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Assistant: Title: The Art Of Deception
        Author: bleachscentedcandle bleachscentedcandle 
        Chapter: 4/4 
        Summary: Shūji Aizawa was dead. Or, at least that’s what the police and his parents thought. Shota? Not so much. It never made sense to him. The note left on his nightstand didn’t seem to be written by him, but the blood on it.. it was all his.Just a few miles from their house, they found the same blood stains on the grass—it was his. It should make sense, right?8 years pass without a trace of his brother, and Shota just assumes him to be dead. He couldn’t be more wrong. Because, Mister Dazai Osamu shows up in his life.…Shūji Aizawa became Dazai Osamu when he was fourteen years old, working beneath the newly boss of the port mafia. He had left his family behind without a second thought because he just couldn’t seem to die, and this doctor would help him. Right?Years later, when Dazai left the Port Mafia and joined the ADA, he buried the last of Shūji in a ditch, content to never dig it up again.But, when he and his partner, Kunikida, are given an assignment to infiltrate U.A. and work undercover as teachers, he’s forced to face the demons he tried so desperately to bury.—Or, Kunizai become U.A. teachers & Dazai is Aizawa’s ‘dead’ brother! Ft. Yosano as RG’s assistant.
            
            the mission is given, and they are more than ready. meanwhile we get a bit of a dive into dazai’s past as shūji, and shota now after all these years.cw: mentions of a past suicide attempt / aftermath of a suicide, self-harm mentions. tell me if i missed any!
        Contents: Chapter 4: who is he?
    

    

        
          
          
            shota’s mini internal crisis continues, and dazai talks to him a bit! dazai and nemuri friendship? shota is sad, and dazai is a bit upset but doesn’t know how to show it.there’s a bit of erasermic fluff too! ^^ (i suck at writing summaries can you tell)cw: mori being creepy, implied stalking.
          
        

      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    
  “Shūji?”

   “Sorry— who’s that?” 

  An idiot, that’s what Shota is. 

  The name had slipped from his mouth before he even had time to think it over, but the sense of familiarity was overwhelming. Even if he wasn’t Shūji, the two looked so d@mn similar.

  Dazai (or so he says), looked exactly like how Shota had imagined Shūji to be if he had the chance to grow any older. In fact, he had dreamed about a moment with an older Shūji on multiple occasions, helping him find a good paying job, financially aiding him if he needed it, taking his little brother to as many amusement parks as he so wished because they never had that in their youth.

  But those were just dreams, weren’t they?

  “… I must be tired, sorry.” He runs a hand down his face and looks away from Dazai’s intrigued expression. 

  His younger brother had loved cats, so he wondered, if he were still alive, if the two of them could’ve went to some sort of cat cafe with each other. 

  Upon looking at the man longer, he pin points yet another stronger  feeling of deja vu. His mother, he realizes. He looks exactly like Shota’s mother. A carbon copy, even. Even though he hadn’t seen his mother in years, he could tell. From his hair, to his eyes, to the shape of his face, even to the way he carried himself. There were differences from Shūji though. One was the fact that Dazai was covered in bandages, it seemed.

  Due to his sleeves being rolled up, he could see the white material cascading up his arms, covering all inches of his skin—none to be seen by the daylight. Then there was his neck, neatly bandaged, seeming to be tight around his throat. Dazai didn’t show any discomfort, though. He couldn’t help but wonder what lie beneath all of those bandages, what he was so desperately trying to hide.

  There also seemed to be something wrong with his right eye. He couldn’t tell exactly, but from afar it was just.. different.
When   Dazai   speaks up (Dazai, Dazai. Not Shūji. His name is Dazai. Shūji is dead), he looks away from his eyes and instead past his head. “My name is Dazai Osamu, it’s so very lovely to meet you all! This is <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON>.” 
  He points to the dirty blonde man next to him, and the man only raises his brow at him, unimpressed. Shota has to hold back a snort. “I can introduce myself, thanks.” He says, adjusting his glasses and bowing to the teachers in the room. “As you heard from Osamu—my name is <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON>. I look forward to working with you all.”
He’s forward and straight to the point, at least he wouldn’t be a nuisance like this..  Dazai  kid. He’s nearly convinced that Mic will get along with him just fine.
  There’s a brief period of silence before the teachers are speaking again, walking up to the two, offering their hands and introducing themselves. However Shota doesn’t get up from his spot, just grabbing his mug and swishing the coffee in it around.

