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The tantō in her hands feels heavy.
How strange—she has lived with that blade for so long that it should have become an extension of her body by now. All the suffocating weight of dead souls and stolen breaths should have long since slipped from the edge of her blade to pool in the shadows beneath her feet…
Despite it all, a slight tremble persists in her hands as she presses the edge of the blade against her neck. The metal is just barely colder than the night air around her, but the hilt seems to burn her fingers like ice.
It should be easy. Just one swipe. Just one slash of an artery, gushing out life-blood, spilling out sin with every pulse of her heart. What’s one more after thirty-five?
She closes her eyes, stills her racing heartbeat. Her skin sears beneath that ice-cold blade. She has to do it now, before they find her. She has to free herself before they cage her again.
—Kyouka-chan.
The gentlest of smiles fills her vision, sending a paralyzing panic flooding through her. A gasp rips out of her throat, and the tantō slips from her fingers, clattering against the ground.
The cruelest thing in the world must surely be kindness.
Because alone in that dirty alleyway, seconds from ending her own life, she thinks of him, and an insidious, cowardly part of her that she should have killed long ago cries out that it wants to live.
Because he gave her a sliver of warmth to hold on to in the darkness, and that became the weakness that crumbled her resolve.
“There you are.”
Golden eyes gleam in the dark, accompanying the silver voice that cuts through the stillness of the air before her. He steps out from the shadows, the figure haunting her memories suddenly flesh and blood.
“Why did you run away, Kyouka-chan?” he asks. Though his expression is hidden by the collar of his coat, the disappointment in his tone is apparent.
Despite herself, despite the situation, she finds herself relaxing as their eyes meet. As if engulfed by the vastness of a still lake, the restless ripples in her heart calm. She stays fixed to her spot, unmoving. If the White Reaper of the Port Mafia has appeared before her, then it can only be for one reason—to eliminate the traitor.
He takes calm, unhurried steps towards her, and she merely watches him. Watches death stalk up to her with a serene expression, commits that final saving grace to memory. If it is by his hand, then she is fine with this kind of end.
“You should know full well the fate that befalls traitors of the Port Mafia,” he says, and she bows her head in quiet acceptance.
The tremors from before are gone. Her unspoken wish to see him one final time has been granted as well. Closing her eyes, she thinks of her parents and prays for forgiveness.
But death does not come. Not the sinking of sharp teeth into flesh and bone, nor the swipe of a deadly paw severing her head from her neck, nor the crushing weight of heavy limbs bearing down on a fragile frame.
There is only the warmth of arms enveloping her, and his gentle voice, full of sympathy.
“Let’s go back, Kyouka-chan.”
She shakes her head, thrown by the show of mercy. Relief and disappointment swirl into a nauseating mix within her. “I can’t! Not to that kind of place…”
“I know how you must feel,” he says patiently. “But there’s nowhere else for us to go. People like us…we can only survive by doing what we know.”
“That’s…Is there really no other way?” Even though she knows the answer, she finds herself asking anyway, hoping for an alternative that doesn’t exist.
“There isn’t. Dazai-san—the Boss is never wrong. As long as we trust in him and protect him, everything will be fine.”
“But I—I’m scared…”
Of the darkness, of the yawning jaws of the chasm inside her swallowing everything whole, of the Boss, of retribution, of the demon that killed her parents, and above all—
Of herself.
“I’ll be with you,” he promises, every word a soothing temptation. “You won’t be alone.”
Her eyes well up with stinging tears. How could she forget such a simple fact? He was never her enemy. In the whole world, he might have been the only ally she ever had.
She buries her face in his coat, fighting back bitter sobs. If her soul is tainted beyond redemption and she is only an empty husk, then what difference does it make where she sets her roots, as long as she has him by her side? To never wish for light or wind or dreams again—even that would be fine as long as they can be together.
There is nowhere else a demon could belong anyway.
Crushing the last bits of rebellion inside her, she surrenders herself to that cruel kindness.
“…okay. I’ll go back…”
***
“Atsushi’s avoiding you?” After sifting through a few options, Chuuya pulls out a bright orange top and hands it to Kyouka. “He seems to be talking to you just fine.”
Kyouka takes one look at it and wrinkles her nose. “He’s avoiding me,” she insists. She hangs the item back on the rack, earning herself a frown from Chuuya.
Sure, Atsushi might not be outright giving her the silent treatment, but his behavior around her has been strange lately. Initially, Kyouka had chalked it up to skittishness from adjusting to a new environment. The loss of his collar—and the rigid structure that came with it—seems to have made him a little less certain, a little more withdrawn.
Even so, that doesn’t explain the terse, half-hearted responses he often gives her, or the way he drowns himself in housework whenever there is even a chance of them being alone in the same space. The sudden distance stings more when she considers how close they had been before.
