Seek & Destroy

Avenge her.

The only sound in the room is the soft, steady beep of the monitor and the whisper of the air conditioner.

Avenge her.

There is no voice.

I hold her hand, warm against mine. That's what I focus on. The warmth. Not the bandages swathing her chest, thick under the thin hospital gown. Not her skin, its shade too close to the bleached sheets.

Avenge her.

She's not dead.

She could have been. Because of you. Look at her.

I see his knife, sliding in just an inch to the left. The blossom of red on her blazer. A final gasp lost in the echo of fleeing footsteps. Her limp form in their arms, head lolling. Her smile, frozen in a photograph at a shrine, while incense smoke curls in the air where her laughter should be.

Helpless. Defenseless. Betrayed in her sanctuary.

Avenge her.

I wrench my gaze away from her, staring at the white floor instead. The visions recede, leaving a cold, oily nausea.

She wouldn't want this. She'd tell me to be better. She wouldn't want me... bloodying my hands for her...

It is what you're good at. It is what I made you for. And this girl... she does not know what is best for herself, let alone what's best for you. Otherwise, she would not have spoken to a duplicitous worm.

Avenge. Avenge. Avenge.

It would be so easy. To let the red haze descend. To stop thinking, stop this hollow, screaming terror in my chest, and act. To find that bastard and break every bone in his body before I end his miserable—

The heat is in my jaw now, my fangs pressing against the inside of my lip.

"No."

Hoh?

"I'm not playing lone wolf."

Weakness.

My gang. The council. Even...

I force my eyes back to her sleeping face, drawing strength from the lie of her peace.

Even her, when she's back on her feet. If he needs to be found, then we'll do it together.

What happens next? Will you let him live? Will you hand him to the authorities of your soft, modern world? No prison of their design can contain one of us. You know he will walk away, find another knife, and the next unguarded back.

My hand curls on a rail. Metal groans, bending under my grip.

You know what must be done!

I rip the medical mask down, the elastic snapping against my cheek.

"Hahh..."

[Metal]. [Fire]. [Earth]. [Wood].

Avenge. Avenge. Avenge. Avenge.

"Shut up," I hiss through my teeth, the fangs making it a snarl.

[Water]. Just cool it. Cool it down.

I look at her.

Why won't you wake up?

The nurses said you'd wake up soon, right? That's why they left a delinquent like me alone here.

It was a nick to your lung. So why are you lying there? Why can't we just leave? Why can't we walk out of this sterile-smelling hell and go get ramen, and you can drag me into some stupid new trend, and I can complain, and things can be...

I must have stood up. I must have left the room. Because I'm no longer by her bed, I'm stomping down the endless, too-bright hospital hallway. The white walls are tinged with red at the edges of my vision. My claws are curled into my palms, sharp points digging into my own skin.

I turn a corner without looking.

Thump.

Neither of us gives an inch. We stand there, pressed together in the middle of the bright, silent hallway.

I plant my feet and glare up.

I'm the only one doing so. Their eyes are blank and unseeing.

It can't be her. But those white strands in her hair, the pale complexion, the set of her jaw, and those clothes...

Who else would wear a kimono like that in the middle of July?

She tilts her head. Her nostrils flare above the skin of my neck, remembering my scent. Fingertips trace the line of my jaw, my cheekbone, then my temple.

The red haze flickers.

"Stop that, Bucchan..."

Her hand pauses on my hair, drooping as she finds the ribbon Ai gave me.

"... Momofuku." she replies, her voice lower, flatter than I remember.

Of course she's here. When did she even get back in town? Why is she calling me Momofuku?

"... she's still asleep."

I don't wait for a response, shouldering past her, the silk of her kimono sleeve brushing rough against my arm.

This is too much for one morning.

I keep marching through the hallway, and a vending machine stops me, its cheerful lights bothering my eyes. I step in front of it, staring at the rows of sickly-sweet drinks I don't even want. I need the cold, need to hold something cold.

I jam my hands into my skirt pockets, digging past lint and a single, forgotten cat treat. No change. Not even for the cheapest, nastiest canned coffee...!

My fist clenches. I'm going to put it right through this stupid, bright, useless—!

"Here."

A pale, slender hand extends past me, offering two coins held perfectly between her fingers.

I take the coins, slot them into the machine, jab the button for the cheapest, most acidic-looking soda, and catch the can as it thunks down. Half of its contents go down my throat, too sweet, not nearly cold enough to douse the fire in my veins.

I hold the can out to my side. Slender fingers brush against mine as she takes it. She brings it to her lips, takes a single, measured sip, and hands it back.

The whole exchange is wordless, a relic from a thousand afternoons spent together.

"When'd you get back?"

"A few days ago."

Silence descends again, thick and awkward. We share the rest of the drink, passing it back and forth until it's gone. The artificial sugar coats my new fangs unpleasantly.

She must've been at Higan. I missed her because I've been skipping again, running down leads on the scattered remnants of the last big fight, avoiding... everything.

I crush the empty can in my fist and toss it into the recycling bin.

"Will you not accompany me to her room?" she asks as my shoe scuffs the floor. Her head is tilted slightly, listening for my answer in the shift of my clothes, the rhythm of my breath.

There's a subtle tension in her shoulders, a slight downturn of her mouth. She's concerned. For Madoka. For me?

"I can't go back there right now. If I stay looking at her asleep for one more second, I'm gonna bolt out of this building and do something really fucking stupid."

She invades my space. Her unseeing eyes seem to lock onto mine with unnerving accuracy.

"You know. The identity of the knave who did this."

I can't lie to her. "Yeah."

"Share it with me. The honor of administering justice should not fall to you in such a state."

But should it fall on her?

Is she even Awakened? Does she have any idea what she's asking to walk into?

I can't have her in a hospital bed too.

If only she could see [Simply Red] like Parfaite did...

"The Student Council has already dismissed me. Will you do the same? Will you spit on my right to see justice done for her?"

See? This oh so powerless girl has more spine than you. She understands duty. Honor. Vengeance. She is ready to act while you sit and fret.

She doesn't get it. It's not about sincerity, it's about... her capacity to help. But I can't explain it without sounding like a total asshole and this demon in my ear won't stop—

Ah.

It doesn't matter.

A stabbing in the council room? With Madoka as the victim? Something like that won't stay buried for long in Higan. For all I know, Bucchan's already heard a dozen names, and she's here to narrow it down to one.

And if I turn her away...

I'll get dragged into her rampage sooner or later, and have to knock some sense into her before something puts her in a bed next to Madoka.

Why wait for disaster? Show her now. The beast she would defy. The enemies she must contend with. Let her feel the heat of your rage.

I recoil from the thought. Using [Simply Red] on Bucchan? For some cheap attempt at intimidation?

Before I can untangle the mess in my head, her hand shoots out, fingers bunching in the fabric of my shirt, pulling me close.

"Answer me. Do you, my old confidant, also doubt my sincerity?"

My control frays. "Don't say that...! I'd never doubt you."

Her grip trembles. "Then why do you hesitate?"

"Because it's...!" I growl, my claws pressing into my own palms. "It's not as simple as some thug stabbing her, alright?! It's all part of a big mess that's been running through the city, and I don't even know where to begin...!"

Why couldn't the council explain this to her? Aren't they the ones with the stupid [Idea World] compendium? Why's it have to be me?!

"... I see."

Her fingers uncurl from my shirt, and her palm presses flat against my chest, right over my frantic, pounding heart.

"I understand perfectly," she says, her voice dropping to something almost soft. "This frustration. This heat. The rage of the powerless. The agony of having been unable to prevent the blow."

Her fingers splay against my ribcage, feeling the violent drumbeat.

"I pity you, Fuku-nee."

The old nickname, spoken without mockery, hits me like a physical blow.

"You had to become this demonic warrior they whisper about in Higan. Momofuu-ki. Cladding yourself in violence to suppress the degeneracy spreading through our beautiful Kageoka. I see the cost of it burning in you."

She withdraws, squaring her shoulders.

"Words are insufficient when you're like this. Let us speak as warriors. Or as you would put it... let's take this outside."

Yes...

[Aramasa]'s hiss of triumph is drowned out by the roar of my own blood. Fury at the world, at the traitor, at my own helplessness... it needs somewhere to go.

My breath steams in the over-conditioned air. "Fine."

We descend, sterile white giving way to the grimy concrete of a service stairwell.

In the lobby, a woman in a simple, dark kimono is waiting. Tadashi, I think that was her name. She bows silently and presents a long, cloth-wrapped bundle to Bucchan with both hands. The shape is unmistakable. Her family sword.

The streets outside are chaotic. Traffic blares, crowds bump against me, the smell of food cards and exhaust invades my nostrils. Every brush against my shoulder, every startled glance at my uncovered face feels like sandpaper on my nerves.

The heat inside me climbs. My vision tunnels, narrowing to the need to keep moving, to fight, to find release.

My feet carry me on autopilot, ducking down a side street, then another, until I find it. A narrow alley choked with the smell of damp concrete and rotting garbage. No people. I stop in the middle of it, and Bucchan walks past me, her geta making soft, precise clicks on the asphalt. Facing me a good ten paces away, she lets the wrappings fall.

Her blade's sheathe gleams dully. I hike up my skirt, my fingers finding the familiar sheathes sewn into the inner lining.

I toss [Kagutsuchi Masamune] in a lazy arc toward her, and she catches it.

"Use that," I grunt. "Smoother than a sheathed blade."

What a pathetic excuse for arming your opponent with our scourge.

She tests its weight with a few practiced flourishes, the air whistling softly.

"Your terms?" she asks, her voice calm. "First blood? Submission? Best of three rounds?"

I tighten my grip on [Tsuzumi Masamune]. The wood groans in my hand. The bloodlust is a drumbeat in my temples, syncopated with the pounding of my heart.

Terms? Rules?

"I don't want any of that. Let's keep going until we can't."

A faint smile touches her lips. "Understood."

No countdown. No signal.

We meet in the center of the alley in a crash of wood.

Her next strike comes faster, aimed at my shoulder. I parry, the impact jolting up my arm, then counter with a swing at her midsection. She leaps over it, the bokken in her hand becoming a blur as she brings it down in a two-handed overhead smash.

It whistles past my ear. We reposition and clash again, our blades locking for a split second before we shove apart, creating space.

The world narrows to the width of the alley, the feel of the bokken in my hand, and the blank, focused expression on Bucchan's face.

Her style has evolved to parallel mine. There are no fancy kata, no ceremonial posturing, no desire for competition or sport. Every slash, every thrust, every pivot is made with an ingrained, lethal purpose.

We circle each other again.

Her shoulder twitches. A slight hesitation before a lunging thrust.

I remember that.

I feint high and go for the opening. Her bokken is already there, parrying with a sharp crack.

I fixed that.

She pressures my left side, and I have to twist violently, the tip of her bokken grazing my ribs.

I'm stronger. The internal alchemy is a furnace in my core, making my muscles corded steel. When I swing, she has to take a step back. When I block her strikes, I can counter faster.

But it doesn't matter. She uses the alley itself as a weapon. She kicks off a dumpster to change angles mid-air. She uses the narrow walls to ricochet, her movements a fluid, acrobatic blur that I can't match.

The pace escalates. A hard blow to my shoulder makes my arm go numb for a second. A return strike catches her across the thigh, and she stumbles but doesn't fall. We trade hits, a crack on my forearm, a thud against her side. Pain blossoms across my body, raw, real, exhilarating.

... and yet, it's not enough.

We've caught up. We know what each other's been doing all these years. But the present, the unspoken truth of why we're here hangs heavier between us.

Madoka. Fukuzawa. Kageoka. We're only scuffling around the edges of the real war.

Can you join it? Can you join me?

We break apart, chests heaving.

Can you keep up?

My will resonates with a point in space to her left.

The world lurches, [Tsuzumi Masamune] already swinging in a vicious horizontal arc meant to connect with her back.

CRACK.

The impact shudders up my arms. Not into flesh. Into wood.

Bucchan isn't where she should be. She's already turned, her body coiled in a perfect, seamless pivot. My blessed bokken, [Kagutsuchi Masamune], is held firmly in a two-handed guard, having intercepted my teleport-strike not by luck, but by being placed precisely in its path.

I can.

It was teleportation. Even with her senses, she couldn't have predicted it.

But she did.

She's... [Awakened]. She can know. She can stand beside me...

Can you?

No, she's exceeding me.

Now that she's unleashed the full weight of her power, the rhythm of battle is hers to dictate.

High, low, thrust. Each one is met, intercepted with a perfect, economical motion that leaves her poised for a counter I have to desperately evade.

I teleport to her flank. Her bokken is already sweeping in a low arc to meet my ankles.

I appear above, dropping down, and she's already stepped aside, her weapon rising in an uppercut toward my chin.

The blows start to land. Not heavy, crushing hits, but sharp, precise strikes from the blessed wood of [Kagutsuchi Masamune]. A crack on my wrist sends a jolt of cleansing fire up my arm, making my demon-touched blood sizzle in protest. A tap on my knee compromises my stance. A solid thwack to my ribs steals my breath and burns like a brand.

I stagger. My legs give out, and I hit one knee on the filthy asphalt, my bokken clattering from my numb hand.

Too slow. Too frail. Too predictable. Surrender your body, to me or her, it doesn't matter. As you are right now, you cannot possibly win.

I grit my fangs and push myself back to my feet, snatching up my weapon.

Annoying as she is, the demon is right. Right now, I'm the one who needs to prove I can stand beside her!

I focus on a point behind her right ear. My muscles coil, the spatial distortion beginning to warp around me.

But at the last possible millisecond, I don't vanish. Instead, I channel all that built-up kinetic tension into a normal, brutally fast swing from my current position, aiming for her left side.

Bucchan's perfect form wavers. She has to abort her planned counter, her torso twisting in a violent, off-balance pivot. Her bokken comes up in a desperate, slightly clumsy parry, deflecting my blow at an awkward angle that leaves her overextended.

I press the advantage, not with more teleports, but with a frenzied, unpredictable assault. An intended lunge that halts into a wide swing. A sharp thrust that's a feint into a kick to her gut.

It's working. Because my intent is teleportation, she needs to commit to handle an instantaneous strike.

And if I can hold it back, for one moment, whatever power she's using will show two possible attacks from two different directions. The hesitation is microscopic, but it's enough to stop the one-sided beatdown.

However, it's not enough to win!

The problem is the lag. My mind screams MOVE, my will bends space, but my physical body is always a half-step behind. That's all Bucchan's prescience needs to adjust.

If my body moves with my will, as one instantaneous unit... she'll have no time. The future she sees will already be the present.

And that future is now! As the second step ends, and the heat of reforging seeps into my bones, blurring my vision at the edges...

The world dissolves into a featureless white void. There is no alley, no smell, no sound.

There isn't even a me.

My body disappears, and I exist as a collection of intent.

To step forward. To stand where Bucchan once was.

To swing!

CRUNCH!

The world crashes back in a riot of color and noise. My bokken connects not with a parry, but with a solid impact against Bucchan's side, below her ribs. The force, multiplied by the seamless fusion of will and motion, is tremendous.

She's lifted off her feet, a look of genuine shock erasing her calm. She flies backward, crashing into a metal trash can with a deafening clang.

Her body acts on pure, refined instinct, no longer guided by prescience but by survival. As my follow-up swing descends, her bokken comes up in a desperate, rising block, deflecting the blow enough to save her skull.

"Hahh... hah..."

I'm huffing, my lungs burning, sweat stinging my eyes as I resist the urge to let go and brush the hair clinging to my face.

She looks... pristine. Unbroken. Her breathing is even. There's not a hair out of place in her. Even her kimono doesn't have a speck of dust in it! How...?!

Let's keep going until we can't. Is that not what you said?

You damn stamina freak...!"

"ORA!"

I fix a point behind her center of mass.

Lurch. I teleport-tackle into her, my shoulder driving into her chest. She dents the trash can again.

"ORA!"

"ORA!"

"ORA ORA ORAAAA!"

Again. And again. With her body caught between me and an obstacle, and our swords locked together, there is no escape. Even if she knows what's going to happen, even if I scream before my every move, she cannot outspeed it.

"ORA!"

All the air leaves my lungs in a pained whoosh. We land in a tangled heap, half on top of the thoroughly dented trash can, half on the cold, wet asphalt.

My vision is just dark spots swimming in a gray haze. There's nothing left. No stamina, no Qi, no mysterious Idolon energy, no [Second Wind].

Bucchan is warm and solid beneath me.

For a minute, we lie there, breathing.

Then, almost in unison, we start palming each other and ground around us, fingers scrambling for our weapons.

My hand closes around a familiar shaft, but it's not [Tsuzumi Masamune]. It's the blessed one, the one I gave her.

Grunting, I push to my feet, then reach down, hooking my hands under her arms and hauling. It's a pathetic effort, but she pushes with her legs, and we stagger upright together, leaning heavily on each other for support.

I try to push Kagutsuchi into her hand, reaching for the other bokken I can feel in her grip. She resists, a faint frown on her face.

Swap.

Why?

I raise Kagutsuchi between our faces. Her nostrils flare. A moment later, her pink tongue darts out, giving the blood-smeared wood a quick, clinical lick.

Her blank eyes widen a fraction.

Wordlessly, we complete the exchange. I take back Tsuzumi, she takes Kagutsuchi. We take a single, wobbling step apart, releasing our hold on each other, settling into our stances...

And promptly collapsing onto our backsides, landing with twin thuds.

No good. It's over.

"Victory is mine."

"The hell it is!" I snarl, though it comes out as a wheeze.

"My blade," she says, gesturing to the sheathed katana still lying pristine where she'd left it. "It remained at my hip. In a true battle to cessation, I would have drawn it and finished it."

"And I would've bitten your damn throat out with my fangs."

She turns her head toward the sound of my voice. "We are no longer twelve, Fuku-nee. This is not playground fighting where one may simply invent new abilities. You must cease that."

"I just showed you my oni blood, you idiot! On the sword you licked!"

"Ah. That's what it was?"

"What did you think it was?!"

She doesn't reply, getting onto her hands and knees and crawling toward me.

"Oi, what are you—"

She pushes a finger past my lips, pressing it against the sharp point of a canine.

I freeze, my face burning hotter than any battle fever. After a second of her clinical exploration, I shove her hand away, sputtering. "W-What the hell, Bucchan?!"

She leans back, wiping her finger on her kimono. "Fascinating. The structure is genuine. What else?"

"W-Well, I have claws and... wait. Our hands brushed together a buncha times. How did you not notice the claws?"

"Hmm. I did note your hands were calloused. But I assumed it was a common development for someone of your social standing..."

Wordlessly, my fist connects soundly with her shoulder, rocking her back. She rubs it, that faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips again.

Bucchan gets to her feet first, extending a hand down to me.

"A draw, then," she states.

Without the strength to fight, I can't argue, letting her haul me up.

We move in a tired, synchronized shuffle, gathering our weapons. I sheathe my bokken, she rewraps her sword and tucks my blessed one under her arm. I pull the crumpled medical mask back over my face.

"Kohaku Fukuzawa."

Her ear twitches slightly.

"That's his name. He's Awakened... that means he has the same powers as us."

Bucchan listens, her head tilted, taking in every word about the [Idea World], [Idolons], [Nurarihyon].

"The Student Council, some of my gang... we're trying to manage the mess. Keep people from getting killed. The council can explain it better if you tell them you're Awakened. They're a trusty bunch."

"It becomes even more imperative that we find this Fukuzawa," Bucchan says, her voice hardening. "Justice must be administered."

"..."

I can only nod.

As much as it bothers me... [Aramasa] is right. The police, the courts... they're not on the same playing field as us. We have to find him first. If only to... to figure out what to do with him.

Is that truly all? When you have him under your heel, when you see his face... I wonder if you'll figure out the specifics.

Shut up, you freak. Kanae or Renka can probably figure out a way to seal his [Idolon], if it comes down to it.

We reach the busy street in front of the hospital. Bucchan pauses, raising a hand to her lip. Her fingers come away with a faint smudge of blood from where my fist connected. She tilts her head, a thoughtful frown on her face.

"Macchan will be sad."

A bolt of pure panic lances through me. Oh, hell. She's right. No matter how much we clean up, Madoka has a sixth sense for this kind of thing.

"I know what to do."

After making a brief stop at a general store, we march through the hospital doors.

Seconds later, we slide open the door to her room.

Madoka is sitting up in bed, propped against pillows. The pallor is still there, but her eyes are open, bright, and she's wearing her usual, sunbeam-bright grin. "Momo! Bucchan! You came together..."

Her smile falters as she notices the bruises, the dirt on my clothes, and the general air of two people who tried to beat the shit out of each other.

Before she can even form the question, Bucchan and I move in perfect, panicked unison. We each thrust a hand forward.

In her hand is a golden, elegant get-well card, probably bought by Tadashi beforehand. In mine is a crinkled, hastily purchased card with a cartoon wolf on the front. I'd scrawled inside it while hiding in a bathroom stall.

Madoka blinks, looking from one card to the other. She takes them, opening Bucchan's first. A polite, heartfelt message in perfect calligraphy. Then, she opens mine.

Sorry for going feral. Get well soon. — Momo.

Next to the words, I'd drawn a frowny face with fangs and a little horn.

There's a beat of silence. Then, Madoka's worry melts away, replaced by a sound she hasn't made in days. She clutches the cards to her chest, shaking her head as her bubbly laughter fills the sterile room with warmth.

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Pub: 07 Jan 2026 23:42 UTC

Edit: 08 Jan 2026 12:06 UTC

Views: 79