Move,” their leader demanded.

“You can’t just storm in there.”

“Move.”

“What if the old man is being held hostage?”

“Move.”

“Lend me your sword,” Dazai asked politely but with enough force to show he wasn’t joking around. “I will deal with this.”

“Dazai-sama is not trained for battle.”

“Just give me your sword and trust me.” His abilities with a sword were less than enviable, but he was sure he could manage with it until he got a perfect chance to poison his opponent.

A few minutes later he was picking the lock of the vegetable seller’s house. The garden was silent but faintly smelled of blood. Old Arima’s bloodied body lay on the side of the garden. Dazai put down the sword on the table next to his body and bent down to check if he was still alive. Turning the body around he sighed in disappointment. Old man’s throat was slit to the bone.

Dazai stood up to scan the room. If it really was an assassin from the Agency it was only plausible to assume the professional would wait out the night to ensure the target had died from the poison, which meant they were most likely waiting patiently somewhere in this house.

At a market outside the house the merchants were struggling to clear a path for a horse-drawn carriage. As the carriage passed through the market, the merchants on both sides began to hurl insults at the obviously vexed driver. If he wasn’t short on time, he never would have taken this route. The driver thanked them and was ready to proceed. However, the carriage smashed a crate of eggs, infuriating the egg seller. The merchant held onto the reins, refusing to let go. The market descended into chaos.

Hearing the commotion outside Dazai abruptly spun around to see a man, a bit taller than him, face uncovered, standing a few metres away calmly. His dark blue eyes were cold as the ocean’s deep, the brows above them a bit messy. Dazai could tell he was only a few years older than him. He would have been even handsome if it wasn’t for the unruly stubble and shaggy brown hair glimmering copper in the evening sunlight. Dazai could tell from his scent that he was calm, not at all considering Dazai a threat. He smelled of distant fire catching old woods but nothing more.

“So you’re the assassin.”

The man smirked with confidence of a seasoned killer. This guy probably hadn’t messed up a single job before.

The assassin suddenly moved his right hand. A dozen of daggers burst out of his dark coat, flying straight at Dazai’s face. For around nine years already Fukuzawa-sensei had beaten him with a wooden sword that swung around as fast as these daggers. When Dazai landed he didn’t put all his body weight down and his other foot didn’t meet the ground. Twisting on the balls of his feet, with his entire body stuck in a powerless position, he retreated a few steps to the right. More daggers brushed past Dazai’s left cheek, burying deep into the ground with a dull thud.

The assassin was absolutely astonished. He couldn’t believe that the person who should have been falling victim to poison could move so quickly.

Dazai rushed at him with all his might, grabbing the borrowed sword from the table. The assassin moved to block the sword but Dazai in the last moment kicked his leg to the side under his arm and straight in the centre of his chest. The assassin stumbled back a few steps back. He had the most bewildered look on his face. Alpha’s scent turned bitter in what could only be interpreted as shock. He must have been expecting some lazy aristocrat.

A moment later he was back, lunging at Dazai with a similar kick. He dodged the first and the second one. The third kick had him slamming in the wall. Had he not blindly thrust the sword in front of him at the last moment he’d have bitten the dust.

He continued swinging it at the assailant, but the man kept deftly blocking all his moves without much effort. Only strained lines around his eyes betrayed that this wasn’t just an exercise to him. As Dazai’s moves got quicker and more erratic, the assassin jumped and evaded and blocked until he spun under Dazai’s kick and finally caught Dazai’s hands in a lock. The grip on his wrists was vicious.

The look in his eyes matched Dazai’s in determination, but he was more experienced, much calmer. Dazai braced himself and kicked his right foot into the killer’s side. The killer lunged back to evade it, letting go off his arms to swing his fist straight at Dazai’s face. Their dance got closer, hands grabbing at the hems of clothes. A knife appeared from nowhere in the hand of the killer. Dazai began to struggle. Not even the moment in which the assassin pulled back gave him a chance to gather his wits as three more daggers shot from nowhere at his head. They both lunged at each other, exhausted, both feeling that this is their best, last chance to drive their knives in the flesh.

They sent each other flying back into the crates full of vegetables. Bolts of pain shooting through his back were worse than the sting from where assassin’s blade caught his thigh. Dazai felt all air had been knocked out of his lungs. He heaved on the ground, struggling to raise his head not to choke on the dirt.

“You’ve lost!” the voice of the assassin was strained with the same torment that tortured Dazai. He turned his head to see his face was red all over, vein bulging on the forehead as he stammered up. Dazai clutched the sword with little strength he had left. He wasn’t sure if the small cut he managed through the clothes in his back was enough to get to the flesh. The assassin didn’t wear a triumphant smile. He was as grim as few minutes ago. This was really just routine business for him. A spark of curiosity glimmered in his eyes as he asked, “Why didn’t you let your father’s guards storm inside?”

Dazai stabbed the tip of the sword in the ground and pushed himself up to sit. His hip, already severely bruising from the hit, protested heavily.

The assassin glanced at the corpse in the corner in disbelief. “Would you really put your life in danger just for a person who sells fruit? You lost your life for nothing!” He readied himself for a final blow, reached for the needle-like knife hidden in his sleeve and froze. For a second his muscles went rigid on a reflex and his eyes widened at Dazai’s pleased chuckle. He hit the ground with his knees first and managed some control over his hands to keep himself from face-planting himself in the dirt. “You-!” He braced himself, but when he tried to get up the pain was more intense than he ever could have imagined. His lips parted slightly as if wanting to say something more.

“What a coincidence!” Dazai beamed getting up. The cold sweat had his clothes sticking to his body. Nevertheless he smiled his most self-pleased grin that his tutors found unbearable in the past. “I also poisoned my sword.”

“How are you okay?” the assassin slurred over a heavy tongue.

“I’ve been poisoning myself since I was a child,” Dazai shrugged with a smile. “That powder on your knives can’t do anything to me.”

The assassin bared his long fangs proudly as Dazai lazily placed the blade at his shoulder.

“Did you poison the food? Why didn’t you use something more immediate?” He was quite pleased how the assassin shook trying not to topple down. He got the dosage just right.

“I only need to kill you.”

“Why do you need to kill me?” Dazai tilted his head.

The assassin puffed his chest out as much as he could. It didn’t matter. Dazai could smell the fear on him. Finally something good out of the entire alpha ordeal. “The Information Agency’s order! Kill the Empire’s criminal!”

Dazai blinked, grimacing. The unmistakable scent of betrayal clung to his teeth. “You’re really from the Information Agency?” He shifted weight from one leg to another.

His assassin ignored the arched brow to glance at the sword inching closer to his neck with every word he said.