  Kan shakes Kunikida’s hand but doesn’t do so with Dazai, only giving him a nod of acknowledgment, which makes feelings of annoyance and anger bristle in his chest as he recalls the most probable reason for his behavior.

  Nemuri and Dazai begin to talk, and he finds himself uncaring of this whole situation now.

  Shota sighs quietly, standing up and gathering his things, swinging his bag over his shoulder. He makes his way to the door, but someone stands in his path. 

  He looks up, tufts of brown hair are the first thing he sees.
 
  Maybe Dazai was a bit f@ck@d. Of course, he knew the man would likely recognize him—after all, his appearance wasn’t altered much asides from the obvious accessory change. But he wasn’t the same. Not by a long shot. And perhaps Shota could sense that, which is why he dropped the topic so quickly. 

  His playful grin hadn’t left his face when the man had called him out, but inside? His chest was doing all sorts of flips, and he had to force his heartbeat to slow down back to its normal, steady beats. 

  But no matter, he had a plan for if something like this were to happen. He had a plan for anything and everything. Dazai was a master of deception. It was something Mori had taught him very young—the art of deception. A beautiful thing, the older man had said. And it was definitely something he’d utilize in his life.

  Forcing his gaze away from Shota, who’s no longer staring at him, he looks at the other teachers. He knew who all of them were, the files were filled with information. Some public, some not. Their real names, for example.

  Kayama Nemuri comes up to him first, offering her hand, to which Dazai grins and shakes. “I’m Nemuri, it’s nice to finally meet you!” The brunette nods his head, a glint in his eyes. “You too! Midnight, right?”

  The woman returns his grin, nodding her head. “Yes, but you can just call me Kayama since I’m out of costume.” She winks, and Kunikida stiffens. He ignores it.

  Dazai’s smile widens and he’s coming up with some story before he even has to fully think it through. The words slide off his tongue as if they were practiced, sounding truthful to even the cleverest of people.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Kayama-san! My neighbors back at home  just love you!” Then he lowers his voice to a whisper, amusement dripping into his tone. “The women, not the men.”
  Kayama stares at him for a few moments before bursting out into hearty laughter, placing her hand on his shoulder, which he wants to flinch back from but doesn’t (he’s trained himself on his reactions). “I like you a lot! I think we’ll be good friends, Dazai-san.”

  Dazai’s grin widens, that flicker of mischief dancing behind his eyes. He’s used to this game—playing the charming fool, the unpredictable wildcard. It’s all part of the act, of course. Beneath that carefree exterior, he’s always calculating, always planning his next move.

  He catches a glimpse of Shota’s distant expression as he steps aside, and a faint smirk curls on Dazai’s lips. The man’s trying to keep it together, pretending he’s not rattled, but Dazai sees through that. Everyone’s got their cracks, their vulnerabilities. It’s just a matter of finding them.

  He glances over at Kunikida, who had drifted away from his side at some point, to check up on him, and he seems to be having an insightful conversation with Cementos—Ishiyama. He merely chuckles before turning attention back to the spot Shota was. Or, should be. Because Shota isn’t there anymore, and when he lifts his head and looks to the door Shota is nearly there.
Without thinking, his body moves on its own, right in front of the doorway.   Why did I do that? Oh well. Come up with something, quick.  
  “Leaving so soon?” Dazai asks, tilting his head with a bright smile. The man just stares at him, his eyes searching his for any sign of recognition before his face hardens, turning stoic once more.
Shota doesn’t answer immediately. He lingers there, looking at Dazai for a moment longer than necessary. It looks like he’s trying to figure it out—trying to convince himself that the tightness in his chest isn’t what it feels like, that this man really isn’t  him . But it’s pointless. The resemblance is too uncanny, the same trickle of recognition flowing just below his skin, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it.
  “I—” Shota begins, then stops. The words taste sour on his tongue. He can’t call this man Shūji. He’s not Shūji. He knows that, logically, but everything else in him is screaming the opposite.

