Blue Eyed Souls, Act 2
The world narrows to the weight in my arms and the frantic pounding of my heart.
With every step, I quell the screams threatening to erupt from my body, drained from everything.
The demonic possession.
The brush with [Death].
The mess I've made of my own pressure points.
None of it matters as I reach the warehouse's doors. Alyona's head lolls against my shoulder, and I cradle her closer to my chest, her blond hair brushing against my chin.
I fiddle with the locks, the chaos around me rising.
"—should be going to a hospital, this is insane—!"
"Modern medicine cannot treat a wound of the soul—"
"Her body temperature's rapidly dropping—"
"SHUT UP!"
The command tears from my raw throat, swallowing their chatter.
"..."
I shove the hideout door open with my shoulder, the groan of metal welcome over the sudden silence.
Fumiko and Dawn move ahead, carrying Madoka between them, her form terrifyingly still. I lag behind with Alyona, looking past the hovering Renka and meeting Sukemori's lilac eyes, so similar to—
"Sukemori. Triage."
She lays down Warumachi onto our ratty couch. "... Clear the central table. We need a stable, flat surface. Pillows for their heads. Quickly."
In moments, Alyona and Madoka are laid side-by-side on our meeting table, pillows under their heads.
The difference is a knife in my gut. Alyona's chest rises and falls in shallow, but steady, breaths. Madoka's… doesn't.
... thump... .... thump...
She's pale. Cold to the touch. I can barely feel a pulse.
Fumiko rounds on Renka, her hands clenched into fists. "You said no hospital. So what do we do? How do we save them?!"
"... yeah." I join her. "Spit it out."
"Segaki," replies a voice that is distinctly not Renka's, but male and low.
We all turn. Warumachi slides off the couch, landing on his feet with a stumble.
"..."
"..."
I meet his eyes. I cannot see his demon, nor can I hear mine. Whatever happens next is of our own accords.
He walks right up to me, fangs glinting under the flashlights. I brace for a kick, a headbutt, anything. Revenge for trying to kill him.
Instead, he just... nods at me.
"Segaki," he repeats, his gaze serious even as he slurs through these massive teeth. "Fushihara. Is [Jikininki]. Ceremony. Appease him. Will work."
Even after all this, my first thought is to fight him, and his first thought is to help my friend. What a disgusting person I am.
"With only a glimpse at his descent, you managed to..." Renka shakes her head, frantic. "You are correct, in principle. However, you were still unconscious for the crucial details. He is not a mere [Jikininki]. He is one possessed by a [Shinigami]. A simple Segaki ceremony will be but a single candle to warm them through the long winter night."
She turns to me.
"Until now, I have been managing Alyona's condition with a Three Pure Ones Talisman, which dissipates negative energy. [Fushihara]'s appearance overwhelmed it, and while I can secure another with help, I must first employ Acupuncture and Moxibustion to repel the pathogenic Qi already built up in her system."
"... what about Madoka?" You didn't mention her at all.
Renka flinches, unable to meet my eyes.
"For her... it may already be..."
"Don't you dare...!"
"Momofuu-ki..." she pleads, and I force myself to let go of her, if only to clutch Madoka's hand again.
"The energy has taken root too deeply. Her spirit is..."
"Segaki," Warumachi insists, pointing his nose at Madoka. "[Fushihara]. Wants her. Next meal. Appease him." His scarred finger shifts to Alyona. "Then... you treat. Like her."
"If a [Yokai] of [Fushihara]'s caliber truly wished to devour her spirit, she would be gone already, and we would have no say in the matter. The fact that she still lingers... it suggests his purpose is beyond our mortal minds."
"The [Necessity of Death]," Dawn recites. "No want. No need. All of his food comes to him eventually."
"That's bullshit and you both know it!" Fumiko snaps, gesturing wildly at Madoka's still form. "Did you see the way that thing looked at her? He was about to pounce before Momo stopped him."
"... No," I say, drawing her gaze. "He didn't care about Madoka. He cared about [Kukurihime]. They knew each other somehow. "
"... even if you three are correct, a Segaki is not something one performs at a moment's notice. They are scheduled, solemn rites conducted by local shrines only two times a year."
"... that... can be arranged..."
My head whips around.
"Alyona...!"
I'm there in an instant, sliding an arm behind her back to help her sit up. Renka is on her other side, pressing a hand to her forehead, muttering about spiritual stability. Sukemori produces a bottle of water from her seemingly bottomless apron and offers it with a look of deep concern.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Alyona mutters, trying to wave us off, but she's too weak to put up a real fight. She takes the water and drinks greedily, some color returning to her pale cheeks.
"As you all know," she begins, her voice gaining strength. "Or most of you, anyway," she mutters, spotting Warumachi. "After receiving my mark, I did not sit idly by. I had Renka help me halt its influence, and I had the entire Occult Club researching it for me. Their findings led to Enkou-ji Temple, in the western district. Everything suggests it was the same place where the historical [Fushihara] trained as a monk.
A flicker of old anger surfaces in her eyes.
"They denied me entry, of course. Dismissed me as a clueless foreigner dabbling in things I couldn't understand. And I knew better than to use force against the higher power I sought help from. But now? With the jewel of the Onguuchi clan dying at their doorstep? They will have no choice but to listen."
I hate the way she puts it. Like we're saving Onguuchi instead of Madoka.
But what other choice do I have? I can't waste time going through every temple in the city and hoping they're nicer!
Alyona pulls out her phone. "I'll have Ilya bring the car around."
"No. We don't have time to wait for a limo." Nor can we risk getting caught in traffic. "Fumiko, get the bikes ready!"
"Got it."
Dawn is already at my elbow, holding out a tablet with a map pulled up, and a route to the Enkou-ji Temple highlighted in glowing red. I scan it once, committing the twists and turns to memory.
"Good work. Help Fumiko with the bikes and show her the route too."
As she stalks away, I turn to the rest.
"Any of you can drive?"
Renka shakes her head. Warumachi gives me a pointed, armless shrug.
"I am licensed, Boss," Sukemori says, reliable as always.
"... I can drive in a pinch."
I take one look at Alyona, pale, sweating, leaning on the table for support.
"Hell no. You're a passenger."
She grumbles, but doesn't protest. Soon, the rumble of engines fills the hideout.
Out in the main space, Fumiko has her personal ride fired up, a beast of black and chrome Next to it are two kaizousha we pilfered from a bosozuku gang that thought they could run drugs on our turf. Hopefully they're as fast as they're loud and ugly.
"Fumiko! You're taking Madoka and Renka. Renka, you ride behind Madoka. Don't let her fall."
Fumiko gives a sharp nod, her face grim as she and Renka carefully lift Madoka's limp form.
I turn to Warumachi. My jaw tightens. I won't question if he wants to help anymore. Honestly, the only one in question here is me.
He meets my gaze, fanged mouth settling in a grim line.
"Bad blood. Later. Save girl. Now."
