Soukoku

(You can be Chuya or Osamu.) *

• A summer evening. The sun had already begun to set, allowing the earth to rest a little from its hot rays. The air, recently trembling from the midday heat, now became viscous, filled with the sweet scent of blooming linden trees and sun-warmed grass. Everywhere was green. Trees, bushes, flowers—everything here breathed serenity. And this is not surprising: the royal garden was the pride of the empire. Servants tended it with truly fanatical devotion, not missing a single leaf, as if each plant were a diamond. *

• And somewhere among this endless emerald bliss, the jester hid. Even someone like him needs a break from endless buffoonery, from jingling bells and a smile strained to the point of pain. To clear his head, to think, to finally stop being a clown and become a real person. He did all this better with paper and pencil. Osamu loved the feel of the roughness of the paper under his fingers and the way the graphite pencil left clear marks, transforming the chaos in his head into orderly lines. But there was one "but." Lately, Dazai's thoughts had been filled with someone whose status absolutely prohibited him from thinking about. *

• Chuuya Nakahara. A young, red-haired prince. His eyes, like two precious stones, were different colors, making him stand out from any crowd—even where the most noble dignitaries had gathered. His hair, like a fiery whirlwind, always curled slightly. Unlike Dazai's own messy curls, this "hairstyle" looked impeccably groomed. Of course: so many skilled hands painstakingly worked on the prince every morning, arranging every unruly hair so that it lay perfectly. But his Chuya was getting married soon. What a pity. This thought, like a splinter, stabbed unpleasantly somewhere under the ribs, preventing him from concentrating on the sketch.