“If you kill me someone else will come. They won’t let you-“

His mouth froze around the shape of his next word. Dazai threw the sword to the side and eagerly reached for the hidden gift Mori-sensei had left him. A brilliant blue gemstone on golden base. The rank of the official was engraved at the back. He was told to keep it and use it in only emergencies. Going by the shock with which he stared at the token he recognized it.

“General inspector?” His eyes flashed between the token and Dazai’s smug grin. “Where did you get that?”

Dazai returned the precious gem to its place. “Head of Third division Mori Ougai is my teacher,” he said grinning teasingly. “You don’t believe me?” he went on when the assassin jerked his head back as much as he could in astonishment. “I’m just a lord’s illegitimate son. What right do I have to become Empire’s criminal? Because I’m dashingly handsome?” He raised his head to the side, showing off the sharp profile and tousled brown curls.

The assassin blinked. He must have been wondering what the hell was wrong with his target? 

“Listen,” Dazai drawled. “There must be something wrong with that order, so let’s talk properly, hm?”

He crossed both hands behind his back, leaning on the less bruised hip.

“We have tight security at that manor. How did you manage to impersonate old Arima’s nephew?” he began. “Who’s protecting you?”

Agency’s spy looked to the side, to the other one and finally managed a small resigned nod. Dazai leaned forward, enjoying seeing his prey squirm.

Dazai stopped running only when he had the reception room in his sight. His steps were brisk and quick. Lack of the usual dramatic lazy flair in his walk alarmed the gardeners who shuffled further into shade. He rushed into the room, ready to report to lady Dazai only to slow down, dumbstruck.

The housekeeper, tooth missing and face streaked with tears, had both legs and arms tied as he kneeled crying in front of lady Dazai.

“I already know what happened,” his grandmother said gently. “Housekeeper, please don’t rush.” Dazai tilted his head, eyes narrowed. It was rare for her to speak so kindly. “Osamu-kun,” she ordered tenderly, “sit down and listen.”

Dazai plopped down.

Housekeeper swallowed timidly. “Second madam sent me. She ordered me to keep an eye on this little brat. He is an alpha! If he reaches the capital no doubt he’ll fight for inheritance!” he croaked with a scowl. “Rather than letting him mess up the household, isn’t it better to get rid of the problem before it appears? My lady, I did everything with Dazai family’s best interest in my mind.”

The old woman nodded gravely. She pushed off her cushion without any help and wobbled down the room to stand above her grandson. “That’s true!” Her gaze drifted lazily between the two. “For the best of Dazai family, one cannot be soft-hearted.”

Dazai stiffened.

Lady Dazai’s eyes locked on him with unsettling maliciousness. “Osamu-kun, you must remember that. Now that you’ve grown up, you mustn’t hesitate to be cruel!”

Dazai genuinely smiled up at her. “I understand.”

“Guards!” grandmother called. Not a second later men came rushing in, backs hunched in respect. She flicked her cane in the direction of the housekeeper. “Break his limbs and leave him where those boars were spotted last. They should leave our crops for a bit.”

Dazai was startled. He never imagined that his grandmother who spent her days resting could have this side to her.

Housekeeper was dragged out, screaming about the wellbeing of the family and begging for mercy.

The moment he was out of her sight, lady Dazai patted her grandson’s shoulder to get up.

“He received a letter from Akutagawa Kama to cooperate with others to kill you.”

“Madam always sends me gifts for holidays. She treats me pretty well,” he said slowly. “One letter can’t determine her guilt.”

“I will have your father investigate this thoroughly,” she spoke in a low determined voice as she turned to start staggering back to her cushion.

Dazai supported her weight from the side. He smiled carefully. “Grandmother, how about I go to investigate this myself?” Suddenly, he was suspicious of why his father had called him to the capital so suddenly.

The old woman stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him. She strained her neck up to get a good look at his calculating face. “You want to go to the capital?”

Dazai nodded with determination.

“Didn’t we agree you’d stay here, safe? I will write to your father.”

Dazai smiled wryly and answered, “Grandmother, I’m already grown and curious. I wish to see the world!”

“Since there was one killer, there will be another.”

“I’ve been hidden here my whole life,” he said honestly. “If they still won’t let me live then why don’t I just go and face them ahead?”

Lady Dazai sighed dramatically, tapping the floor with her cane. She held his hands and pulled him to sit down with her.

“You’ve made up your mind.”

Dazai giggled, hugging her arm. “I will come visit you of course!”

She wasn’t amused. “What if it really is Akutagawa Kama behind this?”

Dazai considered his answer, heart skipping a beat. He sighed inwardly. “I’ll try explaining I have no intention to fight for inheritance.”

Grandmother rolled her eyes looking away from him. “You’re too innocent for the capital,” she said with a cold gaze. “Wasn’t I just telling you to be cruel?” Tiredly, she patted his cold hand resting on her other arm. “You must be careful. This world may appear peaceful to a young person, but if you don’t steel yourself you will always be at a disadvantage.”

He nodded vigorously. “Don’t worry! Your grandson is rather smart.”

Old lady exhaled sharply through the nose, but she couldn’t hide the glint of amusement on her face.

“When will you head out?”

“Tomorrow.”

She looked at her grandchild, willing her wide eyes not to tear up suddenly. “Then…” she stammered. As he watched her struggle with words, he almost cried himself. “Then I won’t see you off tomorrow. My old bones can’t bear separations anymore.”

That caught him off guard.

“Go start packing. Your father is under a lot of pressure these days.” Lady Dazai looked at this child, who’ll soon turn twenty-two, with an expression full of warmth. “Your mother was as smart as you are, but because she was also kind she ended up the way she did. Even if you have to kill others, you mustn’t let others harm you.”

“Right,” Dazai answered. He stood up and went straight to his bedroom without saying much else.

“Who would have thought the old woman is so cruel,” Agency’s spy said from where he was standing a few steps behind Dazai perched at the fence keeping the sheep contained, one leg thrown lazily over the other. “Thrown to the boars.”

His brain was mushed, all exhausted from the long day.

“Thank you for the help.”

“No need to thank me. The Agency already sent a notice that the order for your murder was forged. Someone wants to borrow the Information Agency’s hand to get rid of you.”

Dazai crossed his arms. “Who?”

The spy’s lips pressed tight for a moment. “We’re still investigating.”

His brow arched. He swung his legs, the stretch pleasant. “Once I get to the capital, I’ll get to the bottom of it myself.”

The spy scoffed at the brown eyes gleaming with a blend of amusement and confidence.

“Dazai-kun, can I ask you for a favour?”

He looked over his shoulder humming a light-hearted tune. “Speak.”

