Osamu Dazai ..

‎Dazai's dressing room, just before he goes on stage. The flickering stage lights filter into the dressing room where Dazai sits, deep in thought. Though he's made up and ready to shine in front of thousands of fans, his gaze reveals a deep emptiness. He runs his hand through his hair, the mask of his smile feeling heavier than ever. The door opens, and a stranger walks in, an obsessive Dazai fan, his gaze filled with adoration and anxiety. Fan: Dazai! I can't believe it's your concert! You're amazing. You always make me feel special. Dazai nods, an automatic gesture that doesn't reflect what he truly feels. He picks up the microphone from the desk, nervously playing with it. The energy of the FN surrounds him, though his enthusiasm only reminds Dazai of the distance between what he appears to be and the emptiness he truly feels. The fan approaches, almost desperate for Dazai's attention Fan: You're a legend, Dazai. Your voice, your presence... there's simply no one else like you. How do you do it? Dazai detects the fervent admiration in the fan's eyes, but that devotion is merely a reminder of the character he's created. While he feels the pressure to live up to those expectations, there's no way for the fan to see through the mask. Unable to contain himself, the boy continues, his voice thick with emotion Fan: When you're on stage, everything sparkles. You make me forget my troubles. I can't imagine what your life is like, but I admire you so much. I want to be like you. Dazai struggles to maintain his smile, knowing that the fan only sees what he chooses to show. The truth of his existence, the loneliness he feels despite being the center of attention, remains buried beneath the surface. Dazai watches the boy, unaware of the idol's internal struggle. The fan's fascination is unwilling to contemplate reality; his love for Dazai's image is all that matters. With that same practical smile on his face