The fire roars back to life in my chest. "Fine. Sukemori, you're with him."
"Understood, Boss."
Finally, I walk over to Alyona, sliding an arm around her waist and ignoring her faint protest. She's shaking on her feet, leaning into me more than she'd probably ever admit. I guide her to the last bike and help her swing a leg over to sit behind me.
"... no helmet?" she whines, her hands tentatively finding my sides.
"Dawn! Open the gates!" I roar, choosing not to answer. Yeah, it was stupid to throw them away because they were tacky.
The heavy metal doors begin to grind open, flooding the hideout with the late afternoon sun.
For one single moment, my eyes dart to the side. A stupid, desperate, traitorous part of me expects her to be there, wide awake and grinning at me, telling me to lighten up. But all I see is her face, scrunched up in silent pain even in unconsciousness.
I force myself to look back at Dawn.
"Once we're gone, you contact the council. Tell them about Madoka. Meet us at the temple if you can."
She nods sharply. Fumiko's bike roars out into the night, Renka clinging to Madoka's back. A second later, Sukemori follows, Warumachi a large, silent shadow behind her.
As I figure out how to gun this thing, Alyona's voice cuts through the engine's growl.
"... wait... have you ever driven before?"
I frown, gripping the handles. "I've watched Fumiko do it a thousand times. How hard can it be?"
"That was a yes or no questi—ONNNNN!"
Her sentence dissolves into a full-throated scream as I twist the throttle and we lurch forward, shooting out of the hideout and into the streets.
The wind screams in my ears, a cold slap that does nothing to cool the frantic heat under my skin. I lean forward, pushing my bike as hard as it will go to keep up with the twin red taillights of Fumiko and Sukemori. Alyona's arms are a vise around my waist, her body pressed flush against my back.
"You insane, lawless, barbaric—GYAH!"
Her latest insult cuts off in a yelp as we hit a pothole, jolting violently.
I yelp too. "Watch the hands!"
"Watch your hands!" she shrieks in my ear, grip scrambling back down. "Or else you'll kill me before [Fushihara] gets the chance! Why did I ever give myself up to this deathtrap?!"
This again? "You think you could handle the bars in your condition? You can barely stand!"
She goes quiet for a second, forced to concede. "I... I could have gone with Sukemori. She, at least, seems competent."
"I couldn't risk riding with Warumachi," I shoot back, swerving around a slow-moving truck. "And her bike wouldn't handle you and him. Fumiko's is the only one built for it."
That shifts her focus. I feel it in the way she tenses behind me. "Warumachi... what really happened back there, in the sewers? You never answered me."
My grip on the handlebars tightens until my knuckles are white. We burst out of the relative quiet of Fujiwara and into the neon-drenched, bustling streets of Kageoka proper. Cars everywhere. Lights everywhere. No room for error.
"Momo?"
"Busy," I mutter, slicing between two sedans.
"You are avoiding the question. It's unbecoming of you."
"... since when do you know what is and isn't becoming of me?"
"Ever since you started forcing us to spend an inordinate amount of time together."
I nearly swerve into a lamppost. "W-What the hell are you talking about?!"
"The initial cleanup duty as my punishment."
"Payback! Plain and simple!"
"Then the second cleanup duty, when you offered a favor to keep me around."
"That... that was on principle, dammit! You start a job, you finish it!"
"Finally, putting me on your team in the [Bleeding Zone]. Madoka and Sola are long-ranged combatants. They needed [Simply Red] instead of [Brute Cannon]."
"And I needed to see how you did as an ally! I've fought with all of them before, but never you, Renka, or Sukemori! I-It was a tactical decision!"
Even as the words leave my mouth, they sound weak and pathetic, a series of flimsy excuses strung together. The truth is a hot, uncomfortable knot in my stomach. I have been finding reasons. Creating situations.
The silence from behind me is heavy, expectant.
I grit my teeth. "Fine! Yes! Maybe I've been trying to... spend time with you."
"..."
"..."
Finally, her voice comes, quiet but clear, right by my ear.
"Why?"
"... to get to know you. That's all," I tell myself more than her, and thankfully, it's the truth this time. "When I crush another faction, I usually absorb them into my crew to make sure they don't cause any more trouble. You get to know a person real fast that way. But our fight... it wasn't like that. It wasn't on the streets. I was already intruding on council business, and I had no interest in poking at a club afterward."
Besides, her club got shut down anyway, so there was no point.
"Hmph. If you are so intent on conquest, I am sure my father's men would present a far greater challenge. Unless you intend to back on your words from that day."
I can't help the snort that escapes me. "Of course not. But that'd be between me and your dad leading them. By now, I know they won't be messing around under your orders. You're... just a normal girl now. One with way too much money, absolutely zero common sense, and magic powers... but still. You get the point."
Actually, there is no point at all. I shot myself in the foot by adding all that stuff.
"Zero common sense... look who's talking..."
There's no bite to it. No taunt. If anything, she sounds... touched? Weird.
"Hey... you've managed to change the subject again. What is up with you and Warumachi—"
WEE-oo! WEE-oo!
Alyona goes rigid behind me.
"Tch. Looks like I've skipped one too many red lights."
"Oh, no. No, no, no..." She doesn't hear my quip. Her head whips around for a split second before she buries her face firmly between my shoulder blades, her voice muffled by my jacket. "Hurry up! If they stop us and check our documents... I could be deported!"
WEE-oo! WEE-oo! WEE-oo! WEE-oo!
I twist the throttle, the engine screaming in protest as we surge forward, finally closing the gap with Fumiko and Sukemori.
"Cops!" I yell over the wind, gesturing wildly with my head. "Split up! We'll meet at the temple!"
Fumiko gives a sharp nod and peels off down a side street. Sukemori follows a moment later, taking another route. The single police car hesitates, its siren warbling in confusion, before deciding to stay on me.
Fine. I can handle this.
WEE-oo! WEE-oo! WEE-oo! WEE-oo! WEE-oo! WEE-oo!
The wide, neon-lit avenues vanish, replaced by narrow streets of old wood and paper lanterns. Meiji-era buildings press in on both sides. Kageoka's Traditional Arts District is a hazard course of slow-moving tourists, street performers juggling flaming torches, and carts selling steaming street food.
I weave through the chaos, the siren growing more and more distant as their larger vehicle has to slow down. Alyona stays glued to my back, face hidden, grip tight. For the first time since we left the hideout, a smile touches my lips. I can't help it. I see why street racers live for this stuff!
... WEE-oo! ...WEE-oo! ... Weee...
The police siren is a distant mosquito whine, then it's gone entirely, swallowed by the thick silence of the forest at the foot of Mt. Musan.
We're free.
The adrenaline is a drug, pure and sweet. A wild, breathless laugh bursts out of me. From behind, I hear an answering one, a high, clear, if slightly unhinged giggle from Alyona.
Two maniacs howl into the rushing wind, blurring past pine trees and old stone lanterns. A pair of elderly pilgrims in traditional garb stare at us, mouths agape, as we rocket past the torii gate marking the entrance to Kageoka's shrine network.
