Which Bungo Stray Dogs Characters Have Tragic Backstories?

After his first love died, Oscar hated me for ten years. I tried everything to soften him. Nothing worked. "If you really want to please me, go die." The words cut deep. But when the riot came, he threw himself in front of me and was hacked down where he stood. He stared at me as he bled out. "If only… my fated mate hadn't been you." At his funeral, his parents wept. "We should have let him be with Catherine. We forced him to marry her, all because of that damn prophecy." Windvale Pack lived by prophecy. Years ago, the Seer had foretold that if Oscar didn't take his fated mate as his bond-mate, disaster would fall on the pack. I was that fated mate. But now, everyone wished I never had been. Even me. I was driven from the funeral, hollow. Then the Moon Goddess descended. She offered me a chance—ten years back—on two conditions. I would not become Oscar's mate. I would prevent Catherine's death. I said yes without thinking.

On the day before the college entrance assessment, my three childhood friends have gone missing collectively. Because of that, my phone is swamped with phone calls. The parents of my missing friends keep wailing to me, "We've worked so hard our entire lives just so our sons can get into a great university!" My homeroom teacher, Mr. Levinski, begins pressuring me. "You're the class president, so you must find them! The college entrance assessment is a vital event that can determine how one's future will turn out!" Even my classmates and my neighbors keep texting me for more updates. But what they don't know is that I've already hung up on my friends' phone calls for help by using my revision for the assessment as an excuse. In my previous life, my childhood friends had already gotten bewitched by Lucille Reyes, a delinquent. They insisted on celebrating their coming-of-age ceremony at a nightclub because of her. I accidentally overheard Lucille plotting with her delinquent friends that they intended on taking nudes of my friends and extort money from them so that they couldn't attend the college entrance assessment the next day. So, I did everything I could to stop my friends, only to get kicked to the side. "Don't stop us from pursuing true love!" For the sake of my friends' future, I informed their families at once and had them brought into the exam venue by force. Finally, all three of my childhood friends got into prestigious universities. But Lucille, on the other hand, got beaten to death by the delinquents because she couldn't pay her protection fees due to her scheme getting foiled. My friends broke down mentally because of her death. They then decided to pin the blame on me. On our freshman year, my friends treated me to some drinks out of "gratitude", only for them to spike my drink. Later on, they tossed me to the same group of delinquents, who violated me in an alley. They even had the gall to record everything from the alleyway while keeping an eye out for the police. Thanks to them, my future was completely ruined. My parents committed suicide out of despair. To rub salt onto my wound, those friends showed up at the hospital with the video and backed me into a corner once again. "You owe Lucy this much!" In my despair, I ended up jumping off the rooftop. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day before the college entrance assessment. As I watch my friends excitedly discussing the nightclub party behind my back, I can't help but smile. In this lifetime, I choose to lock my door and sign the guaranteed admission agreement meant for Mephton University, the most prestigious university ever, without any hesitation. As for my so-called friends, they can enjoy their coming-of-age ceremony in hell.

I struggle with all my might, but Dad restrains me, and Mom breaks my limbs. Then, my sister seals me into the concrete. "Concrete is only brought to life with an actual person sealed inside. It looks so much more defined! It's not like you'll die after being sealed in there for a few days. How can you be so insensible?" The pain of having my limbs broken and my oxygen being cut off leads to me dying within that block of concrete. My body rots and festers inside, but my soul sticks around to watch how my parents dote on their adoptive child. They seem to be happy without me. Finally, I lose all hope in them. But when the liquid from my body seeps out of the concrete, they all lose their minds.