“Please kill me,” he said, eyes narrowing over unsettling small smile, teasing tone slipping away.

Dazai stopped whistling. Blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said please kill me,” the spy demanded, smirk stretching over his face now. He nudged his chin up at him in a daring challenge.

The wind on his face suddenly felt colder. Dazai inspected the spy’s face for a trace of a joke that wasn’t there, jaw slack in disbelief. “What’s your name?”

Still smirking, the spy saluted. “Information Agency’s Fourth division’s Oda Sakunosuke.”

They glared at each other without any bite.

Late that night when he was combing through his stripped room to check if everything was packed a sound of soft footsteps came from his courtyard. Fukuzawa-sensei appeared around the corner with a long and slender, black leather box around Dazai’s armlength.

“Are you preparing to come to the capital with me?” Dazai’s eyes sparkled.

“This is my lady’s best kept secret. I want you to help me open it.”

Heart fluttering, Dazai stepped forward and brushed off the dust at the top. The lid was made of bronze.

“What’s inside?”

“I don’t know.”

Dazai was curious by nature so he didn’t waste any time sitting down to pick the lock. That went on for around fifteen minutes before he went to grab another needle and knife.

“It is impossible to pick,” Fukuzawa-sensei offered seeing his distress.

Dejected, Dazai hung his head low, and cocked his hips. “Why didn’t you say that immediately?”

Seeing his brows still drawn in thought, Fukuzawa-sensei drew his sword and sliced through the centre of the box with all his strength. That is, he should have sliced right through it, but the box was without a scratch.

“What the hell is that thing made of?” He cried inspecting the box. “This is a shame. Maybe she left a fortune in gold in there. Where’s the key?”

“In the capital.”

An extremely vague answer.

“Should I look for it when I get to the capital?”

“I will go find it myself. You should just bring the box with you.”

With that Fukuzawa-sensei turned to walk out of Dazai’s quarters.

He stayed up a good portion of the night poking and picking at the box instead of getting much needed sleep. The trip to the capital would take around a month. The box was really indestructible.

When the previous Emperor’s mate passed away three hours after giving birth to a prince that would eventually become the current Emperor, and there were no other nursing omegas in the palace, a wife of a middle-ranked official who just had a child few days ago was called to move to the palace with her child temporarily and nurse the prince. Her husband’s rank rose rapidly as she watched her two boys run around the palace grounds, impatient to be done with classes so they could go shoot arrows. Everyone in the Empire knew that she behind the palace walls for those few years had built this family to where it was.

“Girl,” old lady Dazai called a servant tending to her camellias in the garden. “Has the procedure for the capital left already?”

“Should we go check, my lady?” The girl bowed politely.

“No need.”

For the last two decades she watched another boy grow up into a young man those two boys she’d previously raised would surely give a hard time. He should go and see the world. It was just that he was still a child that she held in her arms in her eyes. She feared the unjust treatment that would surely follow him around the capital with his status and his father’s schemes.

She heard the familiar steps she’d learned long before he was born rushing through the courtyard before she saw him. He had legs exactly as long as his father’s and moved with the same easy rhythm. His bright smile will cause him so much trouble in the capital, she knew that.

“People are waiting for you!” she scolded without any heat. Old lady didn’t want her grandson to see her with eyes a little swollen.

He laughed warmly at her protests. She would miss him more than she’d expected.

That boy, as usual, went against all customs and hugged her tightly and firmly kissed her wrinkled forehead. He said lightly, “Grandmother shouldn’t miss me too much. I’ll come visit as soon as I can.”

Lady Dazai spluttered. She knocked him on the head. “If your life in the capital isn’t going well, or if there are people trying to take advantage of you, you can always come back whenever you want to,” she reminded gently.

“Thanks for putting up with me all these years.”

She held tighter on her cane and managed her best strict smile. “Go. Don’t make your father wait.”

One determined nod and then he was gone around the corner. Simply and quickly.

Chapter Text

„Since poison doesn't work on me I had to get creative. I tried basic stuff like hanging but I never get the rope tight enough. I jumped off a cliff but the carriage with hay was just underneath it so I only broke my arm. I really want to try drowning but all the creeks near the village are just too shallow. Obviously just slicing myself would be effective but I don't really want it to be painful. Also-“

Dazai stopped speaking when he noticed his companion was finally failing at trying not to look horrified.

Oda Sakunosuke sat on the other side of the carriage with a greenish tint to the pale face. Despite his best efforts to remain stoic with that dark brooding expression he wore, his dark blue eyes widened slightly stretching the lines slowly burrowing in the skin around them. He felt uncomfortable – in his eyes, this young man had been just another prodigal son, no better than the other young noble sons in the capital. Until he started going on about his ‘mischievous’ attempts at dying. Now he saw a human version of one of those kittens you just couldn’t keep out of trouble.

Dazai comfortably stretched. “Odasaku, do you think the river near the capital will be deep enough?” he asked innocently. He was lying in the spacious carriage without a care in the world.

The assassin squinted at the boy. He wasn’t particularly fond of the familiarity the boy assigned to them. “Dazai-kun,” he started hesitantly, “there’s no need to send assassins after you. You’re already doing all the work yourself.”

Smiling, Dazai’s eyes sparkled clear. “I’m not very good at it though,” he said gently. Oda heard a hint of embarrassment in his voice. It sickened him. This boy was like those cats that just couldn’t sit still and would chase a bird even if they flung themselves into traffic without hesitation. He needed to be looked after.

He squeezed out a smile in return, and respectfully answered, “Dazai-kun, I would advise lying low for a while not to worry the lord too much. He is inviting you to the capital to prepare you for your future. It would be a shame if-“

Dazai waved his hand and shook his head. “There’s only two of us here so no need to beat around the bush.” He suddenly laughed, chest full but somehow menacing. “If you don’t tell me why I’m going there, perhaps I’ll jump out of the carriage and run away to end my life in peace.”

Oda laughed uneasily. “You’re quite a comedian.”

“I don’t like telling jokes all the time,” Dazai stated coldly.

“I don’t understand why you’re going to the capital if you’re against your father’s wishes.”

“To investigate my attempted murder, of course.” He crossed his arms and glared at the man he’d ‘killed’. “If you’re not going to help me out, I’ll just make sure you don’t get to the capital hidden in this caravan.”

Oda blinked at him before looking out the window. Dazai noticed that he actually wanted to scoff at him. He pursed his lips in a duck-like pout at the treatment. After a long period of silence Oda could no longer endure the cold silence amplified by that pathetic face. “Dazai-kun,” he began, “you really won’t have time to investigate that at all. Preparations for a wedding are taken quite seriously in the capital, you know?”