"S-Slow down, you fool!" she gasps, failing to hold her mirth. "Before one of the monks alerts the police again for the noise!"
The bike wobbles a fraction beneath us.
"Uhh... how? I didn't need to brake until now, and it is my first ride..."
Her shriek is immensely satisfying. "YOU—?!"
I slam my foot down on the brake, bringing us to a jerking halt. The engine sputters and dies.
I swing my leg off the bike, snickering.
Alyona glares daggers at me, her face flushed. I offer her a hand, which she pointedly ignores, but her legs buckle when she tries to step off on her own. I'm there in an instant, catching her, draping her arm over my shoulders while I drag the bike with my other hand.
The air up here is cold and thin, sharp with the scent of pine and old wood. But there's another smell, too.
Ack...! Absolutely repulsive! I see these limp-wristed monks haven't bettered their tastes even after hundreds of years.
The faint fragrance of incense from the nearby temples leaves [Aramasa] choking on sanctified air. Her disgust physically leaks over to me, but I don't mind as long as she's pissed off.
As we walk, Alyona's head tilts. "Have you been running a fever this entire time? You're... unusually warm."
"You're just cold."
"I am perfectly acclimated. It is you who is radiating heat like a furnace."
Oh. Right. "... after-effects. I messed with my acupoints too much."
She considers this for a moment. "Oh. Renka showed something similar to me before, but only in the realm of theory... could you do that to me? That strengthening?"
I glance over at her slender frame and can't help the answer that slips out. "You'd probably finish keeling over for good."
She huffs but doesn't argue. Up ahead, through a final stand of trees, we spot it. Enkou-ji Temple, its curved roofs dark against the starry sky. And parked neatly nearby are Fumiko's and Sukemori's bikes.
Alyona lets out a weary groan. "We are the last to arrive. As expected, given the quality of my driver."
I roll my eyes, hefting the bike onto its kickstand. "That wasn't me. It's cuz we didn't have time to change out of our damn uniforms."
I take a moment to look down and inspect the damage. Tears on my shoulder and armpit, and the latter has let the filth from the sewers dry over my skin and dirty my bra. Guh. I don't know if we look like a couple of truants or hobos who stole from the actual schoolgirls.
The final steps towards the temple gate are like wading through tar. My body shudders on instinct that isn't my own. [Aramasa] hisses and spits in the depths of my soul, yet I persevere, barreling through the sacred ground with Alyona.
A monk in simple grey robes stands waiting at the gate. He bows, his movements serene. "Welcome. I am Jogen."
We reciprocate the gesture.
"Momofuku Chikata."
"Alyona Rodionova."
He nods. "Your companions await you inside with our head priest."
But when I try to step forward, Jogen moves with surprising speed, placing himself squarely in my path.
"My apologies," he says. "But my invitation was solely towards Rodionova-san. You must not enter."
My blood runs hot, a mix of my own anger and the demon's outrage. After everything, I'm being turned away at the door? I can't see Madoka? What the hell are they hiding from me?
As I swallow a snarl, his eyes only narrow in confirmation.
"The evil festering within you... it would poison the sanctity of this place. You would disturb the ritual."
Before I can show him a real disturbance, heavy footsteps sound on the stone steps behind the monk. Warumachi walks down, his presence causing Jogen to immediately step aside and bow deeply.
"Warumachi-dono."
The fanged man nods, gaze locked on me. He jerks his head towards a path leading away from the temple, into the darker, untended part of the mountain.
"Come. Stop [Aramasa], together."
Alyona's hand on my arm makes me jump. Her blue eyes are wide, searching my face. "Is this... is this what you were avoiding?"
"Yeah," I admit, the word gravel in my throat. "There's an [Oni] inside me. Or... maybe it's been in my blood all along, and the [Idea World] gave it a voice."
I recall the searing light of Warumachi's attack. How it not only scoured [Aramasa]'s influence away, but also left me hollow and weak. As if...
"Our intentions are overlapping. My [Violence] leads to hers, and I don't know how longer I can..."
I look away, shame burning my cheeks.
"It might be a while before I can really fight alongside you all again. That's why I didn't want to say it."
What a pathetic display. You may swallow your words for as long as you wish, but you cannot do the same for what's already deep within you. I will ALWAYS be here to remind you of what you are.
SMACK
My head snaps to the side, the shock more potent than the pain.
"You are so unbelievably stupid!" Alyona hisses. "What do you call the past hour if not fighting alongside us?"
"It's different!" I protest, my cheek burning. "I won't be able to fight in the [Idea World], not with her whispering in my ear! I'll be a liability!"
"Idiot!" she fires back, her eyes blazing. "If you're going to take the words of every wicked [Yokai] at face value, then you should have stayed in that hideout and waited for the [Necessity of Death] to take us! The person standing in front of me now... the one who defeated me in the past... and the one I will have to suffer through classes with tomorrow... is Momofuku Chikata. Not some demon. Not a vessel."
Past the fear and the doubt, her words reach something solid and unshakeable deep inside. Something not even that demon can corrupt.
Right. My only mistake was listening to [Aramasa] at all. Getting caught in her rhythm and thinking my only way out was to fight the same battle as her.
But [Aramasa] would never be fighting against another's [Death]. She would never have bled for the sake of others at Fujiwara Ward. This [Violence], this rage, and this clumsy lump of gratitude caught in my throat... they're mine and only mine.
"Alyona, I..."
"Don't," she cuts me off, a faint flush covering her cheeks. She turns away, shooing me with a hand. "Go. Don't waste any more of our time. We have a ritual to prepare for."
She lets Jogen guide her through the temple gate without a backward glance. I stand there for a moment longer, the sting on my cheek a weirdly comforting anchor. Then, I turn and follow Warumachi back into the stone road.
[Blue Eyed Souls]
The first thing Madoka Onguuchi becomes aware of is the drums.
Loud, incessant, rapid beatings that torment her senses, drowning out everything else. It is so overwhelming she cannot even hear her own heartbeat. A cold shiver, deep and penetrating, runs down her spine and spreads through her limbs, coaxing her back to consciousness.
She stirs, eyelids fluttering open.
Her head is pillowed on something firm, yet soft. As her vision adjusts to the gloom, she realizes she'd been lying with her head in the lap of her other self.
They're adrift in a featureless, dark void. [Kukurihime] looks down at her with her serene smile. Her lips move, and though the thunderous drums should steal the sound, Madoka hears the words clearly, spoken directly into her soul.
"I am glad you are awake. It is good for you to be present for this."
Madoka's mind is still a tangled mess of fractured memories. The searing pain of the death mark, the cold void of Fushihara's eyes, the terrifying stillness that had followed. Her first coherent thought was a question she was too afraid to voice.
Are we dead?
"Where are we?" she whispers instead, her own voice sounding thin and distant.
"We are at the Enkou-ji temple," Kukurihime answers.
