Everithing is the same
The Weight of a Promise
– The next morning, Cale awoke with a familiar dull ache behind his eyes and the lingering taste of stale alcohol in his mouth. He was sprawled across his bed, fully dressed, a testament to his usual nighttime routine. Sunlight, unwelcome and bright, streamed through the gap in his curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He groaned, rolling onto his side.
– Last night’s encounter with Lily replayed in his mind, a discordant note in his carefully curated symphony of indifference. He had broken character. He had offered comfort, however grudgingly. The thought left a bitter taste, worse than the lingering wine. He was supposed to be the trash, the one who pushed people away, not the one who offered unsolicited, pseudo-philosophical advice.
– He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cold stone floor. He needed a bath, a strong cup of tea, and a renewed commitment to his persona. He couldn't afford such lapses. Not if he wanted to survive.
– As he was dressing, a knock sounded at his door. He sighed.
– Enter, – he drawled, affecting a bored tone.
– The door opened to reveal Hans, one of the older servants, his face a mixture of trepidation and resignation. – Young Master, Lady Violan requests your presence at breakfast.
– Cale scoffed, adjusting the collar of his shirt. – My presence? At breakfast? Has the world gone mad? Tell her I’m still recuperating from my nightly adventures. Perhaps I’ll grace them with my esteemed company at lunch, provided the hangover hasn’t claimed me entirely.
– Hans wrung his hands. – But, Young Master, she said it was important. And… and Young Master Basen and Young Lady Lily are already there.
– Lily. The name snagged in Cale’s mind. Was this about last night? Had she said something? He felt a flicker of annoyance, quickly suppressed. He would deal with it.
– Very well, – Cale said, a theatrical sigh escaping his lips. – Lead the way, Hans. But be warned, my temper is as short as my patience this morning.
– He followed Hans down the winding corridors, the mansion already bustling with the quiet efficiency of the servants. The scent of freshly baked bread and brewing tea wafted from the dining room, a stark contrast to the gloom Cale felt.
– As he entered, the chatter died down. Deruth sat at the head of the long table, his expression strained. Violan, ever composed, sat opposite him, her gaze cool and assessing. Basen sat ramrod straight, his eyes fixed on his plate. And Lily, surprisingly, met Cale’s gaze with a small, determined nod.
– Cale smirked, taking his usual seat at the far end of the table, as far away from everyone as possible. – Good morning, family. Or is it? I do hope I haven’t interrupted anything terribly important, like the precise measurement of your morning tea.
– Deruth cleared his throat. – Cale, your mother – he corrected himself quickly, – Violan has something she wishes to discuss.
– Violan placed her napkin neatly beside her plate. – Cale, we’ve been discussing your… future.
– Cale raised an eyebrow, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. – My future? How intriguing. I had assumed my future involved a continued dedication to the fine art of debauchery and the occasional public scandal. Do enlighten me, stepmother. Have you perhaps found a suitable institution for unruly nobles? A charming little asylum, perhaps?
– Basen flinched, but Lily remained steadfast, her gaze unwavering.
– Violan ignored his sarcasm. – On the contrary, Cale. We believe it’s time you took on some responsibilities.
– Cale nearly choked on the sip of water he had just taken. Responsibilities? Him? This was a cruel joke.
– Responsibilities? – he repeated, a genuine note of surprise entering his voice. – My dear Violan, I believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else. Perhaps Basen, with his studious nature, or even little Lily, with her burgeoning knightly aspirations. I, however, am quite content in my chosen vocation as the family’s resident disappointment.
– Deruth interjected, his voice firmer now. – This is not a request, Cale. It’s been decided. There’s a small territory on the eastern border of our domain. It’s been… neglected. We want you to go there. To manage it. To make something of it.
– Cale stared at his father, then at Violan, then at Basen, whose face was a mask of discomfort. Finally, his eyes landed on Lily, who offered him a faint, encouraging smile. This was her doing, wasn’t it? Or at least, a consequence of his brief moment of weakness.