Chuuya hands her another shirt—green with magenta polka dots and puffed sleeves. She shoves it into the back of the rack without a second thought.
“What would you do?” she asks.
“Kick his ass.” The reply comes automatically. Seeing the question in her gaze, he elaborates. “When someone’s avoiding you, it means either you did something wrong, or they did. If it’s the former, they’re a self-sacrificing fool who would rather hurt themself than you, and they deserve to get their ass kicked. If it’s the latter, they’re a coward who can’t own up to their mistakes, and they deserve to get their ass kicked. So the conclusion is to kick his ass.”
Tugging at the sleeve of a white blouse, he looks to her for approval. Fifth time’s the charm—she nods and takes it for closer inspection.
“How about one step before that?”
“So you wanna talk, huh?” Chuuya thinks for a bit before answering. “The best thing to do would be to tie him up and force the answer out of him. No, wait, he’ll just dislocate his joints to get out of it.” Striking his fist against his palm, he says the next part as if it’s a great revelation rather than an act of incredible violence. “Break his legs so he can’t run away.”
Kyouka frowns as she considers it. “But he can regenerate.”
“Ah, right, that might be an issue.” They move on to the next section, and Chuuya looks a bit lost among the skirts. “I would say wait, but some assholes really like to take their time. You need to find an opportunity to talk. Create one if you have to. Doesn’t matter if you have to cozy him up and lower his guard first.”
This sounds like sage advice, so Kyouka forgives him for the atrocious belted thing he tries to hand her next.
Create an opportunity—the suggestion tumbles around in her mind all throughout the clothes fitting, accompanying her into the checkout line and out of the store. What does an opportunity look like?
They’re making their way over to the meetup point when something in the window of an accessory shop catches her attention.
“You want one?” Chuuya asks, following her line of sight to the cluster of cell phone charms hanging from a display stand.
Her fingers close around her phone—not her mother’s, which holds both Kyouka’s dearest nostalgia and greatest dread, but the new one she received to keep in contact with everyone. She still feels warm when she remembers—Atsushi’s eyes brightening at the novelty of exchanging LINE IDs, Dazai flooding their group chat with arm-flailing rabbit stickers, and Chuuya abusing admin powers to boot him from the chat.
It might be silly, getting excited over a hunk of metal, but compared to the knife she received when she was taken in by the Port Mafia, a phone is an entire world.
“Let’s get matching ones,” she says. “For everyone.”
“Hell no. That’s sappy as fuck.”
Kyouka is disappointed. She makes this known by staring sadly at Chuuya. His glare wavers, but he refuses to budge. She makes her eyes open wider. Tears up a little. He’s starting to look uncomfortable. She throws in a pretty please, onii-chan. He folds like a bad poker hand.
Chuuya grumbles all the way through the charm picking process, eye twitching when Kyouka presents him with his—a strap with ocean blue beads and an acrylic mackerel hanging off the end.
He makes sure to let her know how much he hates it as he pays for them, and then reiterates his disdain for it three more times while they stand outside and attach the straps to their phones.
Kyouka holds up her new phone, the beads of her charm catching the afternoon sun and refracting shards of orange light across the storefront. The white tiger on the end bumps against her hand—a tiny guardian to watch over her radio waves.
Content, she tucks the proof of their connection back into her obi.
***
As she leaps over a park bench and ducks below the low-hanging branches of a sakura tree, all Kyouka can think is—This was not how it was supposed to go.
One moment, she was making her way over to Atsushi, and the next, he had let go of Dazai’s hand and bolted, taking off in the direction of the park.
Okay, so maybe she had been staring at him a little intensely, and maybe her feet had picked up speed as she approached him, but she was just trying to give him the cell phone charm. Wasn’t it rude of him to react like that?
Ahead of her, her target vaults nimbly over a slide, hair whipping in the wind as he lands and breaks out into a sprint. She follows suit shortly after.
“Why are you running?” she calls out.
He throws an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Because you suddenly started chasing me!”
“I’ll stop when you stop,” she huffs out, breath coming up short. In hindsight, boots and a kimono were probably not the best options to play tag in.
Atsushi doesn’t seem to share her problem, sprinting across the playground without breaking a sweat.
“I’ll stop when you stop!” he echoes.
He runs. She pursues. Over the heads of children playing in the sand pit, under clusters of swaying branches, right through the lunch spread of a startled group of picnickers, and into a thicket of trees.
Truthfully, she could stop whenever she wants. There’s little point to this game aside from a misplaced sense of pride. But a voice inside her head that sounds suspiciously like Chuuya’s urges her to chase him to the ends of the Earth and back. Nothing less than absolute victory is allowed.