More figures materialize in the void. To the east and west, rows of Buddhist monks stand, their forms shimmering as they swing instruments Madoka can't quite recognize through the haze. Then, closer, another figure kneels into existence beside her. Alyona Rodionova, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed in deep, pained concentration.
"We are about to die," Kukurihime states, her tone as placid as if she were commenting on the weather. "But it is nothing to be worried about. [Death] is not the end."
The statement should be terrifying, but delivered with such otherworldly calm, it barely registers as a shock.
Madoka's vision sharpens, piercing further into the darkness. She can now see the drummer in the distance, his robes soaked with sweat as he beats the frantic, driving rhythm. A file of monks processes behind him, each carrying a different instrument. A cymbal, a wooden clapper, a bell. Their movements are a slow, deliberate counterpoint.
Recognition lights in her eyes. A ceremony her parents attended with her. A ritual to appease hungry spirits.
Kukurihime nods. "Yes. A Segaki is typically performed to protect the bodies of those already departed. And yes, the next one should not be until July, which would imply much time has passed." The goddess leaned closer, her voice a gentle secret in the cacophony.
"And yet, none of these little inconsistencies tend to matter in a [Dream]."
The word unlocks something. Madoka's head whips around, searching for the dreamer. Her gaze lands on Renka, several feet away. The girl with the ash-white hair meets her eyes, her single visible one crinkling in a silent greeting.
"Renka-chan! Is everyone else safe?" Madoka calls out, her voice still swallowed by the drums.
Renka's lips move in reply, but no sound reaches Madoka. Recognizing the barrier between them, the mystic simply nods. A moment later, Parfaite Sukemori shimmers into view beside Renka, and the two begin a silent conversation of their own.
Still, that single gesture does its job. The tight knot of fear in Madoka's chest loosens slightly. Everyone else seems to be safe.
Except for her.
Her best friend, the sukeban who speaks of honorable death with brutal, unflinching acceptance... if she were in Madoka's place, she would probably find satisfaction in this. Her life traded for the safety of her gang, her turf. A warrior's end.
But that thought does not settle firmly with the dying girl.
Because as much as she is [Kukurihime], an [Awakened] fighter in a secret war, she is also Madoka. A high school girl. She wants to keep going to school. She wants to keep gossiping with her friends, trying out new makeup, and dragging a scowling Momo into her latest schemes. She wants to keep living.
"Why am I the only one here?"
The drumming stops, and the sudden silence is far more deafening. Yet it only lasts for a few heartbeats.
A single, pure chime from a bell cuts through the void, its resonance lingering in the air. As its last echo fades, a thunderous crash from a cymbal takes its place, the sound waves rippling through the darkness. And when that fades, the sharp, dry clack of wooden clappers begin their rhythm. Again, and again.
The procession of monks continues their slow, inexorable march towards her.
[Kukurihime] looks down, her expression softening with a timeless pity. "To understand that," she says, her voice a gentle anchor in the shifting symphony of ritual sounds, "I must tell you a story."
Long ago, a boy was born in the squalor of what would one day be known as Fujiwara Ward. He was intelligent, perhaps too much for his own good, and his mind was a constant, whirring engine. He overthought everything, especially what to say to other people, agonizing over every possible interpretation and misunderstanding. To those around him, this made him a person of few words at best, and standoffish or boorish at worst.
With little attachment to friends or even his own family, he found himself living on the outskirts of the city as soon as he reached adulthood, a quiet and solitary figure. It was there that the monks of a local temple found him. They mistook his silence for piousness, his isolation for spiritual seeking, and took him in.
The intelligent young man, now fully aware of how he could be perceived, knew how to play his part. He took to temple life with methodical diligence. He studied the scriptures, learned the rituals, and performed his duties with full, unwavering effort. He became a model novice, and later, a respected priest in a neighboring village.
However, this was his greatest flaw as a monk, and the seed of his damnation. For him, the temple was not a calling; it was a job. A role that finally allowed him to fit into a slot in society, to gain the donations, respect, and social status he had never known before.
He became overly attached to his role, to the alms provided by the people, to the position he had carved for himself. Thus, when he died, these overt, worldly attachments anchored his corrupt soul to the earth. He could not pass on. His spirit, twisted by its own earthly hunger, clung to his dead body, leaving him trapped between worlds.
He became a [Jikininki], a corpse-eating demon. And his name would later be known as [Fushihara].
Even as a [Yokai], his greatest strength, and his ultimate curse, remained his rationality. He retreated into seclusion within his mountain village, fighting a daily, grueling battle against his new, horrific urges. On the surface, he maintained his role as a priest, though his robes began to cover every inch of his body, and a heavy veil obscured his face from the world. Occasionally, a body delivered to his temple for funeral rites would be reported as misplaced, but such things could always be blamed on the mistakes of novice monks.
This fragile, false existence could not last. One day, a terrible plague swept through the region. The local lord, fearing the infection would spread, made a brutal calculation. He sealed the borders of the infected villages, condemning the few to save the many. As people perished in droves and quarantines turned settlements into charnel houses, the priest dove into his work with a desperate fervor, using the endless rituals to distract himself from the sweet, rotting scent that now permeated the very air.
His temple became the last sanctuary, until it, too, fell. Soon, he was the only one left standing. An [Undead] kneeling in a temple filled with the piled corpses of the very congregation he had failed to save.
With no one to see him playing his role, he gave in.
Day after day, he would gorge himself until he was full, then spend the rest of his time in numbing silence. As he found himself trapped in a cycle of insatiable hunger and bottomless self-loathing, a genuine prayer finally left his lips. It was not a prayer for forgiveness, but for salvation. For an end. For anything that could free him from this hell.
A [Shinigami] answered.
The specifics of their pact are lost to time, but the result was a terrible evolution. He was no longer a mere [Jikininki]. Empowered and bound to this new authority, he eventually found his way into the service of the great yokai lord, [Nurarihyon]. Once again, he was at peace with his role as a priest. This time, however, his parish was the dead of the [Spirit World], and his tribute was paid with the freshly deceased.
"What follows is merely conjecture on my part," Kukurihime says to a wide-eyed Madoka. "I believe the [Shinigami] offered him insight over [Death]. The ability to perceive the exact, pre-ordained moment of a person's passing. He could target those whose time was already nigh, and ensure that only those who must die, would die. However, such a union could never be so perfect. A [Jikininki]'s curse is a spiritual sickness that must be exorcised, not enabled. After centuries of gorging himself under this new justification, [Fushihara]'s hunger and power over [Death] have only grown. The [Death Marks] are purely subconscious on his part, a manifestation of his desire for more fresh meat. The [Necessity of Death] is his rational excuse, the same logic his local lord used to condemn his village. He tells himself the few must die for the many. But in reality..."
"Many will die for one," Madoka concludes, the pieces clicking into a dreadful puzzle. "So, we're here because you know each other... and deep know, he knows you would make for a good meal. But... why, Kuki-chan? Why didn't you tell me before? Why didn't you tell the council?"