– A neglected territory? – Cale snorted. – How utterly charming. Am I to assume this is your subtle way of exiling me? A creative form of banishment, perhaps, disguised as a grand opportunity?
– Violan’s expression remained impassive. – It is an opportunity, Cale. An opportunity to prove yourself. To show that you are capable of more than just… this. – She gestured vaguely at him, encompassing his entire 'trash' persona.
– Cale leaned back in his chair, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. This was interesting. A new stage for his performance. A new audience to manipulate. A chance to disappear even further, to create a new, even more impenetrable fortress of indifference.
– And what, pray tell, is this neglected territory called? – he asked, his voice laced with mock enthusiasm.
– Harris Village, – Deruth supplied, his gaze hopeful. – It’s small, but it has potential.
– Harris Village, – Cale repeated, the name rolling off his tongue. He knew of it. A remote, unremarkable place, far from the prying eyes of society. Perfect.
– And what if I refuse? – Cale challenged, his eyes glinting with a familiar mischief. – What if I decide to remain here, a thorn in your collective sides, a constant reminder of your familial failures?
– Violan's eyes narrowed slightly. – Then we will be forced to take… more drastic measures. Measures that would undoubtedly be more uncomfortable for all involved, especially for you.
– Cale chuckled, a dry, mirthless sound. He recognized the veiled threat. She was good, this stepmother of his. Ambitious, intelligent, and utterly ruthless when it came to protecting her own. He respected that. In a strange, twisted way, it reminded him of his own past.
– Very well, – Cale said, pushing himself up from the table. – You want me to play territorial lord? So be it. But don’t come crying to me when I turn your quaint little village into a den of iniquity, a haven for ruffians and ne’er-do-wells. I am, after all, the trash of the county. I shall simply be bringing my natural talents to bear.
– He didn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and striding out of the dining room, leaving behind a stunned silence. As he walked, he could feel Lily’s gaze on his back. He knew she had meant well, but her intervention had only served to complicate his carefully constructed life.
– Back in his room, Cale began to pack, tossing clothes and a few bottles of strong liquor into a worn leather satchel. He moved with a practiced efficiency, his mind already racing. This was a new variable, a new challenge. He would adapt. He always did.
– He thought of Harris Village. A small, out-of-the-way place. It would be easy to blend in, to become just another forgotten noble, slowly wasting away in obscurity. He could continue his act, refine it even further, until he was nothing more than a ghost, a rumor.
– But then, another thought struck him. A more insidious one. What if this was a test? A way to see if he truly was beyond redemption. What if, deep down, his father still harbored a flicker of hope? The thought was almost laughable. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile illusion that always shattered.
– He pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden bird from a hidden compartment in his desk. It was a gift from Jour, a small, innocent reminder of a time before. He traced the smooth lines of its wings, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor running through his hand.
– Jour. Oda. Ango. All gone, or changed beyond recognition. And now, this new life, this new opportunity to be a spectator, to simply exist without responsibility, was being threatened.
– He scoffed, a bitter taste in his mouth. He was Dazai Osamu. He was a master of evasion, a chameleon of personalities. He would embrace this new role, this new stage, and turn it into his greatest disappearance yet.
– A few days later, Cale found himself seated in a dusty carriage, rattling along a poorly maintained road. The Henituse estate, a distant speck behind them, seemed to shrink with every mile. He had taken only a handful of servants, mostly older, less observant individuals who wouldn't question his eccentricities. His personal attendant, an elderly man named Ron, sat opposite him, his usual benign smile concealing a surprisingly sharp intellect. Cale had kept him around for that very reason – Ron saw through his act, at least partially, and yet never commented. It was a comfortable arrangement.
– The journey was long and uneventful, giving Cale ample time to reflect. He thought of the agency, of the endless paperwork Kunikida would have undoubtedly forced upon him, of the constant bickering with Chuuya. He thought of the Port Mafia, of the cold, calculated decisions, the brutal efficiency. He was tired of it all. Tired of the constant struggle, the endless dance with death.