Distracted by her thoughts, she doesn’t notice the tree root coming up in front of her. The tip of her boot catches on it and she crashes face-first into the ground. Dirt and dead leaves and sharp twigs break her fall in an abrasive earthy embrace.
“Kyouka-chan!” Atsushi’s concerned voice travels back to her. When she makes no move to get up, footsteps bring his presence to her side. The ground darkens in a shadow where he kneels by her, a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Step one—lower his guard.
Her hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist, and springing up in a whirlwind of dirt and determination, she tackles him. His eyes widen with disbelief as she sits astride him, pinning him against the ground.
Step two—tie him down.
“K-Kyouka-chan?”
Atsushi’s apprehension quickly turns to confusion as Kyouka reaches into her sleeve and pulls out a small bag. Taking his phone out from his pocket, she fixes a strap to it.
“For you,” she says, holding it up for him to see.
He blinks at the swaying rabbit charm hanging from his phone. “Oh…you got that for me?” Realizing how unenthusiastic he sounds, he tries to work some semblance of cheer into his voice. “It’s cute! Thank you.”
Something inside her crumbles at his empty reaction, and her hand falls to her side, dropping the phone.
“Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re mad at me?” she whispers.
Atsushi seems horrified by the suggestion. “What? Of course I’m not mad at you!”
“Then why did you run away?”
He turns his face away, and if she hadn’t lost confidence in her ability to read him, she would have said that there was guilt there in the hunch of his shoulders.
“Why are you avoiding me?” she repeats, tone pleading.
When Atsushi finally answers, his voice is small, clouded with doubt. “It’s not that I was avoiding you on purpose. I—I just…” He shuts his eyes as if it pains him to speak. “I tricked you and used you, and when I realized what I’d done…I felt so sick that I couldn’t face you anymore. I’m sorry…”
“Tricked me? Used me? No, you saved me…”
“It’s the opposite. I dragged you back into the darkness and told you that was the only place you could belong.”
His words set her off balance. She had already sworn to follow him anywhere, so why was he saying that had been the wrong choice?
“But you were right! There was nowhere else I could have gone,” she insists.
“No…The truth is, we could have gone anywhere. I was just too scared of being rejected by the light to step into it.” His eyes land on a group of kids chasing each other around the playground in the distance, and his gaze takes on a faraway air. “I told you once that I used to live at an orphanage. Do you remember?”
Confused by the unexpected tangent, all Kyouka can respond with is, “Yes. You said it was like hell.”
“Hell…it really was like that. My mentor—the orphanage director often said that someone who can’t protect others has no right to live. I…had always hated him, but I thought that he was right about that one thing.” He finally meets her gaze, as if laying bare his patheticness for her to see. “I hated him, and yet, I wanted him to praise me.”
“Then, the reason you saved me…”
“Was because that’s what a good person would do. I thought that then, maybe it would be okay for me to live.” He shows her a wan smile, but it could hardly be called one, the way it robs her of breath and makes her want to bury it beneath a thousand kinder things. “Sorry. You probably never want to see me again, right?”
The energy drains out of Kyouka as she hears, for the first time, the true feelings of the one most dear to her. Maybe it is true that he had only helped her for his own sake. Even so, where would she be without him and his hypocritical kindness?
Shifting back onto his legs, she tugs at Atsushi’s arm, pulling him into a sitting position. He watches her wordlessly, waiting for the inevitable outburst of anger or accusations of betrayal, but she surprises him by choosing neither.
“Even if you say you used me, it was the same for me. I was using you too,” she admits.
“You couldn’t have.” Atsushi gives her a pitying look, as if her words are merely a poor attempt at lessening his guilt. “You were just a victim.”
Kyouka shakes her head. “I said that I returned to the mafia for your sake. That’s wrong. It didn’t have to be you. I just needed someone who wouldn’t leave me, no matter what.”
Someone strong, who wouldn’t mind the sting of hidden thorns, who could fight alongside a demon. Someone as ruined as she was.
“But it doesn’t matter if we were only using each other before. It’s different now.” She leans forward, carefully wrapping her arms around him. Holding him like he used to do for her when nightmares spilled over into reality, and her parents’ baleful gazes haunted her every waking moment. “I want to stay with you.”
“I-I…me too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he sniffles, trembling in her arms. “I want to stay with you too. Is that okay?”
“It’s okay.” A reassurance as much for herself as it is for him. “You aren’t alone.”
He hugs her back, harder than usual, as if to make up for all the lost moments between them. Her chest tightens painfully, but her heart has never been fuller. Is this what it means to come home?