[Kukurihime] bows her head. "I am sorry. I did not know. In his mortal life, he went by a different name. I only knew the demon [Fushihara] as one of [Nurarihyon]'s legion. It took seeing him, and hearing about the [Necessity of Death], for me to connect him to the boy I once knew."
As Madoka silently absorbs all the revelations, the spectral procession finally reaches them. The monks form a circle around her and the kneeling Alyona, their chanting rising in a unified, resonant drone that vibrates through the very fabric of the [Dream].
[Kukurihime] sighs. "I have taken too long. We do not have much time."
Madoka clings to her earlier words. "You said I should be awake for this, right? What am I supposed to do in this [Dream]?"
"The Segaki ritual is a beacon," Kukurihime explains urgently. "It will reach [Fushihara], but it will also call to every hungry ghost in the vicinity, and if the offerings aren't enough for all of them, we may still perish. Renka is already strained to her limits maintaining this space. The monks cannot control who answers their call. No one else here possesses the spiritual sensitivity to intervene... except for you. It is time, Madoka. Time for you to inherit my true power. Not just the strength to fight in the [Idea World], but the authority to act within all three worlds."
"..."
The girl swallows thickly. While no words are spoken between them, her [Idolon] can sense her acceptance, her desire to live.
She is ready. And if she is not, she will be.
Under guided instructions, Madoka moves, her form phasing through the chanting monks as if they were mist. Her fingers, alight with a brilliant amethyst glow, trace intricate, shimmering circles onto the featureless floor of the void. Each sigil flares to life, attempting to form a protective barrier around the ritual's heart.
And yet, as [Kukurihime] feared, they are too late.
Drawn by the potent energy of the ceremony, shapeless, wailing forms began to coalesce from the darkness. Some recoil from Madoka's incomplete barrier. But many, driven by a primal, starved desperation, slip through the gaps.
The tide of spectral misery surges forward, their target clear: the spiritual offerings at the center of the ritual, meant to appease [Fushihara].
Another barrier enters the path. This one, however, is fully human.
"Madoka, no!"
The girl does not heed her [Idolon]. She throws herself in front of the onslaught, placing her own spiritual body between the ghosts and their intended feast.
The impact was silent and brutal. Claws of pure negative energy tear into her very soul. A groan of agony is ripped from her lips as parts of her spiritual energy are shredded and consumed.
Madoka understands three things in quick succession.
First, pain. She has suffered few physical wounds in her life, and yet, she instantly knows this cold, hollowing agony is far deeper than anything the human world can throw at her.
Then, resolve. She affirms to herself this is the only way. If [Fushihara] cannot consume his offerings, what awaits her is not pain, but unavoidable [Death].
Finally, as the hungry ghosts that had latched onto her begin to shriek, she knows her desperate gamble has paid off.
Gasping, her form flickering weakly, Madoka looks up.
[Fushihara] stands over her. The hungry ghosts are simply gone, obliterated by his presence, similarly to the chain reaction back in the sewer.
The monk places his skeletal hands together in a gesture of prayer, offering silent thanks for the meal laid before him. He reaches for a pear, mouth open. Yet, he does not bite. The concentrated spiritual energy of the monks' chants simply flows from the fruit to his throat.
He moves through the entire ritual banquet in the same manner, a silent, efficient consumer.
With each offering he absorbed, Madoka, who has collapsed back into [Kukurihime]'s lap, suffers a corresponding shift. Her spiritual form flickers even more rapidly, but the hollowing cold is replaced by a warm, steadying strength.
The [Dream] thins around her, the pull of her physical body growing stronger.
She is going to wake up.
However, she doesn't want to leave yet.
"[Fushihara]!" she calls out, her voice echoing in the fading void. She needs to try to talk to him. To tell him [Kukurihime]'s theory. To show him the error of his ways.
But the [Jikininki] is already gone, his form dissipating into smoke and ash. Only his parting words remain, hanging in the air with the final, fading chime of the bell.
"We will meet again."
[Blue Eyed Souls]
The world explodes in a burst of white pain as a kick connects with my chin. My teeth rattle, and for a second, everything is a spinning, nauseating blur. I'm flying backward, the ground a chaotic mess beneath me, a tree trunk rushing up to meet my spine.
I halt. He doesn't. My opponent charges, his body a blur of motion, another leg already swinging for my head. Every instinct I've ever honed screams at me to meet it head-on. Duck under, drive my fist up into his ribs, and break something. Make him hurt.
Blind, gullible child! This is no training! This is his vengeance, drawn out and torturous, and you are too weak-willed to see it!
No.
As Warumachi's heel descends, my forearm smacks against his shin, deflecting the force. In the same motion, my will is a blade, slicing through the smoky tendrils of [Aramasa]'s will.
Then, I strike back. Sharp, precise jabs, not only at his center of mass, but at her bloated, arrogant presence in my mind.
He grunts and steps back, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. She recoils, then lunges, trying to drag me back into the red haze.
It's working. I'm close to completing it.
In this split second of space, I block out everything. Warumachi. [Aramasa]. The forest. Even myself.
Discard...
Search..
... the empty, quiet center that Alyona's words unlocked. The [Uncarved Block], that which the demon can't cling to because it has no form.
The essence of Momofuku Chikata—!
"Guh!"
All the air leaves my body in a choked gasp. Before I can even double over, a shoulder slams into my chest, driving me backward. My feet tangle, and the world tilts. I hit the dirt hard, his knee having stolen what little breath I had left from my lungs, then replacing it with the taste of pine needles and failure.
"Good! Closer... this time!" An annoyingly cheerful voice rings out as I push myself onto my hands and knees, spitting out a mouthful of dirt.
"That's the third time you've said that," I growl, back on my feet again.
He shrugs. "Not less true."
He mocks you. He enjoys your suffering. Stop holding back. Show him true suffering.
I ignore her. There's no time to breathe. Warumachi is already coming at me again, his stance low and solid.
That's the point, he'd explained. No breaks. No moments of peace.
[Aramasa] can't be killed. She's not some boasting [Oni]. She's an ancient [Yokai] that has fused with the Idea of [Violence]. An exorcism might dim her rage for a while, but it would take my own fighting spirit with it, leaving me a hollowed-out husk. If I want to keep my strength... I can't fight as I did.
I have to face not only my opponent, but her... and also myself.
So now, as his foot comes at my face, I breathe.
The first step is always the hardest one.
I focus on the chaotic energy inside me, a tangled mess of my own life force and the demon's.
Separate them. Cycle them. Then I can block.
My Qi, I force through the acupoint associated with [Metal].
[Aramasa]'s seething power goes through [Fire], roaring through my body.
Warumachi's sweeping kick misses me by the next breath.
[Metal] cleaves [Earth], sharpening itself.
[Fire] feeds on [Wood], growing ever hotter.