Dazai looked at him curiously for a while before finally asking, “Wedding? Who’s getting married?”

His companion almost allowed his jaw to drop to the floor. It stirred a swarm of bees in Dazai’s belly for some reason. It was disturbing. “Did no one tell you you’re getting married in a few months?”

Dazai frowned.

That didn’t make any sense.

He was forbidden to even sniff an omega? Let alone think of mating?

“No? What?” He spluttered, running a hand over his face to hide the uncontrolled, hysterically wide-eyed expression. “Why do you even know that?” he quickly demanded.

“I got an order to kill you,” Odasaku shrugged. “I did some investigating to get to know my target.”

“Then who am I-?” Dazai croaked taking a swig of water out of the bottle stored in the carriage.

“Why would I know?” Odasaku tilted his head, marginally amused by the boy’s struggle. “My order was to kill you, not your entire family. Why would I need to know who you’re mating?”

It was too absurd to comprehend without a name. Even if he had one, it most likely wouldn’t hold any meaning to a provincial person. His eyes wandered around the inside of the carriage, too small and suffocating. He wished his ability could transport him to the capital. This was going to eat him alive. It didn’t make any sense.

A clap on his shoulder shook him out of stupor. As always when an ability user came close to him, his own gift rose from somewhere it resided to claw at his skin to get to it, crawling damp and sticky under his skin until the fine hairs on his arms didn’t rise. His fingers tightened around the bottle.

“I wish you a long marriage, and a blessed mating,” the assassin slapped an ornate dagger in his hand. Dazai didn’t even wrap his fingers around the hilt until Odasaku didn’t close them with his own hand. “This is your wedding present.”

‘Long marriage.’

Dazai wanted to die as soon as possible.

‘Blessed mating.’

He wasn’t allowed to even think of… and now his failed killer to be was wishing him a life filled with children.

Before he could jump him with more questions, Odasaku knocked to stop the carriage and jumped out to blend with the servants in preparation for mealtime.

Dazai sprawled on the white blanket in the carriage. The rain was slowly starting to drip on the roof. They’d have trouble starting the fire. The roof of the carriage was nothing remarkable. Dazai closed his eyes and tried to calm himself with a funny trick he taught himself during his time with Mori-sensei. It was difficult, but he stilled and willed himself to listen to the rain. The drops came so sporadically they must have stopped under an old tree. Each drop on the roof was one heartbeat in his chest.

Realistically, the reason for his summoning wasn’t uncommon. Most young alphas from the aristocrat circles had their matings arranged by their families. They were arranged based on political interests, and the approval of the Emperor was necessary for the highest ranking families. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. The circumstances weren’t special at all. Most alphas didn’t see their omegas until the ceremony. It was entirely omega’s family’s decision whether they’d send a sealed box with a scented silk handkerchief. Marriages and matings were a business of the entire family and the couple was usually expected to negotiate their lives together between themselves in a manner that wouldn’t disturb their families. It was all common. Dazai failed to see how a marriage to him could be advantageous to any family though. The couple almost always came from the same societal rank. There were no scandalous omegas born on the wrong side of the bedsheets in the nobility. Something like that would have been all over the newspapers. Who then, was so insane to give their perfectly suitable omega to a bastard without an official position? And why? What was the catch?

There was one way to find out. He had to get to the capital.

Dazai was in a bad mood for the next few days of their trip. Mostly he spent the time pitying the poor omega that was getting gifted to a nameless bastard with a death wish. It was always the omegas who got the worst of it in marriages. At least, if worst came to be he could always flee. He doubted anyone would be able to get on his tracks. Because if thought about in depth, and that was something he wasn’t allowed to do when it came to this topic previously, he didn’t want to marry for any other reason than mad love. What else was there for him in this life anyway? He couldn’t become a person with a famous name, he’d have nothing going for him. It was either a mad love or death, ideally both – a death due to mad love. In this case it would have to be death because he wasn’t stupid. He knew love was seen as the worst moral failing in the capital.

On the fourth day of his sulking from the direction of the capital came a caravan nearly as big as their – a single simple carriage surrounded by soldiers on foot and horses dressed in dark grey military robes belonging to the Inspection Agency.

He leaned out the window to see the procedure. Unlike their caravan, always lively and full of chatter, this one was grim in silence. The men were solemn faced, hands ready to reach for their swords if any hint of threat came from Dazai’s convoy. Their carriage didn’t have windows, only small cracks to let the air in. The transport prison. Dazai frowned. He almost reached for his official seal to ask what horrid crimes did the person inside commit. Odasaku lay down on the carriage floor next to his legs, pale as death. These were his former employers and he was officially dead now. Being found out alive and well would brand him as the traitor of the Empire, put to death by the officials high above his humble rank.

Right behind the transport prison rode a man dressed in lavish purple with a crimson scarf of a department head. More than a decade of lines on his forehead and a few strands of grey in the sleek black hair didn’t stop Dazai’s eyes from widening in delight. Whoever that prisoner was, they must have been insanely important or insanely dangerous to have the master of poison escorting them himself. Mori-san’s hand, clad in leather even in warm morning, rose from the reins as he pressed a finger to his lips smiling in that shrewd way Dazai learned to mimic so well it became natural pull of muscles.

Their convoys passed each other and Odasaku was visibly relieved on the floor when Dazai leaned through the front window. “Stop the convoy!” he ordered. “We’re taking a break here!”

“What are you doing?” Odasaku looked as if a few years of life just got snatched from him.

Dazai grinned, tilting his head in mischief. He was going to find out what happened in the capital that was so big his teacher had to be sent out.

Near an inn where the Agency’s convoy rested grew a rich orchard. Apples were all red and plump. Small birds chipped with their beaks at the fruits, droplets of the juices sliding down and gathering at the bottom of the fruit before falling to stick to a leaf already drying in the heat. Dazai walked for around thirty minutes to reach it. His old teacher stood under one of the trees directing Elise to get him the roundest, reddest apples from the highest branches bending down under the weight of their own fruits. Dazai remembered him a much larger man than he was.

“I knew you’d follow me,” he said throwing an apple over his shoulder. Dazai easily caught it.

Mori-san turned and gasped. “Goodness!” he exclaimed. “Dazai-kun you’ve grown so tall!” Dazai wasn’t that much taller than him in truth, but the last time they saw each other Dazai wasn’t reaching his shoulders yet. Mori-sensei with his narrow shoulders and cat-like movements seemed a different person from the formidable teacher of his childhood. “You’ll cause a stir among the ladies for sure!”

“And your doll has shrunk,” Dazai teased, pointing to the small girl sitting in the branches.