I've always been frail by nature. Taking two consecutive steps can make me gasp for air. If I cough, there's a chance there's blood accompanying it. When I'm seven years old, a homeless man in Bronzeton tries to snatch a half-eaten piece of bread from me. I lie on the ground as I convulse like a dying fish with foam gathering at my mouth. My eyes have rolled to the back of my head as well, as though my seizure is acting up. Thinking that I've gotten infected with some sort of disease, the homeless man is so frightened that he flees from Novarra overnight. When I'm ten years old, a delinquent tries to demand protection money from me. I react by spitting dark blood at his face. The poor guy screams at the top of his lungs as he runs down the street, only to get mistaken as a murderer by a police officer who happens to pass by the area. Since then, everyone avoids me like plague on the street. They aren't scared of me—they are terrified that they might get into trouble because of me. No one knows who my parents are. I've grown up in a rundown motel, and my adoptive mother is a stripper who used to be famous. Whenever she gets drunk, she often tells me, "Your father is a mafia Don." I've always thought that she's just running her mouth purely out of drunkenness. That is, until a black limo stops in front of me on the year I turn 18 years old. Three men clad in black suits get out of the limo. The leader sinks down on one knee right in front of me, his voice quivering as he speaks. "We finally found you, Ms. Salvatore. Your father is Vittorio Salvatore, the Don of one of the biggest mafia families in Novarra." At first, I think this is just a scamming scheme. That is, until I'm taken to the estate located on Lacreth Isle that's six acres wide and sports iron gates with the Salvatore insignia carved into them. On my first day home, the fake heiress, Serena Salvatore, purposefully releases the fearsome family dog in the estate just to intimidate me. That dog keeps barking at me, frightening me to the point that I spit out blood on the spot before collapsing to the ground. My mother, Rosalina Vitelli, almost loses her mind over my collapse. But my older brother, Marco Salvatore, shouts at me angrily instead. "Why are you playing dead? You made Serena cry because of your antics!" His voice is so loud that I feel as though my eardrums are going to burst anytime soon. Even my heart feels as though an invisible hand is gripping it tightly. My eyes roll to the back of my head instantly as my body crashes on the spot. Mamma flies into a rampage and almost beats Marco to death for scaring me. Having witnessed everything, Serena kicks up a fuss by attempting to commit suicide at the estate's clock tower just so she can apologize to me. In order to prove his love to Serena, my fiance, Luca Moretti, drags me forcibly to the top of the clock tower so that Serena can do whatever she wants to me. The thing is, the winds are strong on the top of the clock tower. That's when I accidentally slip and topple over the railing. My parents, who are looking everywhere for me, happen to be around the clock tower when I crash onto the spot near them. This time, my bruised and broken body is completely drenched in blood. Shell-shocked, they remain rooted to the spot as they stare at me in bewilderment. Then, they let out blood-curdling screams.

I died five years ago. Now my husband, the Don of our Mafia family, wants me to take the fall for his sister again—this time for accidentally killing a British noble's heir during an arms deal. He's holding a fake confession letter with my forged signature, storming into my old apartment in the rust district, only to find it empty. Frustrated, he grabs the corner store owner downstairs, demanding to know where I am. The owner pauses, wiping his hands on his apron, calmly tells him: "Serafine? She died five years ago." "Heard it was retaliation from a rival family during the gang war. They ambushed her in an alley... shot her over a dozen times. She died immediately." My husband, Lucien, refuses to believe it. Convinced the owner is on my payroll, hiding me to help me escape his reach. He scoffs, his eyes filled with scorn: "Oh, so what? Because I called her out for messing up that last job, now she's throwing a tantrum?" "You tell her, if she doesn't come back and take the fall in three days, I'll revoke her grandmother's 'special family protection'! Let the old woman rot!" With that, he storms out, his rage still simmering. The owner watches him leave and sighs, shaking his head. "There's no grandmother left to protect... That woman passed away not long after Serafine did... couldn't survive the winter without our family's medical supplies and protection..."

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed inside and told the officer on duty that the killings weren't random—that the murderer was coming for me. They looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then my husband arrived in a hurry and took me away. But the moment we reached our front door, a heavy hammer smashed into the back of my head. Through the blinding pain, I forced my eyes open, but I never saw who killed me. Now, staring at the grave expression on the news anchor's face, agony surged through every inch of my body. Rebirth isn't a reset. The damage accumulates—and sooner or later, it will torture me to death. Without hesitation, I walked into the kitchen and set a pot of oil to heat. And I waited… for the moment the lock began to turn.