  “I’m not in the mood for a chat.” His voice is flat, too cold. It’s much different from the voice Dazai remembered back in his youth, monotone but filled with just enough warmth towards him. No, not him. Shūji.
Dazai’s grin falters for the briefest of moments. It’s almost imperceptible, but he’s sure Shota notices. The man doesn’t step aside, just stands there with that d@mn smile still in place. A smile that isn’t  his . Not anymore.
  “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to get you to talk eventually,” Dazai teases, voice light, a hint of something darker beneath it. He steps closer, and Shota remains where he is—but he looks uncomfortable to say the least.

  He takes a step back, no longer caring about the teachers behind him or the watchful eyes of his colleagues. Dazai’s gaze never wavers, and it’s almost as if he can see straight through him.

  “Don’t worry, Shota.” The words are gentle, too gentle for the strange intensity in his eyes. “I’ll be seeing more of you soon.” The man looks shocked, his eyes screaming, ‘how do you know my name?!’ But Dazai doesn’t answer the unspoken question. Of course he doesn’t.

  And with that, Dazai steps aside, giving Shota just enough space to leave.

  Shota doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to.

  Dazai watches as he walks out of the room, the movement normal to anyone else, but Dazai can tell that he’s in a hurry, eager to get out of the teachers lounge. He smiles, holding back a chuckle before turning back to the other teachers. 

  (He pretends not to notice when Hizashi walks out the room 5 minutes later. It was a good interval of time to not appear suspicious, he notes. But Dazai notices, of course he does.)
 
  “Shota?” Hizashi opens up the door to his classroom, stepping in and closing it behind himself. The blonde turns the lock without a second thought, walking to the desk where the other man was sitting.

  His arms were crossed and his eyes were closed, but his head was tilted to the ceiling. He doesn’t open his eyes to look at Hizashi, doesn’t even acknowledge him, he just sighs quietly. 

  Shota opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He brings his hand up to his face to rub at his eyes, then at the bridge of his nose. Words weren’t coming to him, and Hizashi knew this was a difficult situation.

  ”He knew my name.” He says finally, and Hizashi frowns. 

  “Maybe Nezu told them our names?” He offers weakly, and Shota just huffs, going silent once again. 

  He wants to say his husband is just overthinking things, but he can’t. 

  Because when Dazai walked in, he had thought the same thing—just not out loud. Dazai was so similar to Shūji. They had the same eyes and the same hair, and if he didn’t know any better he would’ve just said that Dazai was just Shūji pretending to be someone else.

  But he knew better, because he had been to the funeral. He was the one who stuck by Shota during the aftermath of Shūji’s death. He was the one who had picked up the pieces of the man’s broken part, gluing it back together with his love and support. Shota had needed him to heal, and the process had taken several years, but it seemed that he was finally getting better.

  He would never forget Shūji, but he was beginning to understand that healing didn’t equal forgetting about his brother.

  So, when Dazai had walked into the teachers lounge with Kunikida, he had felt guilty for the shock and almost instant annoyance that washed over him. The dislike. Because Dazai would just reopen the wounds that Hizashi had spent so long helping. Not fixing. Helping. Because they could never be fixed. He knew it wasn’t the man’s fault, but Hizashi couldn’t help but feel like it was.

  He walks over to one of the many students desks, grabbing a chair and pulling it over to sit it beside where Shota sat. He sits down himself, manspreading and leaning forward, tilting his head and staring at the black haired man with a thoughtful expression. 

