Chapter One

Shame

Greetings, audience! I bring you a tale of Fruit-Chan, whom I dearly adore and pity. As an FYI, this story will mostly focus on the people in CCG after Fruit's appointment, so although Kaneki, Touka, and much of GOAT will be featured, they won't be main characters. But if you like Fruit, the Quinx, Ui, and the Oggai, along with messy romance between messy people, venture on?

Thank you so much for reading! :)

Kannon hadn't really been morally conflicted when she'd thrown a vase at her father and stormed out despite her mother's pleas, or when she'd sold herself to pay for her alcohol. In fact, she hadn't really felt anything at all.

But now she did.

And yet she stepped forward, one foot in front of the other. As she approached his office, she pressed the nearly invisible button in her collar and prayed that if there were a God, that God would forgive her.

She opened the door without knocking, but that was hardly unusual.

He looked up from his desk with a quick smirk. "What have we here?"

Kannon closed the door behind her without another word, as per typical. "I had to talk to you."

Souta frowned, rising to glide over to her. "Is something wrong?"

She laughed as he nuzzled the back of her neck. "You're incorrigible."

"I try, my silverlight." He sat on his desk and pulled her besides him. His eyes sparkled like treasure, and she found herself fighting to stay in this moment.

"I wanted to make you aware," she murmured, resting her chin on his chest. "There's some slander in headquarters. They're saying you're a ghoul."

Souta frowned. Worry over petty rumors wasn't like her. "What of it?"

"Mr. Washuu-Furuta, would you tell me if you were?" Kannon lowered her gaze.

"Why would you suspect me?" His voice rose, but he wasn't sure what to make of this yet.

She wore that sweet but no-nonsense smile that would forever disarm him. "You rarely eat and seem ill when you do. You hate ghouls with a passion that only rivals how much I know you've hated yourself. Things don't add up, Souta."

She knows me. Souta smiled back at her, and despite herself, Kannon felt her lips turn up.

"Yes, they do," he insisted, nibbling her ear. Nerves misted his innards, but they didn't matter in her light. "They do because I'm a failed half-ghoul with an artificial kagukan on top of that."

Kannon's eyes widened, but indeed one of Souta's corneas was now black, his irises red. He smiled at her, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

Failed half ghoul…artificial kagukan…there were so many layers to the nonsensical truth he'd just uttered. Layers she'd never learn.

"Should I worry about you turning me in?" He grinned. He felt as if he were floating, releasing the weight of each secret into her accepting waters.

She laughed, albeit shakily. Well, perhaps she was just surprised. "I would never hurt you."

Her fingers gripped his, surprisingly tight. Her tone became desperate. "I love you."

Souta frowned and opened his mouth, but the door to his office had already flown off its hinges.

Kannon's lips parted just inches from his. She hadn't even had the chance to kiss him one last time.

"Get away from her!"

"Souta –"

For a moment, an earthquake rocked his face; he lost his smile. She would never reveal his name on accident.

"Get away!" The Oggai rushed in, sending Kannon stumbling back into Koori Ui, whose hands clamped around her shoulders.

She wanted nothing more than to scream and beg his forgiveness, but she couldn't. For him, she would break her own heart.

Kannon stood still as a blaze of rinkaku threw Souta over his desk, onto the floor. She ground her teeth to avoid gagging as they sliced off Souta's left leg below the knee, and then his right.

Souta sat up, eyes wide and uncharacteristically confused as his hands tumbled to the ground, free of his arms.

There was no point in fighting. Still, this could be interesting – very much so – just another hiccup.

But as a gag was forced into his mouth, Furuta's red iris landed on her impassive face.

Pain exploded down his nerves, fire far worse than amputation. Forget being bound and gagged and helpless – why? Why?

I gave you everything, he wanted to scream. And he'd liked it. She'd shown him a fun he hadn't anticipated.

She'd never loved him. She'd played him for a fool.

Ami's face drifted before him, shrieking vile curses at his treason, and for once he understood her.

Kannon's steely eyes devoured his last resolve. Souta choked on his gag and his trust.

If it was the last thing he did, he would wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her.


Six Months Earlier

"I'd be careful if I were you."

Furuta's eyes slid to the woman casually sipping water by his side. "Oh? Do tell what you're thinking."

He smiled disarmingly at the woman, who reached out to adjust his glittery glasses emblazoned with the word PARTY.

So she had zero regard for boundaries. This could be fun.