They would have remained like that, huddled together, bodies wracked with tiny shudders, if a hand hadn’t seized each of them by the back of the collar at that moment. They both go still, acutely aware of the annoyance radiating off all 160 centimeters of the person standing behind them.
“What were you brats thinking, running around like that, huh?”
Atsushi squeaks, blinking back tears. “Chu-Chuuya-san! Uh, this is—”
“He started it,” Kyouka says without missing a beat, ignoring the look of absolute betrayal Atsushi sends her way.
Chuuya shakes them roughly, like he’s handling a pair of misbehaving dogs. “I don’t care who did what first. You’re wanted criminals, so don't make a commotion in public. Are you trying to get caught by the military police?”
“Sorry…” they say in unison.
He’s forcing them to kneel and reflect on their actions by the time Dazai finally joins them, an amused grin in place.
“I did say to pick on someone your own size, but I didn’t mean literal children, Chuuya.”
“You…”
For several beats, there is only the charged air between narrowed eyes and teasing ones, an unspoken interchange of don’t fucking test me and what’re you gonna do about it, and then Chuuya has Dazai kneeling on the ground with the other two, unleashing an hour-long tirade at him about his lack of responsibility, motivation, competence, and anything else even barely resembling the traits of a tolerable housemate.
“…you never take out the trash on time, you leave your socks everywhere, you’re a lazy sack of shit…”
Dazai nods along and continues playing Tetris behind his back, the slug charm attached to his phone bouncing with every tap of the keypad.
“Isn’t Chuuya-san making the most commotion right now?” Atsushi whispers to Kyouka.
“Let him get it out. He needs it.”
Watching the scene play out, Kyouka can only marvel at how much has changed and yet how little has. These are still the same faces she always saw in those dismal hallways. But their edges have been blunted a bit, and there’s a hint of softness where there had only been towering walls before. If they are all lost in some way, they can at least find comfort in being lost among good company.
She taps the back of Atsushi’s hand with her knuckles and he taps back.
***
“If you’re looking for Atsushi-kun, he went to the supermarket with Chuuya.”
Kyouka turns away from the entrance of the bedroom to glance at Dazai.
He waves, the picture of innocence. “Let’s hang out for a bit, shall we?”
One would think she would have been more apprehensive of Dazai. It was true that while she worked under him, he had been distant and intimidating. Now though, that distance has grown lonelier—there’s nothing like the proud air of a king in him anymore, only the weightlessness of a ghost.
Maybe that is what draws her to him—the kinship felt by those who find themselves alive against all expectations, left to wander aimlessly.
That, and he buys her whatever she wants.
“How many?” she asks, after Dazai brings her to a table covered in packs of balloons and tubs of glitter and explains what needs to be done.
“Enough to completely fill Chuuya’s room, of course!”
They sit on the floor, funneling glitter into balloons and blowing them up with air pumps. All of the balloons seem to have custom messages printed on them that become legible when inflated—she ties off one that says #1 Hatrack as Dazai adds his own to the growing pile.
What a weird way of showing affection. She almost suggests that Dazai get Chuuya a normal gift, but realizes he would destroy it either way. Might as well make it flashy then.
“Are you adjusting to things here alright?” Dazai asks once they settle into a comfortable rhythm.
Kyouka gives a few more pumps to her Congrats, it’s a slug balloon, then knots the end. “Good enough.”
“Glad to hear that.” He dips a plastic cup into his tub of glitter and lazily swirls it around. “It’s great that you made up with Atsushi-kun. You sure are attached to him, huh? To the point of overprotectiveness.”
“Is that wrong?”
“It’s not about being right or wrong, per se.” Steady pumps of air fill up the balloon in his hand, revealing the text scrawled across it—Beware: rabid midget up ahead. “I’m curious where you draw the line. Would you kill for him?”
She thinks of Atsushi’s trembling hands as he cried out a tearful apology to her—those steady hands that had never once betrayed his emotions before.
“He wouldn’t want me to,” she eventually says.
“But what if he did?”
Kyouka stretches a balloon between her fingers, twisting it this way and that. She doesn’t want to imagine a scenario like that. “It’s nice here. I like eating together with everyone. Not having to kill anymore. So I wouldn’t, if I could help it. Not even if he asked me to.”
If, for some reason, Atsushi loses his way, she’ll do everything in her power to pull him back into the light. Because she knows he would do the same for her.
Dazai seems satisfied with the response. “Good answer. You’ve got me beat.”
“So you would do it? Kill for someone?”
In place of an answer, Dazai bounces one of the balloons between his hands—an orange one that says Slightly less useful than a sheepdog.
It must be related to the reason he left the mafia, Kyouka realizes. So he would upend his life and change everything about himself if a certain someone wished for it? It’s an unsettling thought, and yet a tiny part of her—the part that still scopes out escape routes whenever there’s a change of location, that thinks kill first, ask later—finds no fault with it.