Mori-san clicked his tongue. He looked Dazai all over again. This time his eyes stopped at the thin gauze around his neck. “You won’t need that anymore soon,” he said gently. “Even so, the recipe you sent me to mask the scents became quite fashionable among youth hiding their late night thirsts from their parents.”

Dazai snickered. Of course he trying to avoid his miserable fate was a trend to the capital’s youth. He had to assume his peers didn’t wrap themselves in bandages, stifling their tender scent-glands. They only needed to tap it over their skin, or perfume their clothes for that smaller effect.

“Where is Mori-san going?” he asked to change the topic. He’d have enough of ogling and inspections from people he’s never met in the future days.

“The north.” Mori-san’s voice turned deeper. He clasped hands behind the back the same way when he was lecturing Dazai as a child. His entire face became older with a sombre, Agency’s division head fitting seriousness. “A war could break out at any moment. Our spy network is useless. They need a new leader.”

“So you’re escorting the person in the carriage to re-establish the spy network?” It wouldn’t make any sense to send Mori-san to do work as a spy when he was the master of poison. He only needed to protect the precious ‘cargo’ until northern border probably.

“Sharp as ever,” his teacher laughed just as he used to at all of Dazai’s correct answers and new ideas he wasn’t expecting. “Kunikida Sempachi’s son. Young and talented, most assumed he’d be the leader after Natsume-sama retires one day.”

“Why are we sending someone like that to an enemy country?” Dazai wondered.

“It’s all because of you.” Mori-san wagged a finger in his direction. It seemed to him Dazai was still frozen in time as a little, naughty boy who sometimes just didn’t want to follow directions. It was oddly comforting. “You killed Oda Sakunosuke, a spy from the Agency’s fourth division. Someone from the fourth division tried to assassinate the Agency’s general inspector. Kunikida Sempachi must take responsibility. Oda was Kunikida Doppo’s subordinate. Director naturally fired him. He and his subordinates are on the way as merchants to re-establish our spy network in the north. It’s quite an issue.”

Dazai’s fists clenched, mirroring the tightness around his heart. “Am I going to be punished for killing someone from our side?” he asked carefully, words deliberately stuttering around the edges.

The teacher immediately softened. He really did see Dazai as a little child still. It immediately loosened Dazai’s worries.

“Oda Sakunosuke had only joined the Agency a few years ago,” he rushed to reassure him. “It’s fine if he’s killed.”

Dazai rolled his eyes. How could the most famous doctor in the country have no regard at all for the human life?

“But count yourself lucky,” he continued. “Dazai-kun, fourth division is responsible for secret investigations. Detective work if you will. Assassinations are a specialty of the sixth division. Whoever wanted to kill you luckily couldn’t extend their hand that far. If those people really had made a move, it would’ve been a major problem.”

“There’s so much going on behind the scenes?” Dazai sighed.

“It’s alright,” Mori-san cheerily bit into another apple. “This one is a bit dry. Elise-chan I said only the sweetest!”

He turned to Dazai again, one hand clasping his shoulder. It didn’t weight as much as it used to, but it still felt safe. “Listen to me,” he said, “no matter what happens in the capital, wait for me to come back to make any big moves.”

Dazai grinned his brightest, best reassuring, confident smile and nodded. Mori-san only chuckled and waved as he walked in the opposite direction. He only realized he missed the chance to ask about his potential bride after he’d walked back for several minutes and cursed himself.

It didn’t matter when just around the next corner that simple carriage with their spy was parked right on the road. Immediately a group of men surrounded Dazai’s other sides. He sighed theatrically.

“Dazai Osamu.”

The voice from inside was haughty and cold.

Dazai arched his brow. “Kunikida Doppo?” The men around him all had hands ready on their swords. “Well, this isn’t a very nice way to introduce yourself to your colleague. Even if you are getting demoted into a life threatening position because of me.” Dazai said lightly.

“Oda Sakunosuke did not deserve to die.”

Dazai resisted the urge to roll his eyes. No doubt that would make him seem worse than Mori-san.

“I already killed him,” he answered with a careless shrug. “I can hardly bring a man back from death.” Dazai wondered if an ability like that existed. He shuddered. That would be the worst of his nightmares.

“Hand over the Agency’s token to me,” Kunikida-san demanded. Stoic, controlled tone of his voice irked Dazai. This guy was used to being listened to. If he wasn’t a chicken being sent to sit in foxes’ den, Dazai would have really enjoyed just messing with him.

Dazai threw his head back, pursing lips as he tapped his chin as the thought about it. Immediately Kunikida-san’s guards drew their swords.

“Are you really going to use force instead of taking it yourself?” Dazai mocked.

A shuffle in the carriage almost had Dazai thinking that he miscalculated and the guy was really about to come at him when a hand slapped the wood at the side and the man inside stilled.

“Kunikida-san?” Mori-san chirped. “Do you remember the order I gave you?”

Dazai smirked at his teacher’s words. So he really couldn’t leave the carriage before reaching the north.

“Dazai is violent, cruel, and stubborn. An honour of an Agency’s general inspector being gifted to him is largely disadvantageous to the Agency and the Empire.”

Mori-san rubbed his gloved palms before clasping fingers of one hand over the other. He leaned his hip to the wood and said in a petty voice of admonishment Dazai knew well, “But if you leave the carriage our spy plan will be destroyed.” Mori-san spoke slowly, letting his words land down in reprimand. “If that happens, the one harming the Empire would be you, wouldn’t it?”

“Even if I don’t get off the carriage I can still retrieve his token.” Kunikida-san was getting angry inside. His men straightened, just waiting to pounce at Dazai with their swords.

Mori-san produced a glass vial of something blue and glowing from one of his hidden pockets. “Make a move, go on.”

Everyone stood frozen in their tracks.

They couldn’t know it for sure but Mori-san was serious. Dazai was only shown that thing, received no recipe for it. It could kill them in an instant. Dazai trusted that Elise-chan would grab his collar and transport him to safety so quickly the hair on the back of his head wouldn’t have time to touch her hand and disintegrate her.

Hesitantly, Kunikida-san moved back to his original position in the carriage. “Retreat,” he ordered his men. Immediately the carriage left with the men now forming two neat rows behind it.

“Dazai Osamu!” Kunikida called from the carriage. “We will settle this when we meet again!”

“He won’t be coming back for a while,” Mori-san muttered with glee next to Dazai.

The student snickered and caught Mori-san’s sleeve when he was just about to take a step after the last man disappeared behind the lush willow around the corner.

“Mori-san, about my marriage…” he started coyly. Two eyelash bats later and Mori-san was clasping a hand around his shoulder again with a pained grimace.