The heat is building inside me, a furnace of my own doing. Sweat pours down my temples. I can't dodge. I block a knee to my ribs, the impact jarring, and counter with a short, sharp jab to his shoulder.
"Hahh..."
The two warring streams of energy, my sharp [Metal] and her consuming [Fire], crash together at the acupoint governing [Water], deep in my core.
It's agonizing. [Fire] beats [Metal]. It should melt me down, leave me pliable and weak. But [Water] hisses and steams, quenching the [Fire], cooling the [Metal], tempering it in the chaotic clash.
My blood boils. My vision blurs at the edges, swimming with heat haze. Every breath is a gasp of steam.
I plant my feet, my body screaming in protest, and get ready for the next blow.
The second step. Withstand the heat. Don't break. Let it burn away the weakness. Let it make me stronger.
No. Withstanding isn't enough!
It's a defensive move, a stall. I was never a defensive fighter. No real opponent is going to let me stand there and do breathing exercises.
I trade blows with Warumachi, my limbs like lead weights. But I cannot stop. I have to fight while I cultivate until it's second nature.
I push forward, ignoring the fire in my veins and throwing a haymaker that holds everything I have left.
Warumachi sidesteps effortlessly. I don't even see his counter. His foot connects with the back of my head, and the world turns into a blinding flash of white.
"Hahn..."
My body goes limp, crashing face-first into the dirt. I lie there, trembling, a low moan escaping my lips as the world swims back into a nauseating focus.
I couldn't even make it to the third step this time.
Another attempt, another failure. I can sense my rage simmering into disappointment. Can my vessel not accomplish even this much—
"Again," I rasp. I can't go back to the temple until I complete all three without collapsing.
Warumachi doesn't hesitate, and I fall back into the hellish rhythm. Breathe. Cycle. [Metal]. [Fire].
A block. A counter.
[Fire] feeds on [Wood]. [Metal] grinds on [Earth].
I'm doing it. I'm holding the line. I know what he'll do next, feint with a stomp and send a flying knee. I can complete it before—
"Urk!"
Something bursts.
A hot, tearing sensation rips through my insides. The world darkens, and the forest fades to a dull grey. A high-pitched ringing fills my ears, drowning out all other sound.
Warumachi's foot meets my chest a second later.
There is no impact. I only know my feet aren't on the ground anymore, flying backward alongside my body before my back slams against a tree trunk. I slide down to the ground, unable to even cry out.
I'm dying. I'm going to die. I was too premature. The twin Qi didn't collide at the [Water] acupoint. [Fire] has melted [Metal], and [Earth] has smothered [Fire], leaving nothing but ash in my veins. The worst possible reaction.
"... an... et... up?"
Warumachi's lips are moving. He's saying something, his face unreadable. I can't hear him over the ringing, but he must be asking if I'm alright.
"..." I try to answer, but all that comes up is a hot, sticky, acrid taste on my tongue. I swallow blood and bile, then give a tiny, jerky nod.
I have to keep going.
I have to master this. Today.
I have to see everyone at the temple. I have to see her, to look her in the eye, to have her smile at me again and bask in her warmth.
"Ghh..."
I bite down on my uniform sleeve, drooling crimson onto the dark fabric as my other hand jabs frantically at the clogged, screaming acupoint in my chest.
I can fix this. I have to.
Don't try to start over. Keep yourself on step one.
A final jab sends the twin energies inside me in opposite directions. My [Metal] meets [Water], filtering the pollution.
The demonic [Fire] returns to the [Earth], igniting the ashes, becoming bubbling, molten lava.
I push myself to my feet, my body screaming. The world snaps back into sharp, painful focus.
Clever girl~! But tell me... can you handle what happens next?
I ignore her, beckoning my other opponent.
I know. The last element can only be [Wood]. To complete this step, I can't reforge my [Metal] in her [Fire].
"Hohh..."
Instead, the purified [Water] meets bubbling [Earth], extinguishing it. And from that balance, [Wood] grows. It grasps the nourishing [Earth], and gives me new life!
I move faster than I have all night, my fist connecting with Warumachi's chin, making him stagger to one knee.
I can end this. Pounce. Crush. Complete the third step without interference, and claim victory.
No. The heat in my body is comfortable, powerful, but I have not claimed victory over [Aramasa] yet. My will united with hers instead of overcoming it, building a tree to save my life and her vessel.
My feet root to the ground, arms held in a firm guard. I lock my body in place, fighting the urge to follow up, to give in to the demon's roar. My body trembles from the effort, sweat pouring down my face, but I hold. This alliance will not last. My [Metal] and her [Fire] are both meant to destroy [Wood].
The fanged man gets up, a new respect in his eyes.
Once again, we trade blows. Once again, I'm at the final step.
I drive an elbow into his ribs, crushing his defense and the demon's advance.
I dig. Deeper than the pain, deeper than the heat, deeper than the tangled mess of our fused energies. I search for that quiet, solid center. The incorruptible core. The [Uncarved Wood] of Momofuku Chikata.
Momofuku Chikata... wants to keep fighting.
It's not about protecting my friends from the [Death mark], or defending Fujiwara, or even the pure, electric thrill of trading blows with a powerful opponent like the one before me.
It's my way of life.
Without [Violence], I'd still be that mean-mugging kid getting pushed around in my own neighborhood. Without [Violence], the Fujiwara Senki would never exist. Without [Violence], I never would have known Itsuki, Dawn, Sukemori... Alyona. Without [Violence], I never would have earned their respect, their loyalty. Without [Violence], I might lose it all.
[Aramasa] was wrong. [Violence] wasn't in my blood from the beginning, and it doesn't have to stay with me until the end.
But I chose it. I honed it as my greatest talent and built my life around it. And the very idea of having to change that, to cut out such a fundamental part of myself to get rid of her, is what's been tearing me apart.
But is that so wrong?
Is it wrong to want to stay true to the person I've made myself into, instead of breaking myself to deny a demon who wants to wear my skin?
I blink. The fight continues. Block, parry, strike. My movements are cleaner now. Less desperate.
"Pretty good!" my opponent tells me, our legs clashing before stomping down on the dirt.
"You ain't so bad yourself, Warumachi!"
"I. Shalt-Zoi. You. Momofuu-ki. We. Finish this."
"Hah! You read my mind!" I shoot back, a real grin tugging at my split lip.
I've done it. Three steps without collapsing. I've completed the challenge, and can go to the temple.
But I still want my first win. And I can see in his eyes that he wants to win for real, too. No more holding back. No more lessons.
There are no more words. We lunge at each other, fists and feet flying. Pain registers as a distant echo, dulled by adrenaline and the resolve to see this through.
In this realm of pure, honest combat, a mutual respect passes between us, and [Aramasa]'s bloodlust is drowned out by the sound of my own heartbeat, the crunch of impact, and the shared, breathless understanding between two warriors.
It's just me and him.
My fist buries into his cheek with a sickening crunch. At the exact same moment, his knee drives up, slamming deep into my gut. Twin sprays of blood burst from our lips.