– He just wanted to be left alone. To drink his wine, to read his books, and to observe the world from a safe, detached distance. This new post in Harris Village, while an unwelcome disruption, could also be an opportunity to achieve just that. To become truly insignificant.
– He looked out the window, the landscape slowly changing from manicured fields to wilder, more untamed forests. The air grew cooler, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. This was truly the edge of their domain, a forgotten corner of the world.
– Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the carriage rumbled into a small clearing. Before them lay Harris Village. It was even more desolate than he had imagined. A handful of ramshackle houses, a dusty path, and a general air of neglect. The villagers who gathered to greet them looked wary, their faces etched with hardship.
– Cale stepped out of the carriage, adjusting his fine clothes with a theatrical flourish. He surveyed the scene with a practiced air of disdain.
– So, this is my new domain, – he declared, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet air. – How… charmingly rustic. I do hope you haven’t forgotten to lay out the red carpet for your esteemed new lord. And perhaps a selection of your finest wines? Though, judging by the looks of things, I suspect I’ll be bringing my own.
– The villagers exchanged nervous glances, their expressions a mixture of fear and resentment. Good. This was exactly the reaction he wanted.
– Ron stepped forward, his smile as gentle as ever. – Greetings, good people of Harris Village. My young master, Cale Henituse, has arrived to take up his post. We hope for your cooperation during this transition.
– A grizzled old man stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. – Cooperation, eh? We ain’t seen much cooperation from the Henituse family in a long time. This village has been forgotten.
– Cale chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. – Forgotten? My dear man, that’s precisely what I’m counting on. I assure you, I have no intention of disturbing your tranquil neglect. In fact, I plan to contribute to it wholeheartedly. Consider me your resident expert in the art of doing absolutely nothing.
– He walked past the villagers, ignoring their stares, and headed towards the largest building in the village, which he assumed was his new residence. It was a dilapidated manor, its once grand facade crumbling, its windows staring like vacant eyes.
– Oh, how perfectly dreadful, – Cale muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. – It’s even worse than I imagined. I suppose I’ll simply have to make do with my own exquisite company and a bottomless supply of alcohol.
– As he entered the manor, the air was thick with dust and the smell of decay. He ran a gloved finger along a grimy banister, then recoiled in mock disgust.
– Ron, – Cale called out, his voice echoing through the empty halls. – I believe we have a rather extensive cleaning project ahead of us. And do ensure that my wine cellar is stocked to the brim. It seems I shall have a great deal of boredom to contend with.
– He found what he assumed was the main study, a large room with a fireplace and a single, dusty desk. He tossed his satchel onto the floor and collapsed into a rickety armchair, propping his feet up on the desk.
– This, – he declared to the empty room, – is where the trash of the county will truly shine. Here, in this forgotten corner of the world, I shall perfect the art of disappearing.
– He pulled out a bottle of wine from his satchel, uncorked it with a flourish, and took a long, deep swig. The bitter liquid burned its way down his throat, a familiar comfort. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back.
– The future stretched before him, a blank canvas upon which he could paint his latest masterpiece of self-sabotage. He would be the epitome of uselessness, the ultimate burden. He would drive everyone away, ensure that no one ever got close enough to matter, close enough to leave.
– But as he sat there, in the silence of his new, decaying domain, a faint whisper echoed in the back of his mind. A memory of Lily’s tear-streaked face, of her desperate desire to protect. The words he had spoken to her, about not being able to protect everyone, about doing your best even if it wasn't enough.
– He scoffed, shaking his head. Such sentimental nonsense. He was Dazai Osamu. He was beyond such naive idealism. He was the master of detachment, the architect of his own isolation.
– Yet, as the sun began to set, casting long, eerie shadows across the dusty room, Cale couldn’t shake the lingering feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, his greatest performance was yet to come. And that, despite all his efforts, the game was far from over. In fact, it had only just begun.