“You’re marrying the devil’s son. That’s all I can tell you.”

His walk was brisk not in struggle to catch up, but to escape more questions.

“Stay safe Dazai-kun!”

The grass surrounding the capital had been trimmed. There were only two rows of green willows along the side of the moat, swaying gracefully, proudly observing the people who had come to the city from all over the Empire.

Dazai’s convoy joined the line along the road waiting to enter the city.

A bright young face beamed at the surrounding nature leaning on the carriage’s window.

Oda watched his brilliant smile from the corner he was hiding in and frowned. “You’ll hate this place,” he said.

Dazai rotated his ankles, stretching legs next to him. A great many people were waiting to enter the city, and security was tight, so the line was long. The waiting left Dazai rather bored.

As he chatted about the city with Odasaku, a sudden commotion in the crowd behind them had the people parting to make a wide path through. A young woman on a white horse rode quickly to the city gate without stopping. Dazai’s eyes widened at the delicate blue shade of her hair. She was quite beautiful though she seemed a bit worried.

Even in hurry a slight scent of bright spring air breezed around her. “It seems Yokohama’s not as uptight as I imagined,” Dazai said with a smile. “An omega riding out alone, and nobody saying a thing.”

Odasaku laughed bitterly. “That woman is the daughter of the mistress of the garrison,” he explained. “Nobody would dare to say anything to her.”

“Wow.” Dazai leaned out of the carriage to get a better look at the city gate. When she reached the gate, she did not wait in line at all. Security shuffled quickly to let her through.

“You will recognize their family easily. Everyone with the ability has that shade of hair colour, her alpha mother and her brothers. Try to stay away from them. On her omega mother’s side she’s the grand-niece of Fukuchi-dono.”

Dazai thought back to the time his village was secretly visited by that person. Fukuchi-dono did not look nearly old enough to have a grand-niece around Dazai’s age.

“Regardless,” Odasaku went on, “you won’t be seeing much of her. Tsujimura-san is a personal guard of prince Nakahara.”

Dazai hummed noncommittally, losing interest as soon as the white clad rider was out of sight.

Once their convoy neared the gate, instead of stern faced guards a boy that had to be younger than Dazai quickly shuffled to his carriage.

“Dazai-sama!” he began in a squeaky voice. His hands shook at his sides. Dazai quirked a brow up. He was dressed formal, with what he now recognized were Agency’s sigils on his shoulders.

Next to Dazai, Odasaku threw himself to the ground, breathing shallowly. His face went red.

“I have admired your work for a long time,” the boy continued. Greenish tint painted his cheeks as Dazai smiled at him in encouragement. What work was this kid talking about? “You have travelled a long way, you must be tired.”

“Do I know you?” Dazai’s smile abruptly fell off.

The boy stepped back, nervous grimace turning ugly. Stomping one foot to the ground, he squared himself to return to his charade. “Meeting you today is the greatest fortune of my life so far.”

Not a very fortunate life then.

“Sure, I’ll spare an hour or two for you when I can...” Dazai turned to settle back into his blankets as they waited.

“No! Wait-“ the boy quickly begged.

Odasaku kicked his shin when he turned around to see what he wanted again. Dazai sighed, draping himself over the window edge.

“Was Agency ordered to search me?”

“We wouldn’t dare!” The boy actually sounded offended behind the scared defensiveness. Dazai watched him shuffle to get something from the other Agency’s employees. His haircut was diabolical. Were there no good hairdressers in the capital?

The boy returned presenting a folded paper to Dazai. In a scrawny lettering it said ‘The map of Yokohama – the only guide you need to our Empire’s most lively city’.

It was obviously a scam.

“This map has all the wonderful details about hidden beauties of the capital,” the boy now leaned into Dazai’s face more confidently. He pointed with a hand to the city behind the gates. He was used to selling this trick. “This is your first time visiting the capital. Perhaps you’d find it useful,” he finished with a shy, prompting smile.

Dazai couldn’t believe the transformation. Just a moment ago he was quivering in front of him. This kid was a promising con-artist indeed!

“Thank you,” Dazai quickly snatched the paper out of his hand, quickly turning to inside of the carriage, interested to see how the boy would react when it came to payment.

As expected the boy huffed and clutched at his arm right before Dazai hid from him. “It’s only two silver pieces,” he declared, still smiling.

“Two pieces!?” Dazai exclaimed. That was more than he’d expected!

The boy extended a hand confidently. “This map was written on top quality paper, I have devoted time and effort to work on it. I drew it myself! Just two pieces of silver… that isn’t enough for me to drink a proper tea,” he finished his theatrical presentation with a resigned sigh.

Little manipulator. Dazai grabbed two pieces of silver and passed them to the scammer. Inside Odasaku rolled his eyes, huffing at the audacity.

Boy’s eyes sparkled at the sight of money in his palm. “Thank you Dazai-sama!” he exclaimed in glee.

“Let’s go,” Dazai ordered to his driver before the boy could get another of his scams presented. An Agency’s official… they really employed all kinds of people.

When it came time for Dazai to enter Yokohama, he studied the guards’ expressions. They remained neutral, just another part of their jobs. There were none of the markings of the Dazai family on any of the carriages in his convoy. It seemed that the capital would not be welcoming him with any great fanfare.

“Nakajima-san,” a colleague from the Agency called when he saw Atsushi counting his silver with glee. “How many of those maps did you sell today?”

“All the rich young people in Yokohama have already bought one,” he boasted. It was getting late and he started packing the remaining maps to go home.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting beaten up?” the same colleague asked over his shoulder.

Atsushi shook his head. “Two pieces of silver are nothing for those guys. Besides they just laze around all day. Who can they even beat up?”

Dazai folded the map, hand drawn sketch that had a few unimpressive trees and squares for houses. The biggest square was marked as the Imperial Palace and that was it. Highly informative. How wasn’t that kid afraid of getting beaten up?

Odasaku rolled his eyes when Dazai ripped the paper. The carriage was moving through the market near the entrance to the city where merchants from near and far came to sell their goods. They still had a while to go to reach the residences of all important people.

“I’m going to get off the carriage now,” Odasaku said turning to greet him.

“You’re leaving here?”

“I told you I just need to get to the capital unnoticed. I have things to take care of. I hope we don’t have to meet again.”

Dazai leaned forward. He delighted in the former assassin’s presence during the travel. Odasaku told him how his career started at just eleven when he tried to steal a painting from an ambassador’s residence but the guy caught him and taught him the art of killing instead. He saw a potential for his own little spy in the foreign country in a child with an ability amazingly suited for the job. Too bad Odasaku already preferred working alone even as a child. Dazai had wondered how he hadn’t risen up in ranks because of Flawless. Odasaku just shook his head at that and thrust a bottle of sake in his arms. He really didn’t want his new friend to leave. He was hoping he’d get him a job as his own personal guard under a new name perhaps just to keep him around.