  Hizashi reaches out, gently tucking a piece of stray black hair behind his ear, a sad smile stretching across his face when Shota finally opens his eyes to look over at him. “I’m sorry, Sho.” Is all he says, and the other man squints.

  He can tell that he’s trying his hardest not to break, the way his eyes look so glassy is an obvious sign. His calloused palm flattens against his cheek, rough from hero years of hero work, and he caresses the skin with his thumb, smiling when he leans into his gentle touch. He doesn’t say anything for a while, content with sitting in silence. But, after a few minutes he speaks.

  “He’s not Shūji, you know.”

  The silence comes back.

  “I know.”

  Another beat of silence. “Are you sure?”

  Shota takes a shaky breath, his eyes flicking back to the ceiling as though the answer might be written up there. His throat tightens, and he forces the words out despite the weight in his chest.

  “I’m sure,” he says softly, though his voice lacks the confidence Hizashi wishes it had. It’s more like a lie than anything else.

  Hizashi watches him closely, his expression soft, understanding the turmoil bubbling just beneath the surface. He knows Shota too well.

  “You don’t have to convince me, Sho,” Hizashi says, his voice low and comforting. He reaches out again, a hand resting gently on Shota’s shoulder. “But I can see how hard this is for you.”
Shota’s jaw clenches, and his eyes shut tight. The thought of Dazai—his smile, his voice, the way he  felt  like Shūji—pushes against the fragile edges of his heart. 
  It’s like having a ghost standing in the room, an echo of everything that was lost. He wants to scream. He wants to run. But he can’t do either. He won’t.
“I don’t know what to do, Hizashi,” Shota admits, the words coming out raw and unfiltered. “I want to forget, I want to move on, but then... I see him, and it’s like he’s  him  again, and I can’t... I can’t stop feeling this... this pull toward him.”
  His hand curls into a fist on his lap, the frustration building up, the confusion so thick it’s suffocating.

  “Shūji isn’t coming back, Sho,” Hizashi says gently, his thumb stroking the back of Shota’s hand. “I know it’s hard to accept. But you’re not alone in this, okay? I’m here. We’ll figure this out together. You don’t have to carry all of this on your own.”

  Shota swallows hard, his throat closing up again. He wants to nod. He wants to believe that he can move on, that he can be okay. But every time he tries, Dazai’s face haunts him.
“I don’t know if I can face him again,” Shota mutters. “Not with how  he  looks, with  that  smile on his face.“
  There’s a long pause before Hizashi responds. When he does, it’s with an understanding that feels more like a weight than a comfort. “But that’s not him. No matter how much he looks like him, Dazai is someone else. And you can’t keep holding onto the past because of a resemblance. You know that, right?”
Shota’s lip trembles before he presses it tight. He wants to shout, he wants to argue, but he knows it’s true.  Dazai is not Shūji.  But the idea that someone could look so much like him, speak so much like him... it makes it all the more painful.“I’m just so tired, Hizashi,” Shota whispers, his voice cracking. “Tired of fighting it. Tired of feeling like I’m drowning in this... this  memory  of him.”
  Hizashi instantly pulls him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. "I know. I know you are. But we’re not fighting this alone. Not anymore. I’m right here, Sho."

  For a moment, Shota just lets himself sink into the embrace, feeling the weight of everything—his grief, his confusion, his fear—melt away, even if just for a little while.

  Hizashi pulls away from Shota, his hand still resting on his shoulder. He’s seen this look before—this fragile wall Shota puts up when the pain becomes too much. Twice he’s seen it. After Oboro, and after his little brother.

  He wants to comfort him more, to tell him that it’s going to be okay, but he knows better than to offer false assurances. Not when Shota’s heart is so conflicted.

  “You don’t have to go through this alone,” Hizashi repeats, softer this time. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Shota finally meets his eyes, a fragile smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Hizashi. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Hizashi chuckles lightly, brushing his thumb against the back of Shota’s hand one more time. “Don’t worry about it. Just don’t shut me out again, okay? I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it.” He says with a soft chuckle.