"Hahh... hah..."
"Hah... hahh..."
We sway back and forth in place, our heavy, ragged breaths the only sound. My vision swims, my stomach is a knot of white-hot agony, but I lock my knees. I will not fall. Not unless I'm falling on top of him to claim the victory.
He drops first.
And then I lose.
His leg lowers, the pressure in my gut vanishing. Without his knee holding me up, my own strength gives out. I collapse to my knees, the damp earth cool against my skin.
I look up at him, his torso covered in bruises, his toothy grin stained in pink.
"Thanks," I rasp, the word raw. It's all I need to say.
No, actually...
"But I'll kick your ass next time."
He raises his foot slightly, stopping right under my chin.
Huh? You still wanna go, punk?
"Good fight."
Ah. He's offering to help me up. But I'm already way too dirty without touching your bare foot. Sorry.
Using my own trembling legs, I push myself to my feet. I try to pat down my uniform, but it's a lost cause. It's more dirt than fabric now.
Together, we limp away from the clearing and back onto the stone steps of the Shrine Network, the sun an orange smear on the horizon, setting behind us.
Shalt-Zoi and I go our separate ways, me to the temple, and him... I don't know. Maybe he'll go fight another demon in another mountain. Maybe he's going home.
... whatever his destination, I wish him the best.
This time, when I pass under the torii gate, the scent of incense and the solemn atmosphere don't weigh down on me.
I haven't taken five steps into the main courtyard before a pair of monks spots me. Their serene expressions crumple, noses scrunching in unison at the overwhelming stench of filth, sweat, and blood.
"You cannot meet your companions in such a state!" one of them exclaims, horrified. "You will stain the sacred grounds!"
Before I can protest or even ask if everyone is alright, they're herding me away from the main buildings, though not unkindly. In seconds, I find myself deposited in a separate bathing area, kneeling on the smooth wooden floor with a wooden bucket and ladle placed in front of me.
I scoop the lukewarm water and pour it over my head, watching as the grime, sweat, and blood swirl together in a dark, ugly spiral down the drain. I scrub until my skin is raw and pink, until I can no longer see any evidence of the battle, of the filth, of my own weakness.
Finally clean, I climb into the deep, steaming tub.
"Oh..."
The heat seeps into my sore muscles, the tension unknotting, the bruises already less tender.
For a moment, I... breathe.
Madoka. Alyona. Are they okay? The monks would have said something if the ritual went wrong, right? They wouldn't have let me bathe in peace if someone had... if...
It doesn't matter. Even if they're fine, the need to see them, to see everyone, is a physical ache. It's like I've been gone for years.
I climb out of the tub after barely two minutes, the water sloshing as I pull the plug, watching the evidence of my struggle swirl away. I dry off quickly, skin tingling, hair frizzy, and pad over to the clean clothes left for me. A white kimono and hakama, alongside a dark red haori.
I try the kimono first.
... It's too loose. The sleeves are swallowing my hands.
I can't fight in this.
I leave it on the floor, tying the hakama securely at my waist. Then, I find a roll of sarashi and bind my chest, tightening until it's just a bit painful and surely won't slip under any circumstances. Finally, I shrug the dark red haori over my bare shoulders, but once again, it slips off one shoulder, since it's not the right size.
Jogan awaits me outside. He gives my attire a single, slow blink but says nothing, simply gesturing for me to follow. I trail him through the quiet, wooden halls, the scent of incense growing stronger with every step.
He slides open a door, and the low murmur of voices washes over me.
They're here.
Kneeling on cushions around a low table, they pick at the physical offerings of rice and fruit, the spiritual essence already drained away during the Segaki.
Sukemori, looking serene as ever. Renka, a small, knowing smile on her lips. Alyona, her posture perfect even in relaxation. And... and...
"Momo! You look so cool! Like a samurai!"
My feet move without an order. No, I must look like a mess. Half-dressed, wild-eyed, standing above them and trembling with I don't know what.
Relief? Joy? Lo—
Madoka grabs my arm. I can't resist as she pulls me into their circle.
I collapse between Alyona and her, and my arms wrap around them both, pulling them into a desperate embrace.
"H-Hey! You're crushing me here...!"
"It's okay. It's okay," Madoka soothes, her voice a gentle hum as she rubs comforting circles on my back. "We're both fine. See? All in one piece."
She pulls back enough for me to see her grin and sparkling eyes. "In fact, you should have seen me! Me and Kuki-chan were totally awesome. We saved the whole ritual!" She glances over at Renka. "With her help, of course."
"... yeah... yeah... you're awesome..."
I don't care about the details for now. I just hold on, burying my face between them, breathing in the fact that they're here and...
grwwwlll...
... the smell of the rice and fruit.
Madoka giggles, the sound vibrating through me alongside my traitorous stomach.
"Here, eat up. You look like you need it more than we do."
She pushes a small wooden bowl into my hands.
Reluctantly, I let them go and settle on my knees between them. I take the rice ball from the bowl and shove the whole thing into my mouth at once, chewing vigorously.
It lacks salt.
"Mmf," I grunt, turning to Renka. "You do the needle thing already?"
She nods. "Acupuncture and Moxibustion have been administered. The pathogenic Qi has been repelled for now."
Alyona shoots me a look, her composure mostly regained. "Must you speak with your mouth full? It's uncouth."
I swallow the massive lump of rice with an audible gulp. Then, I grab another ball. "... where's Fumiko?"
"She's gone out in search of components for the Three Pure Ones Talisman," Renka provides.
Alyona shakes her head as I chew. "And what of you? I hope you don't mind, but I had to tell the others about your situation, since they were asking for you."
This time, I force myself to eat it like a civilized person, chewing and swallowing completely before I speak. The others are watching me, waiting.
"[Aramasa] can't be killed." I begin, my voice steadier now. "Not permanently. And an exorcism would only... take a part of me with her." I look down at my hands, clenching them into fists.
"But I can deal with her. By cultivating while I fight."
Renka's single eye widens, shining with a bizarre intensity.
"Truly?"
She crawls closer on her cushion, and I'm forced to lean back. Her single eye roams over my body, sending weird tingles inside me... is she actually seeing them? The pathways beneath my skin?
"You've really done it... I have read extensively on manuals for internal alchemy, but my constitution is not suited for the physical rigors."
She leans even closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
"Tell me. What are your techniques?"
Wow. She's acting even weirder than usual.
Then again, from her words, I must have done something pretty awesome, right? If even a wannabe mystic couldn't pull it off.
"Well..." I clear my throat, and she thankfully backs off. "The first step is Qi. I cycle mine and the demon's energy through separate paths. Mine starts at [Metal], hers starts at [Fire]..."
Fool! Never reveal the secrets behind your technique—
"Oh! Kuki-chan says that's like, super unorthodox! Normally, it goes Body, then Qi."
I nod, though I don't really get it. Without the heat from the first step, wouldn't I need to throw myself at a furnace or something?
Instead, I used internal alchemy and stoked my own heat, discarding the need of external factors and flowing from one technique to the other.
... Damn. Am I a genius or what?
"You're also imbuing the demon with an element that consumes your own... bold, though it is to be expected of you at this point."
"Oh, it actually works out because we meet at [Water] and..."
Alyona nods as we speak, her posture perfect, her smile polite, but the look in her eyes says it all.
She thinks this is all stupid. I cannot blame her. Days ago, hell, hours ago, I thought it was silly too.
... It's amazing what people can come up with during a life-or-death situation.
My stomach chooses that moment to let out another long, low growl. I reach for my bowl... and it's empty.
Before I can even complain, Sukemori is there. She'd been sitting quietly, content with listening in, but now she stands behind me.
"Boss. If you are still hungry, I can take you to the temple's kitchen, for a more substantial meal to help rebuild your muscles after your training."
I hesitate, my gaze darting back to Madoka and Alyona. I barely got them back.
Madoka reads my mind, shooing me away. "Go, go! We're not gonna disappear if you look away for a few minutes!"
"... yeah. Okay."
That smile, that simple, easy promise, it's enough to melt the tension from my shoulders.
I follow Sukemori out of the room, practically drifting on air.
The temple kitchen is quiet and clean, smelling of old wood and faint spices. I take the seat closest to where she sets up, watching as she selects a knife and begins sharpening it with practiced, rhythmic strokes. The sound is hypnotic.
"So," I say, leaning my chin on my hand. "What's on the menu? I'm sure this place doesn't have any real meat."
"We can use tofu for protein," she replies without looking up, her focus on the blade. "And there are some shiitake mushrooms ready. The menu options are rakansai—"
What?
"—Bibimbap—"
Who?
"—or vegetarian duck."
Vegetarian?
"What would you prefer, Boss?"
"Is there anything you can't do?" The question slips out, full of genuine awe.
Sukemori's hands still. A faint blush creeps up her neck. "Well, cooking is one of the essential skills for a proper maid."
Can't argue with that. "The duck, then. The fake duck."
She nods and gets to work, her movements a blur of efficient grace. As she starts slicing vegetables into impossibly thin strips, she speaks, her voice softer.
"Although, to answer your question... I could not do much to help during the Segaki ritual, and for that, I apologize. That is something I need to study more. I must be better prepared to support everyone in the future."
"Oi. There's nothing wrong with wanting to get stronger or learn new stuff. But don't beat yourself up over it. You've been plenty helpful already."
I scratch the back of my neck, a twinge of guilt coursing through me. "If anything, I should be apologizing. Shit, I dragged you into a [Bleeding Zone] and a police chase on your first day... if you want, after this, you can go home. Get some rest and let us—"
"No!"
I raise an eyebrow at her. She freezes, the knife hovering over a carrot.
"I... I mean, that will not be necessary. I still have plenty of energy. I wish to continue helping everyone."
Gah... I'm too weak to go-getters like her.
"Fine. Suit yourself. Offer's open, though."
A comfortable silence settles between us, filled only by the sizzle of oil and the gentle tap of her knife. Like everything she does, there's an art to it, a kind of beauty in the way she moves that a more cultured person could properly describe.
All I can say is that it's nice.
Soon, she sets a plate in front of me. Three delicate-looking wraps, the "vegetarian duck" smelling impossibly savory. I pick up my chopsticks, and take a bite.
"Mmn~!"
My tastebuds explode. It's crispy, tender, flavorful, perfect texture, perfectly balanced, perfect everything.
"Holy shit," I mumble around a mouthful. "Seriously, Sukemori. You're a friggin' genius."
She bows her head slightly. "You are too kind, Boss. It is a simple dish."
Be prouder, dammit!
I reach out and pull her onto the seat beside me, snagging another piece and offering it.
"Here. You gotta taste this. You need to know how good it is."
Her eyes widen. "B-Boss, I couldn't—"
"Just open your mouth," I insist, holding the morsel up.
"... "
She slowly parts her lips.
My chopsticks are halfway to her mouth when the kitchen door slides open with a soft rustle.
"Boss. Sukemori-san."
I don't even flinch. "Hey, Dawn. Take a seat. There's plenty." Then, I turn my attention back to a now-mortified Sukemori. "C'mon. Open up."
Sukemori's eyes dart from me to Dawn and back again. "I... are you sure we should... in front of...?" she stammers, her voice a tiny, embarrassed squeak.
"... Ah. My bad."
This isn't normal. Force-feeding my subordinate in a temple kitchen? Hanging out with Madoka and having ramen with that dumbass has seriously warped my sense of social boundaries.
Recognizing that, I shove it into Sukemori's mouth anyway.
She makes a tiny, surprised "mmph!" but swallows obediently.
"Well?" I ask. "How is it?"
"It is... adequately seasoned," she says, her voice a little hoarse, falling back into her professionalism. "The texture of the tofu skin is satisfactory."
"See? Be prouder." Satisfied, I turn to Dawn, who has taken a seat at the end of the table. "You want some?"
Dawn shakes her head once. "I have eaten."
Right. Between bites of the incredible fake duck, I get down to business. "Report. What'd the council say?"
"They cannot assist. Zennami-san, Shu-san, Nagamine-san... over half of their members are also afflicted with the [Death Mark], bedridden. Meliaya-san is managing their collective duties alone. Nejima-san had already left to seek a solution when I made contact."
The food turns to ash in my mouth. I hadn't even considered that. [Fushihara]'s appearance, the surge of his power... it wasn't contained to our little group in the sewer.
"What... what about the city?" I ask, my voice tight. "What about the un-awakened?"
"Thirty-six reported cases of sudden, unexplained collapse at workplaces and residences. Medical professionals are divided. Some cite systemic exhaustion from corporate overtime. Others dispute this, but have yet to form a consensus on the cause."
"..."
I push the last bite of food around my plate, then stand up, taking it to the sink. Sukemori is immediately at my side.
"Please, Boss, I can handle—"
"I got it."
I run the water, scrubbing my plate clean, then moving on to the other dishes piled up.
This is my fault. [Kakito] and [Aramasa] led me around by the nose, the former probably using the latter in whatever he did to the portal.
My rage was a catalyst to summon [Fushihara]. All these people, collapsing in their offices and homes... the council, stuck in pain in their beds... it's all on me.
We could try to save them. I could drag Renka to every bed, have her perform her Acupuncture and Moxibustion on everyone. But to those not [Awakened], the chances are slimmer.
In the end, there's only one real path. To defeat the [Yokai] and save them. And if I can't do that... avenge them.
I hate it.
Not the responsibility, but the nagging feeling that I'm playing tyrant, pre-medidating who lives and who dies. Falling right under the [Necessity of Death].
So, I won't.
I'm going to help everyone.
It's a stupid, arrogant, impossible promise, but I make it anyway, staring into the clean porcelain.
"Let's move."