“One last question.” His expression is contemplative as he funnels glitter into his balloon. “If you could only save one of them—Atsushi-kun or the world—which would you choose?”
The right thing to do would have been to say the world. Even I can’t choose would have been an acceptable alternative. But what freezes the words on Kyouka’s tongue and causes unease to pool in her stomach is the fact that her mind had made a choice long before conscious thought could catch up—Atsushi.
Dazai gives her an appraising look before his lips curl up into a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, that’s not really a fair question, is it? I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” He rises to his feet, gathering up the small pile of balloons they’ve finished inflating. “Let’s forget about it and move these over first.”
She follows behind him dutifully, dumping an armful of balloons into Chuuya’s room after him. They continue blowing up balloons after that, and she tries to drown her thoughts out in the rush of getting the prank set up in time.
The other two eventually return from the supermarket, and between Chuuya opening the door to his room only to immediately be buried under an avalanche of balloons, and Atsushi trying hard not to laugh, the troubling question soon fades into the background.
Chuuya ends up popping balloons all night, each subsequent explosion of glitter only further fueling his rage. To Kyouka’s eyes though, it almost seems like he’s enjoying the opportunity to let loose—at least from the way he roundhouse kicks a balloon straight into Dazai’s face. Atsushi then makes the mistake of letting out a snort. One raised eyebrow from Dazai and a balloon bomb later, he’s a glittery, rainbow mess.
The cleanup ends up being a nightmare, even with a vacuum, four pairs of hands, and almighty gravity on their side. They all go to bed sporting some degree of sparkle, Chuuya being the most extreme case. He mutters something about ending Dazai in the morning when he’s less tired, and stalks off towards his room, hair aglitter like a unicorn threw up on him.
It’s only when the evening high has worn off and she’s under the covers, that Kyouka’s mind wanders back to what Dazai said.
She had been so blinded by the dazzling brightness of this new world that she had almost forgotten such a simple fact—the more precious things you have, the harder it is to keep them from slipping through your fingers.
Someday, this tentative peace may very well fall apart. Knowing that, she doesn’t sleep a wink that night.
***
The crate behind her bursts into flying shards as she ducks to the right. She skids back, feet screeching to a halt, skirt aflutter. Regaining her stance, she raises her tantō as she faces her attacker.
A large forepaw withdraws from the wreckage, and then blazing gold eyes hone in on her. She meets them, knowing the only thing reflected there is prey. A shallow breath escapes her. The violent thud of her heart fills the spacious warehouse.
In the split second before the massive white tiger charges at her, all she can do is curse her own powerlessness.
She dodges, and razor sharp claws miss their mark by a breath. A cut blooms across her cheek, burning as it makes contact with the air.
If she had been just half a second faster—she keeps coming back to that point. If she had been just half a second faster, she could have dodged the bullets flying towards her. Atsushi wouldn’t have had to jump in their path, he wouldn’t have fallen over in a heap of choking wet coughs and pooling blood.
The tiger wouldn’t have gained control.
Dazai’s warning echoes through her mind, amplifying her chaotic thoughts.
—You mustn’t rely on your ability during the exam, Atsushi-kun. Because tonight is a—
The moon hangs behind her, large and full, peeking ominously through the crack of a window high above.
A place of dark temptations, the full moon, and the overwhelming stench of blood—all the ingredients necessary for a transformation gathered in one place and time. What terrible luck…
Before the tiger can attack again, a barrage of bullets pelts its flank. Roaring in annoyance, it shifts its focus to the three men aiming their guns at it.
She bites back a curse. Those idiots should have taken their cue to leave the moment their less-than-legal trade deal gained two unwanted witnesses. Then again, if there is one thing she has come to expect from the riffraff of the mafia, it’s foolhardiness bordering on suicidal.
The tiger turns away from her, sinewy muscles tightening for a leap, and she makes a decision in a split second. A flip of her phone and a command into the receiver brings forth a figure she had never wanted to see again.
“Demon Snow, protect them!”
Pushing aside her revulsion, she dashes towards the men as Demon Snow intercepts the tiger’s claws with its gleaming katana.
Would it be callous of her to say that she wouldn’t have batted an eyelash if those fools met their well-deserved end? They had invited death the moment they shot Atsushi, and part of her is tempted to just let him eat them. The only thing that keeps her standing between them and the tiger is the thought of Atsushi’s unfathomable horror should that come to pass.
A series of swift slashes while they’re distracted by the ability battle, and three guns clatter to the ground, followed by startled yelps. Her glare is frigid as she regards the men holding their hands in pain, their fingers dripping with blood.
“Leave. Now,” she orders. “Or I’ll kill you before he can.”
For a few tense seconds, they only glower at her in anger. She can read indignation at being bested by a mere child in their dark expressions. But soon enough, they retreat, slipping out through the back. They escape, taking with them the last hopes of passing the exam. But that hardly matters now.
An ear-splitting screech pulls her attention back to the clashing abilities behind her. Demon Snow’s blade creaks beneath the weight of the tiger’s attacks, and she hurriedly issues a new command before her ability can be overwhelmed.
“Hold him off, Demon Snow!”
Her voice through the receiver, rough and high-pitched, sounds foreign to her ears. Like a nightmare encroaching onto reality, everything surrounding her is both painfully sharp and out of focus. Time ticks in breaths and seconds and eternities and stopped heartbeats. Dread, thick and weighty, curls up in her stomach, wrapping gnarled fingers around her windpipe.
This can’t be real.
A light show of flashing blades and deadly claws fills her vision. Slowly but surely, Demon Snow is being pushed back, blade chipping from the beast’s relentless attacks. She can’t keep defending forever—there’s an obvious difference in power.
She grips her phone with painful tightness. Command. She has to give a new command. Otherwise Demon Snow will shatter, and while she would have wished for nothing more in any other situation, this is the one time she absolutely cannot allow that to happen.
She just has to stop him. If she can hold him off for a bit longer…then what? Dazai might show up? It’s hopeless. He’ll never make it in time.
If she fails here…if the tiger escapes outside…then it doesn’t matter who eventually stops it, or how they manage to do so. Atsushi will no longer be able to live in that world. He’ll lose his place to belong, and for them, that fate might be worse than death.
Faintly, she recalls the conversation she had with Atsushi that morning, right before they left for the agency. He had been sitting on the steps outside, waiting for her, and she had caught him tracing something out against his palm.
—What are you doing?
—Reminding myself of my rule.
—Your rule?
—Oh, I should explain. You see, I still don’t know what it really means to be a good person. So I thought I’d make a rule for myself, one that I must never break. If it’s a rule, you’ll feel like you have to follow it, right?
—So what did you decide on?
—For a long time, I killed in the name of righteousness. I thought it was fine if I could protect you and Dazai-san. But that was just my ego speaking. If possible…I don’t ever want to use my power to kill or cause unnecessary harm again.
—I get that. I think I would wish for the same thing.
—That’s why, if I lose control…you’ll stop me, won’t you, Kyouka-chan?
—Stop you, you say…
—I know it’s a lot to ask. I don’t want to put you in danger if possible. But you’re strong. I’m sure you’d be able to do it. Before I do something I’ll regret forever, I want you to—
“Demon Snow!” she shouts, voice hardened with resolve. “Defeat him!”
Demon Snow surges forth with renewed vigor, eyes aglow behind its mask. Sweeping its blade out in a destructive arc, it sends the tiger flying. The beast flips midair, cratering against the opposite wall with a force that shakes the foundations of the building. A growl issues from deep within it, low and threatening. Haunches rising, it lunges forth like a bullet, bared fangs crashing down on the phantom’s parrying strike.
They exchange blow after blow, a whirlwind of attacks too fast for the eye to see. Bit by bit, Demon Snow’s blade cuts away at the tiger’s strength, painting gashes along its pristine fur. The cuts close after a while, sealing shut without a trace of scarring, but the time it takes grows longer and longer.
Kyouka watches, heart racing. If she can wear the tiger out, make it exhaust its regenerative powers, she might be able to dispel the ability. Then, at the very least, she could save Atsushi—
Just as she falls for that naive hope, the tiger lets loose a deafening roar that runs tremors through everything in its vicinity. In a flash of snapping jaws, it thunders past Demon Snow, a long piece of metal clamped between its teeth. The snapped off blade is spit out with a clang.
Wild eyes zero in on her, and the tiger leaps. In a rustle of billowing kimono fabric, Demon Snow is suddenly between them, but a single slash expels the phantom like scattered mist.
Her legs give out at the same time her cell phone hits concrete, screen shattering. All she can do is raise that useless blade in her hands as she stares into the jaws of death. All she can think is that death has such lovely eyes, like the slivers of sunset she saw that day she escaped.
But death does not come. Not the sinking of sharp teeth into flesh and bone, nor the swipe of a deadly paw severing her head from her neck, nor the crushing weight of heavy limbs bearing down on a fragile frame.
There is only the warmth of a body draped against hers, and Atsushi’s whisper-quiet voice, and the blood staining her hands from a blade buried hilt-deep beneath his ribcage.
“Thanks…Kyou…ka…chan.” His breath ghosts past her ear. An arm comes up, laboriously slow, wrapping around her back. “I knew…you…could do…it.”
The words ring in her ears without any particular meaning. Her mind is white noise and a bottomless abyss. Her feet plummet endlessly with no purchase. She lets go of the hilt as if all the tendons in her hand have been cut, and Atsushi falls over in a heap, leaking out a little pool of red—
This can’t be real.
“Hey. Hey!” she says, voice hysteric, leaning over him with frantic hands that don’t know where to focus. “Open your eyes!”
He gives no response other than a tiny shudder, and why isn’t he healing? Of all the times in the world to stop working, why does that frustratingly relentless, near invulnerable ability choose now? Her fingers close around the tantō, shaking with panic and terror and indecision. If she pulls it out, the tiger might be able to close up the wound. Or it might be too exhausted to answer, and she would only be marching him straight towards his end.
The two options war with each other and the color is seeping out of him along with the blood, and she is numb from head to toe aside from the hilt burning deadly what-if’s into the skin of her palms.
It hurts to breathe.
Another voice, calm as still water, drifts in, saving her from having to make the decision.
“Congrats on passing the entrance exam, Kyouka-chan.”
Her head whips up towards the figure standing before her, towards Dazai, who watches her with a hooded expression. And maybe that’s what pushes her over the edge—the lack of worry, that unhurried assuredness, as if nothing is wrong. As if Atsushi isn’t dying by their feet as they speak.
She’s on him in a flash, fists bunching his shirt in angry accusation. “Why! If you were here, why didn’t you stop him?!”
“This was the only way,” Dazai says, voice still deceptively kind. “He had to win against his ability on his own. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to pass.”
“What’s the point of passing if he’s, he’s—”
“He’ll be fine, Kyouka-chan. We’ve got the best medic in Yokohama—no, all of Japan—on our side.”
The assurance catches her off guard, and she stares misty-eyed as a figure she hadn’t noticed leaning against the doorframe of the warehouse briskly struts past them. Yosano kneels by Atsushi’s curled up form, measuring his weakening pulse with a finger on his neck.
“Almost there,” Yosano says to herself.
Faster than Kyouka can react, she grabs the tantō embedded in Atsushi’s chest and yanks it out with a sickening squelch. A strangled gasp escapes Atsushi before he falls limp again. Only the hand on Kyouka’s shoulder and a whispered reassurance of just watch keep her in place.
The air pulses with unseen energy, and then a swarm of iridescent butterflies explodes into existence. Kyouka can only watch in wonder as they alight on Atsushi, sealing his wound in a storm of fluttering wings and shimmering dust. Broken bones knit themselves back together, torn muscles and skin patch over, until only the wear and tear of battle give any indication of there having been a wound in the first place.
Yosano rises to her feet, showing a victorious grin. “That was the first time you’ve seen my ability, wasn’t it? In the agency, fatal injuries are the same as no injuries.”
Kyouka rushes over to them, falling into a crouch by Atsushi’s side. A rustle of fabric behind her tells her that Dazai has followed after her. For a moment, she concentrates only on the steady rise and fall of Atsushi’s chest, and the feeling of solid ground beneath her feet. Her hand twitches with the urge to shake him awake, to see him lively again.
As if responding to her wish, a cough racks through him, and he cracks open bleary eyes. “That…was not fun.”
She lets out a breath, sagging in relief.
With some effort, Atsushi’s eyes find Dazai. “Did you say…we passed?”
Dazai flashes them a victory sign. “You did! According to Kunikida-kun, at least. Good work, you two.”
His cheer holds for five more seconds before he collapses to his knees, shoulders hunched over. He lets out a nervous little laugh. “Christ, I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”
“Surely Mori-san’s protégé should have more mettle in him than that,” Yosano drawls. “Considering you were the one who proposed this kind of ridiculous entrance exam in the first place.”
“Zip it.”
There’s a flurry of activity after that—Kenji calling from outside about what to do with the roughed up smugglers, Kunikida complaining about how the damages are going to be factored into company expenses, and Yosano trying to convince Atsushi that another round of healing would really do him some good, so won’t he let her cut him up just two or three more times?—but it’s all a blur in Kyouka’s mind. The adrenaline of the long night has finally faded, and as exhaustion claims her in all but spirit, she is certain of only three things.
One—Atsushi is safe.
Two—They protected the place where they belong.
And three—Once she has properly rested, she is going to kick Dazai in the shins.
(It takes multiple groveling apologies, a new phone, and a promise of a month’s worth of crepes, but eventually he wins back her forgiveness.)
***
She finds him leaning against a wall outside, making friends with a decorative fern. The excitement and chatter of the office fades as she shuts the door behind her.
“Enjoying the party?” he asks, gaze lost in the cube of ice bobbing in his glass.
Kyouka watches him curiously, noting his nearly untouched drink. “You don’t seem to be.”
“It’s not really my thing.”
If she were more expressive, her eyebrows might have met her hairline at that. For him to pass up on a chance to antagonize Kunikida, Akutagawa, and Chuuya all at the same time—it must have been the off day of the century. He tends to disappear during his moodier episodes, it’s true, but today, the spark of mischief missing from his eyes feels like more of a loss than usual.
“Are your shins better now?” she asks, if only to have a relatively innocent topic to focus on.
Dazai’s lips quirk up, and he clutches at his heart dramatically. “Shattered beyond recognition, actually! The doctor says they may never completely heal. You’ve got the talent to be a first-rate striker, Kyouka-chan.”
Not in the mood for a conversation either. That explains why he’s skulking out here, lost in thoughts all alone. She wonders if he’s thinking about the next big conflict, weeks, months, maybe even years away. She wonders how it feels for every breath to be calculated, for every step to be yet another move on a chessboard inching towards a precarious victory.
“I thought about your question,” she says instead.
“Oh?” Setting his glass down by the pot, he tucks his arms into his elbows and sends her an encouraging look. “And what was the answer you came up with?”
“You told me to choose between him or the world.” To make her face herself and find her own resolve to remain in the light—that had been his intention all along. “But it’s not one or the other. I want to protect both of them.”
“It’s not always that simple. You might end up losing both that way.” He doesn’t say it to be cruel, just states it the way one would make an observation about the weather.
“I know. But I still have to try.”
His brows furrow, not in outright disapproval, though the concern is there. “Even when it would hurt more if you were to fail?”
“It’s because it would hurt more that you have to treasure it now. You have to fight for it with everything you have, so you never lose it,” she insists.
She has seen the damage caused by pushing away something precious, in both him and Atsushi. Dazai might have put on a calm front the night they left the mafia, but wounds that deep are not so easily hidden. And maybe he had simply wanted to warn her about the path she was heading down, so she would not become as unbearably empty as he was.
Even so, they are not the same. Her mistakes are her own, and her decisions as well. “I want to protect this place, this life, and everyone in it,” she tells him, certain at the very least of that one thing. “That includes you too. Not as the Boss or as someone who has to make amends to me. But as family.”
Dazai stares at her in stunned silence, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Then he lets out a helpless chuckle. “You’re a sweet kid, Kyouka-chan. Atsushi-kun too. You two are brimming with hope, aren’t you?”
“I’d rather be foolishly hopeful than live in constant fear that I could lose everything in a second. That’s how I’ve decided to fight.”
He smiles this time, and there is only the faintest trace of bittersweetness in the crook of his mouth. “I’ll cheer you on then.”
That’s wrong, she wants to tell him. You’re supposed to say you’ll fight with me. With us.
“There you are!” The door swings open and Atsushi is rushing up to them, barrelling right through the taut atmosphere of their conversation. “They’re taking a group photo with everyone. Let’s go!”
Dazai gives Kyouka a nod and turns to leave, but she grabs his arm, pulling him back. He looks at her quizzically.
“You come too,” she says, leaving no room for argument.
Atsushi observes the mental war playing out between the two, then latches on to Dazai’s other arm. “Let’s take a photo together, Dazai-san!”
Faced with two sets of earnest eyes, Dazai is quickly defeated and allows himself to be dragged into the office.
The others welcome them back with varying levels of enthusiasm, ranging from Kunikida’s stiff hmph to Kenji’s eager attempt to usher them over to the rest of the group. Chuuya relaxes ever so slightly when he sees them—a reaction he tries his best to hide by starting a fight with Dazai.
“Look who finally decided to show his ugly mug. You done sulking in the corner by yourself?”
“I meant to be here, really I did. But I wasn’t aware this establishment would allow dogs inside. There’s even an angry little one barking at me right now.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“You would do that for me? I’m touched.”
They end up standing next to each other for the photo, of course.
Getting such a large group in order proves difficult, but with a bit of shuffling, a lot of patience, and two murder attempts against Dazai, everyone settles into position long enough for Naomi to start the timer on the camera and rush back into frame.
“Thank you,” comes a whisper above Kyouka, quiet enough to be mistaken for an exhale. Two words meant only for the ears of three people.
To her left, Atsushi shuffles closer, while Chuuya pretends it’s Dazai's fault that their shoulders knock together, instead of a natural consequence of him leaning over. Kyouka reaches up behind her and gives Dazai’s sleeve a tug, smiling for the camera as the flash goes off.
If she could go anywhere she wanted, she would still choose to be here with these three, through all of their doubts and unspoken burdens.
Because, in spite of it all, the place she has found is one of easy laughter and dappled sunlight.