  Shota nods, but it’s a hesitant, reluctant nod. Instead of dwelling on it further he closes his eyes and leans forward, pressing his forward against Hizashi’s.

  A man stands at a large glass window pane, his hand behind his back while the other holds up his phone. His neck is adorned with a red scarf, cascading down the suit he wears, the color contrasting with his purple tie.

  There’s a thoughtful expression on his face, a small smile that appears when he reads over the message a second time.

  Dazai is in Musutafu.

  He had kept tabs on the boy since he first appeared back into the general public 2 years after he left the mafia, his obsession running too deep to just forget about him completely. Every thing he did, the Port Mafia boss watched. 

  The boy had made his life interesting, that’s for sure. Joining the Armed Detective Agency was quite the choice, as Mori recalled that Dazai had never really cared for virtuous acts. It was interesting, to say the least. Oh how Mori wanted to break down those carefully constructed layers and bring back the boy he once knew and loved.

  The Demon Prodigy.

  As far as he knew, Dazai hadn’t left Yokohama while he was out of the light, because he would’ve known. But now, why the sudden change?

  He hums quietly, turning his back to the window and walking to his seat. He places his phone down on the glass table and instead grabs his mug, taking a long sip. It must have something to do with a mission, but even so, why would Fukuzawa-dono risk so much to send Dazai and (likely) his other co-workers out of the city, into Japan, where the Yokohama citizens were so feared?

  Mori sits down in his chair, leaning back into the cushion and crossing his legs, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair. In the corner, Elise was sitting on the floor, her red dress splayed out around her small form. She was coloring something, the crayons scattered on the carpet.

  He smiles, his gaze lingering on her for a few more moments before it sets forward again.

  Mori’s fingers drummed absentmindedly against the porcelain of his mug, the rhythmic tap-tap echoing faintly in the room. He let his mind wander, tracing the threads of possibility. Dazai was a deliberate and calculating boy, he would know, after all he was the one who had shaped the boy into who he was today. 

  He allowed himself a quiet chuckle, low and soft, as not to disturb Elise. The world outside the Port Mafia was so different, so full of hope and naivety. Did Dazai find comfort in that, or was he simply playing another role, putting on the mask of a hero for his own amusement? The idea of Dazai pretending at virtue was almost laughable, but Mori knew better than to underestimate him. The boy—no man, he had grown into a man so satisfyingly—was unpredictable, a wild card, and that was what made him so fascinating.

  “Rintarou! I’m hungry!” Elise pouts from where she sat, and Mori glances over. His gaze softens into something more predatory when he looks at her, and he stands up. “Oh no, we can’t have that, can we, Elise-Chan?”

  She crosses her arms and shakes her head with frustration, her movements so similar to that of a real child. 

  Mori sets his cup down onto the table with a soft clink, walking over to her. The young girl stood as well. “How about some strawberry cake, hmm?” The glint in her eyes tells Mori all he needs to know.

  He doesn’t give the mission another thought, picking up the girl and cradling her soft body in his arms. 

  She looks annoyed, “Put me down, you disgusting man.” Elise says, and he only chuckles, shaking his head. “Now now, let’s behave.” Without another word he’s walking to the door, his hands running through her inhumanly soft blonde hair.

  
  

    
      
        
        
          100. kudos. THATS INSANE! i literally JUST posted this. thank you SO SO much for reading and THANK YOU FOR LIKING IT ENOUGH TO LEAVE KUDOS!!i literally just posted this a few days ago and i already have almost 800 hits too. that’s just crazy, and im so so grateful. and to the people that came from my tiktok, thank you for taking time out of your day to search this up and read it! it means so freaking much to me.i woke up so sick this morning but i still wanted to post today so if this chapter feels rushed or not well written then shhhh no it doesn’tthe next chapter is going to be about the entrance exam, so stay tuned for that because we are finally getting into the plot. 🙂‍↕️'
User: Can you translate the summarize in french ?
User: Can you translate the summarize in french ?
Assistant: