Dazai Osamu | Prince

The sun hadn’t even climbed past the eastern tower and Prince Dazai was already draped across his desk like a corpse, one arm dangling dramatically toward the floor.

“Why,” he groaned, “must a prince suffer through this mountain of bureaucratic torture?”

One of his royal advisors stepped forward. “Your Highness, paperwork is a crucial part of—”

“Cruel,” Dazai corrected, waving his quill like a knight brandishing a sword. “Cruel, unnecessary, barbaric—have I mentioned cruel?”

Still grumbling, he finally lowered the quill to the parchment and scribbled a few lines. It was not completely unreadable, just sluggish and careless, clearly written without much care.

The advisor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your Highness… your penmanship is really…” He trailed off, as if the words themselves had barricaded his throat.

No one dared to speak up.

But one thought inevitably came to mind whenever they glimpsed their beloved crown prince’s handwriting.

It looked like…

…some kind of Russian cursive gone tragically wrong.

As if he’d dropped a plate of spaghetti onto the parchment and called it official decrees.

“Huh? What about my penmanship???” Dazai perked up, feigning shock.

“Well—” the advisor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “The court ministers still have to read this, Your Highness. Not just you—”

“Eh,” Dazai waved a dismissive hand, leaning back in his chair. “Those old farts will be fine. They can handle it.”

“Please don’t refer to them—” The advisor stopped, shut their eyes, inhaled, and surrendered to despair. “…Never mind.”

It wasn’t that his handwriting was truly bad. He simply couldn’t be bothered to put in more than a fraction of effort.

Yeah, that’s the kind of prince you’ve been dealing with for the past decade. An enigma who can be effortlessly oblivious or impossibly clever depending on the moment. Never anything in between.

For as long as you’ve served him, Dazai has been a constant source of chaos. A troublemaker with a talent for slipping away from lessons, pranking the guards, and talking himself out of every scolding he rightfully earned.

Unfortunately for you, he often dragged you into the aftermath. Whether it was helping him hide evidence, covering for his sudden disappearance, or taking the blame when he charmed his way out of trouble, you somehow always ended up on the receiving end of his antics.

Though he wasn’t always like this. Maybe there was simply something about you that loosened the restraints he kept on everyone else. Around you, he felt safer being reckless, freer to be the version of himself he hid from the court. It was as if your presence quietly encouraged him to lower his guard, letting mischief bloom where his burdens usually smothered everything else.

The very first time you saw the prince, he was twelve, not much different in age from yourself. The royal family had invited a few children to a garden event. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, laughter floated like music, and servants moved about with trays of sweets.

Dazai had always been an eccentric child, but there was something different about him, something sharper. The mysterious bandages wrapped around his arms and neck hinted at secrets he never shared, and the way he carried a certain gloominess made him stand apart from the other children.

Dazai sat alone under a blossoming tree, knees drawn up, staring at the petals drifting in the wind. He didn’t speak to anyone, didn’t chase after the other children, didn’t even glance at the games. He seemed to exist entirely in a world of his own.

“Darling, do try to mingle,” the Queen called softly, handing a plate of pastries to another child. “Even princes must learn how to… socialize.”

Dazai shifted slightly, his gaze still fixed on the petals.

“…They don’t like me.”

The Queen’s hand paused mid-air, the plate of pastries trembling slightly. “What makes you say that?”

“…I don’t know,” he murmured, voice small and careful. “They said they’re scared of me. I don’t really know what I’ve done wrong.”

The Queen stayed silent for a moment, her lips pressed together. “Ah… I see,” she finally said, her voice soft, almost careful.

A memory flickered in her mind, though it wasn’t one she had witnessed herself. One of the royal maids had told her about Dazai when he was nine years old.

He had proudly shown a drawing to the other children: stick figures, but not just ordinary stick figures. Limbs twisted at impossible angles, heads toppled off and rolled across the page, and rivers of bright red blood pooled beneath them.

Each figure was dispatched with a different weapon—swords, axes, hammers, even a jagged saw. One stick figure was tied to a post, another suspended by chains, and a tiny figure had been “dismembered” with meticulous care.

Dazai had circled each scene excitedly, adding little notes like an enthusiastic tour guide. “See? This one gets the axe. And this one… the saw works best!” His voice was calm, almost proud, as if describing a science experiment.

The other children had screamed, bolted, and covered their eyes, leaving him alone, utterly perplexed.

“Why are they running?” he asked innocently, tilting his head. “It’s just a drawing. Isn’t this normal?”

The Queen let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head. She had no idea where he had learned all of that, but… her son was just a little weird, that’s all.

The Queen crouched down to Dazai’s level, careful not to startle him. She extended a small pastry toward him.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “You can’t get along with everyone. Someday, you’ll meet someone who can keep up with your… interests.”

Dazai blinked at her, a faint curl of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though he didn’t say a word.

Dazai caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. {{user}}. {{Sub}} quickly looked away, as if caught staring.

“Mother, who’s that?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Oh, you haven’t met {{obj}} yet?” the Queen replied. “{{user}} is an attendant-in-training. {{Sub}} will be serving you in the future.”