“Odasaku, at least if you face any problems come to me. I’ll probably be able to help you.” He maybe was a bastard, but the surname still carried the weight.

The other man just shook his head once and raised his hand to stop the upcoming offers. “You probably can’t even save yourself,” he said dryly. “If Akutagawa Kama really wants to kill you, I doubt you’ll even get to step in that residence.”

Before Dazai had time to retort he was already just about to leap out of the moving carriage. He suddenly pulled back and looked at Dazai. “Please don’t die. I won’t get revenge for you if you do.” Then he was gone.

Dazai shrugged, stifling a giggle. “Thank you for your good wishes!” he snickered, throwing pieces of the paper after him.

Just on the edge of residential area, the convoy of three carriages came to a stop before a man carrying a scroll on a golden baton. Despite the simple clothes, the guards at the front froze as he approached them. It would be foolishly ignorant not to notice that his monocle was framed in gold too, or that the gloves he wore were of the finest silk. The man stopped in front of the leader of the convoy and simply unrolled the scroll. The man nodded.

That was all it took for all Dazai’s guards to leave, the two other carriages were driven off after them, but his stood in the centre of the street. Once everyone left, that man came up to Dazai. Up close he wasn’t as old as he’d thought. He couldn’t have been more than a few years Mori-san’s senior. It was just that his hair already went completely grey. Mori-san also insisted on trying to keep up his youthful look by shaving clean.

“The soldiers have something else to do. I will escort you to the residence,” the man said simply but respectfully. Dazai had no choice but to agree. Except, he was quite sure his father wouldn’t have a servant, no matter how high ranking, wearing gold and silk, or that his father sent his orders on golden batons. Dazai settled back into the cushions of his carriage.

He smelt fresh blood in the garden of the second house they passed.

“Why are we turning away from the residential area?” he asked innocently.

“A carriage overturned on the road,” the driver answered. He didn’t sound remotely interested in Dazai. “We have to go around and enter from the other side of the city.”

Dazai smirked. He could have at least thought of something more fun to say. “What a shame,” he sighed, not pushing.

Less than ten minutes later the carriage stopped in a lush park. The forest was old with moss climbing up tree trunks, but well taken care of. Stone paths leading into it were shining.

“Sir, if you may excuse me for a few minutes,” the driver mumbled and went off.

What a pleasant place for an assassination.

Dazai walked out after him, ready to face the trap but the area was desolate save for the forest and a singular temple. It wasn’t abandoned. On the eaves, beams and pillars not a speck of dust was to be seen.

He wasn’t a religious person. People prayed to heavens, but not to a particular deity like in the stories of old he’d read, to be granted happiness, health, wealth, gifts to bless their blood. He’d asked both his grandmother and Mori-san what the heavens actually meant – a group of gods? They both just dismissed it and told him to know better than to imagine tales the peasants told themselves to keep up hoping for a better tomorrow. A charade then.

The main entrance was covered in thick black lacquer and looked extremely solemn. On a flat horizontal tablet above the gate stood the words: ‘Tsushima Temple’.

Tsushima was the name of the reigning dynasty. Dazai whistled. Of all the places he thought this decoy would bring him to, the place where the imperial family kept up the farce they called religion just to keep peasants in check was not on his list. This was the only place in their Empire connected to the heavenly void; this was where the imperial family came to make sacrifices. Human sacrifices were fairly uncommon, but Dazai still couldn’t help but be burdened with a heavy feeling – what if he was here to be slaughtered on an altar? The idea made him somewhat dizzy. That would be a poetic way to die, but he wouldn’t like to go that way. It had to be on his own terms.

As he stepped forward, all was quiet around him. He softly opened the heavy wooden gate, which seemed not to have been opened in many years.

“Stop!”

An angry shout erupted through the air.

Dazai was instantly alarmed. Blocking his path was a young man with deep-set eyes and three heart-shaped markings under one, who stared at him with vicious glare.

The sword ready at his side further annoyed Dazai. If he was here to be sacrificed at least they could have prepared a better welcome than a guy with messy hair swooping like a hawk hunting the rabbit to scare him.

Dazai frowned. “Sir, you almost made me deaf with how loud you were.”

The man’s expression was thoroughly stern and he pushed Dazai away, admonishing him in a low voice. “Get out of here, quick! There are people praying inside and they are not to be disturbed!” It was clear by the man’s full rich military uniform that he was a guard of someone in the imperial family.

“I want to pray at the temple, too. Why are you stopping me?” Dazai replied, matching his gaze.

“You’ll have to wait.” The guard insisted. “The noble family is not to be disturbed.”

Slight amusement flashed in Dazai’s eyes. He scratched his head, reaching for a pin keeping hair out of his eyes and powdered in his favourite, strongest sedating powder when the doors slammed in front of his face.

Dazai frowned. “So he wasn’t waiting for me…” He was suddenly overcome with a sense of gloom. He looked at the heavy wooden door again and his heart skipped a beat. He didn’t dare try to breach the seemingly locked doors. It would be best if he left. As he turned, the door behind him opened again. The same man stood at the entrance. “My master says that you may enter the side chamber to pray. Don’t enter the main hall or my sword will find you.”

Dazai looked around him, then again at the determined man at the door. “I don’t think I want to go in anymore, you aren’t very hospitable.”

“Then don’t come in.”

He frowned, dusted down his sleeves, and stepped over the tall threshold, walking toward the side chamber without looking back.

Dazai kept his head low as he walked towards the side temple, but he couldn’t help glance at the main altar out of the corner of his eye. He was very curious who was so blessed over there to worship in complete privacy. Something prevented him from butting in, despite ‘minding other people’s business’ being in his name.

His right hand was still ready to grab the needle-like pin from his hair at any moment.

The side temple was slightly smaller and surrounded by a blue stone wall. There was no one inside. Dazai was disappointed not to discover any statues of deities, even though he knew that was normal since people worshiped the sky itself. The central room was only furnished with a white altar, several ornate boxes with instruments for carrying out sacrifices were placed with much room to spare between. They must have been filled with some of the best food in the empire even if they were destined for contribution in a small side chamber. The smell of sour cherries and sweetest honey in the world was so strong it made Dazai dizzy.

He wandered around the room aimlessly. Stealing cherries from the altar was too much even for him so he scanned the murals around the room. They all depicted scenes of nature - mountaintops, floating seas, volcanoes… He admired art whenever he got a hand on a scroll or a book replicating famous art pieces from the empire, but he was disappointed. He hoped there’d been some purpose in him being brought here. Where did the carriage-driver even disappear to?

He leaned forward on his hands on the cold altar table, actually contemplating just stuffing himself with cherries. Better for him to eat them than leave them to rot.

“This is so boring,” he drawled to himself. “No one is even trying to kill me.”

Dazai’s shoulders slouched.

All of a sudden, soundlessly, something heavy hit Dazai square between the shoulderblades. Dazai flew over the offering table, smashing into the lacquered floor face first. One of the bronze boxes fell down with a loud clang right next to his head and opened. Empty. The thing that kicked him in the back was actually someone’s heavy boot. That someone confidently stood on top of his back. Dazai turned his head to the side, a drop of blood from his forehead slid into his right eye.

“Who the fuck are you?” a shrill, extremely unpleasant voice came above him. It grated his ears.

Out of the corner of his eye he could only see military boots under a hem of a colourful flower painted, obviously highest quality silk furisode. The smell of honey in the room spiced, as if someone poured ground pepper into it. Not a smell, but the richest scent Dazai ever had the honour of feel. It clouded his mind. The only semblance of a rational thought was that the abrasive voice didn’t match the luxury of the omega’s scent.

“Oi! I asked you something!” the omega roared and spared his spine from being crushed by stepping off of him only to harshly turn him around by a kick in the ribs. Dazai squeezed his eyes and yelped in pain when his ribs suffered more from that boot returning to the centre of his chest. Omega breathed sharply through his nose, like he was the only being beaten and intoxicated.

Dazai blinked through blood and involuntary tears in his eyes and immediately shut them again. He was hallucinating. That was the only explanation. How else could he rationalize being beaten up by someone so small? Even more bewildering, how could someone so divine be ambushing strangers just to be beat them up so viciously without a reason?

The omega – he looked as if someone had put a sky on fire. Red, so much red. The dishevelled curls down to his shoulders, the red anger on his cheeks and ears and neck, hands folded in long sleeves of his purple furisode painted with various red flowers at the hem. And among all that red – blue. Two blue burning dots, the sky outside couldn’t compare. The air was knocked out of Dazai’s lungs for the third time. How cruel the omega was, he only had to stand there and it was enough to devastate poor Dazai.

The god of fury, because what else was he supposed to be beautiful like that, nudged Dazai’s head with the foot not on his chest. “Are you dumb?” he asked bluntly.

“That hurt,” Dazai managed, proud of how emotionless he sounded. “I hate being in pain.”

“You have two choices,” the omega was unfazed by his cold voice. “Either you tell me who the fuck you are and then I kill you or I kill you right now.”

“So tempting,” Dazai replied without missing a beat. He’d let him. He’d let that omega do whatever he wanted with him. “Are you a deity?”

The omega fell silent for a brief moment before shrieking, leaning down closer to Dazai’s face and he smelled so so wonderfully silky. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“Then are you an assassin?”

“Do I look like some scum?” the omega’s shoulders tensed. He was clenching his fists inside the kimono, Dazai realized.

“You look like some pompous old lady’s purse dog,” Dazai replied flatly.

The omega grinned, then swiftly kicked Dazai. The heavy boot struck him right in the jaw, bones rattling in agony. No tooth flew out of his mouth but Dazai embarrassingly moaned in agony.

“All right then,” the violent omega said. “Let’s play a game.”

“Sir! Please sir where are you? Your uncle is looking for you!” the shouts of some nervous servant came from a distance.

The omega on top of Dazai froze for a second before his face contorted in horror. “Shit,” he cursed and bolted.

Dazai sprang up after him with all the strength he was sure he didn’t have. “Wait! Wait!”

The omega stopped, looking behind his shoulder at the direction of his maid’s shouts and then at Dazai again. His face was pained, as if he was just now realized that blood trickling down out of the corner of Dazai’s mouth was his fault. He must’ve cut the inside of his lip.

Voice heavy and tense, Dazai said. “You should have drank more milk as a child. You’re really short.”

He wasn’t even sure why he said it. He was going to ask him for his name, or to ditch his maid and just mate him immediately. It was just that the moment he was up and standing he figured out how tiny the omega really was.

The red-head’s eyes narrowed. The kick in the stomach sent Dazai flying back onto the floor once more.

“I didn’t ask you little shit!” he shouted running off.

Dazai’s bones audibly creaked as he sat up. The omega was bolting down the hall, efficiently fixing the pin in his hair. His step was so light Dazai was almost sure he was floating.

This time he didn’t get up quickly enough to follow the omega. By the time he was up and out the room, the omega was gone without a trace, except for the smell. Dazai inhaled it deeply. Nothing was going to ever feel like that, he was sure of it.

Suehiro Tetchou was supposed to be having a relaxing day with His Majesty. Unexpectedly, an unknown person walked straight into the temple. Furthermore, Prince Nakahara slipped away from everyone’s sight again.

However, he had no way to vent his resentment because His Majesty looked sunny and seemed very happy. Tetchou failed to see why, but that wasn’t uncommon. His Emperor was the shrewdest person in his bloodline.

“Tetchou,” the Emperor called warmly. “If Natsume Soseki still does not want to come back, send your men to get him.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” Tetchou complied, but inwardly complained, thinking about who might be able to do that job well without getting back chopped in pieces.

The Emperor beside him wore a small smile, genuine and rare.

In the carriage at the end of the royal procession, Chuuya half-leaned on the seat. He tried to keep himself from growling at the maids beside him, already worried about his sneer.

“My Prince, why are you so displeased today?”

Chuuya sighed and swatted a hand. He had to get a hold of his scent. “What do you mean? Every time I go out with uncle I’m happy.” A diplomatic answer his father would no doubt be proud of. His mother would complain how boring Chuuya was.

“Our Prince’s been upset a lot lately. Is there anything we can do?” the other maid asked.

Hearing about his mood only further worsened it. Chuuya smelled his scent get sour like cheap alcohol. Should he be happy when he’s supposed to be involved in some aristocratic sham marriage? Even though the mother opposed, and his strange father seemed to oppose it, no one could bend his uncle’s will.

Chuuya groaned and buried his head in his palms. How the fuck was he even supposed to settle for some dumb guy raised in a fuck-knows-where village when he just saw the most handsome alpha. He was an alpha, Chuuya was sure of it even if he couldn’t smell him. Fate really kept dealing him worse and worse cards. At least he didn’t seem to be there to assassinate his Imperial uncle.

That freak looked at him with adoration while being beaten up and mocking him. Why the hell was Chuuya even wasting time thinking about that guy?