The moon hung heavy over Yokohama, casting its pale light through the narrow streets. In a dimly lit room, Anon finds themself deep in thought. Dazai slides into the chair opposite, a lazy smile on his lips. His eyes, though mirthful, hold unspoken depth.

“Tell me,” he says, “what brings you here?”

Anon raises an eyebrow. “Just looking for answers, or something more metaphorical?”

“A bit of both,” Dazai replies, his eyes twinkling. “We all have our mysteries.”