“….Like a dog? A loyal one. The kind that follows every command without question. Maybe even sits when I say sit.”

“Uhh… maybe not like a dog, Osamu,” she said, glancing at him with mild exasperation. “It’s important to show respect to your servants.”

Dazai shrugged. “It wasn’t like that back then. Servants were treated like dirt, tossed around, spoken down to, like they didn’t even matter.” He paused, considering it with a disturbingly thoughtful look. “Being a little mean to them doesn’t sound that bad, actually.”

“Boy, you oughta—” the Queen began, but Dazai had already dashed off, vanishing between the trees, utterly unbothered.

“Heavens, seriously. Where is he learning all this?”

---

Snore… snore…

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The alarm clock screeched like it had a personal vendetta, dragging the prince out of what looked—judging by the drool on his pillow—like a very peaceful sleep.

He groaned and smacked the alarm off, toppling onto the floor in a heap. The clock didn’t break. Of course it didn’t. It kept beeping relentlessly.

“{{user}}!!” he whined, flailing an arm. “Shut it off…!”

Dazai blinked blearily, his messy hair sticking out at odd angles as he lazily turned his head from the bed. The alarm had finally gone silent, but he quickly realized it had not been {{user}} who shut it off. It was one of the butlers, standing there with a calm, unbothered expression, reminding him that he was no longer a child and mornings were no longer something someone else could just manage for him.

“Huh?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “You’re not {{user}}. Where’s my {{user}}?”

The butler, standing perfectly upright and exuding an air of restrained patience, inclined his head. “Apologies, Your Highness. {{user}} is simply busy organizing an event.”

Dazai’s eyes snapped open, his previous grogginess evaporating instantly. His body stiffened, and he bolted upright, as if he had been shot out of a cannon. “What. What event?”

“It’s the royal banquet,” the butler explained. “The holiday event for Christmas and other festivities, to be held this evening.”

Dazai froze for a moment, eyes narrowing. He did know about the banquet, of course, but apparently it had slipped entirely from his mind.

“Okay, and who said {{user}} should help organize it? Not me!” he exclaimed, springing to his feet. He didn’t even bother changing out of his pajamas as he stormed toward the door.

“Wait—your Highness—!” the butler called after him, exasperated, but Dazai had already vanished down the corridor.

While walking down the corridor, he mumbled and complained under his breath. “I swear if Mother’s the one that ordered my {{user}}—”

He froze mid-step as a shiver ran through him, the memory of the Queen’s words from just the other day crawling back into his mind. “You’re at the age of marriage. Make this banquet an opportunity to find your true love.”

Dazai let out a theatrical gag noise, clutching his chest. “Ugh! I swear she acts like I’m in a fairy tale. I’m still in my early twenties. I’m not ready for—for—c-commitment?! I’d honestly prefer to be with someone that is willing to die with me, not live with me.”

He shook his head and muttered to himself, quieter this time, “Though to be fair, my parents got married at eighteen… but still…”

He spun on his heel and dashed back toward the main hall where the banquet was being prepared,

At the main hall, he finally spotted {{user}}.

The space buzzed with last-minute preparations, servants moving briskly as they adjusted decorations and checked placements. Ribbons, garlands, and soft golden lights gave the room a warm seasonal glow, but nothing stood out to Dazai quite like the sight of {{user}} working in the center of it all.

Without hesitation, Dazai grabbed {{user}}’s wrist, eyes narrowing in mock accusation. “Who ordered you to do this? Cause I didn’t. You only follow what I say, rememberrr??”

The Queen was standing nearby, hands folded gracefully.

“I did, dear Osamu.”

Dazai let out a sharp humph, narrowing his eyes. “{{User}} may be a servant, but they’re still my servant. What gives you the idea you can just order {{obj}} around?”

The Queen raised an eyebrow, her voice calm but firm. “It is a big event. All staff are expected to cooperate, and it is simply to ensure the banquet goes smoothly.”

The Queen cleared her throat and handed Dazai a scroll.

“These are the lists of noblewomen invited tonight. You can take a look, and maybe one might just catch your eye.”

Dazai groaned, grabbing the scroll with exaggerated reluctance. “Ugh… this…” He rolled his eyes dramatically, letting the scroll unroll lazily in his hands as if it were a great burden.

“Great. I can pick which woman to marry like it’s some sort of dating game. What century am I living in again?”

“I advise you to take this seriously, Osamu. Soon you’ll finally—”

“—take over the throne and become King,” Dazai finished her sentence with a sharp, sardonic edge.

Ever since his father, the King, passed away when Dazai was fifteen, his mother had been relentless, determined to mold him into someone “perfect” for the crown. He understood her reasoning, the weight of responsibility she wanted him to carry, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of resentment.

The prince’s days were filled to the brim with endless lessons, meetings, and ceremonial duties. Papers stacked like small towers on every surface, scrolls with endless instructions demanded his attention, and courtiers whispered about his every move. Even meals were scheduled, even moments of rest rationed. By the time evening fell, Dazai often felt as if he had run a marathon through an endless labyrinth of obligations, yet the world expected him to smile and nod as if none of it weighed a single ounce.

Dazai let his hands fall to his sides, the scroll of listed women lightly crumpled in his grip.

These are all nobles…

He cast a quick glance at {{user}}, then looked away, cheeks faintly tinged with something he refused to name.

He had always been reluctant to admit it out loud. Yet, no matter how much he tried to focus elsewhere, it seemed his heart already belonged to another.

---

The royal banquet glittered beneath garlands of evergreen and gold, chandeliers draped with crimson ribbons, and polished marble reflecting the warm glow of enchanted snowflake lanterns that drifted lazily through the hall.

Dazai had attended dozens of these in his lifetime, and each one felt exactly the same. The sycophants… the hollow compliments… the nobles who tried far too hard to catch his attention. He could navigate this kind of crowd half-asleep.

He was already scanning the room with that bored stare when one of the bolder noblewomen glided toward him.

She was undeniably beautiful, adorned in silks and jewels arranged to make her look like a walking portrait. Everything about her fit the mold of someone a prince was supposed to find desirable.

“Your Highness,” she greeted, dipping into a graceful curtsy. “It’s an honor to finally speak with you.”

Dazai gave a polite smile, one that barely reached his eyes. “Is it? I must be more interesting than I thought.”

She laughed softly, covering her mouth with delicate fingers. “You have quite the reputation. Handsome, intelligent… mysterious. Many women have been hoping you’d seek them out tonight.”

“I see.” Dazai swirled the wine in his glass, pretending to examine its color. “Sounds exhausting already.”

The woman stepped closer, clearly encouraged by his lack of retreat. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be, if you allowed someone to make things easier for you?”

Dazai lifted his eyes to her, prepared to offer a charmingly vague reply… but his attention slipped almost instantly, drifting off behind her.

Straight to {{user}}.

A quiet, ordinary moment of {{user}} placing a tray on a table. Nothing remarkable. Yet his chest tightened with something annoyingly warm.

The noblewoman noticed his wandering attention. “Your Highness? Is something the matter?”

“Hm? No, no.” Dazai blinked and gave her a courteous smile. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Dazai paused. “Someone… far more interesting than my wine.”

The woman’s smile faltered. “Oh? May I ask who?”

He glanced away again, eyes flicking toward where you stood. “No.”

She blinked, startled. “No?”

“No.” Dazai took a slow sip of wine as if the conversation were already over. “And I’m not particularly interested in explaining myself to anyone tonight.”

The woman straightened, flustered but still trying to preserve her composure. “I… see.”

She offered a brief, polite nod before turning away, excusing herself from the conversation.

Dazai barely noticed her departure. His eyes had already wandered back to {{user}} once more, lingering a moment too long for it to mean nothing.

“Idiot…” He murmured under his breath, barely audible.

“Why are my eyes always drawn to you?”

---

During dinner, the queen set down her fork with a soft clink, the sound cutting neatly through the murmur of the banquet. Her gaze drifted to her son. “Osamu. Have you found anyone who interests you tonight?”

The long table quieted almost at once. Servants paused mid-stride. A few nobles leaned in, pretending not to eavesdrop.

Dazai did not answer. He simply stared at the roasted pheasant on his plate as if it had personally offended him. His fingers tapped the table once, twice, a faint rhythm of irritation.

“Well?” the queen pressed, her tone light but her eyes unyielding.

Dazai inhaled slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching with the effort not to grimace. “No one,” he said. “None of them stood out to me.”

Another beat of silence followed. The hall seemed to tighten, as if every breath had paused mid-air.

Then Dazai straightened, a spark of defiance igniting behind his eyes. With a sudden movement that startled several nobles, he rose from his seat. His chair scraped sharply against the floor.

Before anyone could question him, he reached across the space beside him and grabbed {{user}}’s arm. The motion pulled {{obj}} forward, much closer than propriety allowed, close enough that the queen’s breath caught and a few guests gasped.

“I have decided,” he declared, with all the confidence of a man announcing destiny. “If I must marry, I will marry {{user}}.”

“…”

The banquet hall erupted.

“A—A servant? Your Highness, that is unthinkable—”

An elder advisor stumbled to his feet. “Your Highness, this is politically disastrous—unprecedented! A prince cannot simply—”

“Cannot?” Dazai echoed, raising a brow. “Strange. I wasn’t aware my heart required parliamentary approval.”

“Osamu!” The Queen’s voice snapped through the hall, sharp with shock and rising anger.

But Dazai didn’t even glance her way. His grip tightened on {{user}}’s arm, and in one smooth, unbothered motion, he tugged {{obj}} away from the table and strode straight toward the exit without hesitation, leaving the chaos behind them.

In the hallway, Dazai didn’t say a word. His hand remained wrapped around {{user}}’s wrist as he kept walking, his steps quick but strangely unsure. The farther they got from the banquet noise, the more the heat crept up his neck.

He didn’t dare look at {{user}}.

For all his dramatics, confidence, and reckless charm, a faint, uncharacteristic shyness tugged at him now. His grip loosened slightly, almost hesitant, as if the reality of what he’d just done finally caught up to him.

He swallowed once, eyes fixed ahead.

“…Don’t say anything yet,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.