The party buzzed around them, full of perfumed suits and crystalline chatter in a golden room. The wine had washed away the memory of "Kaneki Ken" until he was a mere smear on the stage they'd long all forgotten about.

She pressed her hand over her mouth and whispered dramatically, "Shh, don't tell. But anyone that egregiously dressed has serious insecurity issues."

"I am dressed flawlessly, my dear." Furuta tilted his head and tried not to giggle at the ticklish faux mustache on his lip. He leaned in closer to her. "Are you just looking to pick on someone?"

"Don't you wish." She drained her glass.

He flicked a strand of her shoulder-length hair. "You've dyed your hair the color of old, impotent men."

She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from choking. "Well, get this: I went gray in my teens." Her eyes widened. "I may be younger than you and you'd never know."

"Aw, is someone insecure that they're still at the bottom of the workforce?" Furuta finished his wine and relished its burn. Alcohol was only second to the burn of briny blood.

"I'm not, actually." Now her grin spread to her eyes. "I'm your new secretary."

Furuta choked. "You're kidding."

"Technically, I was to be Matsuri Washuu's new secretary. I was hired before the clown raid, you see, but everything's been chaos since." She needed to start on the right foot, but she couldn't resist testing the bad one first. "Presumably you could still fire me. Now's your chance, I suppose, though I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't."

"Should I?" Furuta leaned back to take in a youthful, square face framing mischievous eyes that perfectly matched her olive swing dress. "If nothing else, you'll improve the décor."

Her gloves grabbed his glass, green over his red.

"If nothing else, oh tipsy one," she said as she lowered it from his face, "you'll stop drinking before you dig yourself into a pit of misogyny and harassment."

"Is that your attempt to ensure I don't fire you? I'm quaking."

"Merely my attempt to protect you from yourself. Professionally. It's in the job description. Although I was supposed to look after Matsuri then." Technically, she'd been assigned to 'protect' him by flirting with him. But Kichimura Washuu didn't seem to have the same preferences as his cousin, and her original employer was dead. Such circumstances earned the universe her eternal gratitude, even if she could never resurrect her parents' respect.

"That wouldn't have been a job for a mere mortal," he said in mock horror.

"Ah, I think you'll keep it interesting enough." She tapped his glasses.

"What if I needed those to see?"

"You don't," she said dryly. "It's cheap plastic."

"But what if I did?" Furuta leaned forward until his forehead brushed hers.

She smiled politely. "Then I'd be polishing them for you."

"But you'd still sully them with your greasy fingers." He winked.

"Of course." She couldn't resist.

Furuta smirked. "I believe we'll fare well together."

"I'm relieved to hear that," she said with a laugh that trembled with apparent sincerity.

He preferred the sassy side. "And what is your name, Miss Secretary?"

"Kannon Sato. At your service, sir." Kannon curtsied.

"Well, Kannon, that's the first time I've been curtsied to."

Kannon raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that just the sort of ostentatious, ridiculous demonstration people expect from these events?"

Furuta adjusted his mustache. "So you prefer subtle hyperbole. I prefer outright fun."

"Ridiculous comes in many flavors, Director Washuu."

"Indeed. I aim to taste all of them."

"Then eat your mustache," she said with a wink. "I doubt even a ghoul would want that caterpillar."

"I'm offended for the caterpillar's sake." Furuta moved his index fingers up and down, like inchworms.

"You'd need the green gloves to convince me, caterpillar." She peeled off her glove and handed it to him.

"I'll split it," he said blithely, yanking the glove over his own.

"You don't seem to mind."

"Director Washuu." Koori Ui, that silly, broken donkey, approached and smiled politely. What on earth are you doing? "I, uh, see you've met Miss Sato."

"Indeed." Furuta poked Ui's nose with his green finger, drawing a smile from Kannon. "Why didn't you tell me about her?"

"I didn't hire her. Associates of your family did." And Ui did not trust the gaps in Miss Sato's background.

Kannon cocked an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," Furuta said coolly, handing her back her ill-stretched glove. What a beautiful card to play.

"Fantastic." Kannon nodded and stepped away. "I'll be, er, going now. Pleasure meeting you, Director, and congratulations. Bureau Director Advisor Ui, pleasure re-meeting you and congratulations on your own promotion."

"Thanks," muttered Ui, looking as cheerful as someone who'd signed his own death contract.

"Don't look so happy." Furuta threw his arm around Ui. "I don't like you, Koori Ui, but you've encouraged me when I've needed it and you'll be exactly the adviser I need."

That's what I'm worried about. Ui didn't know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut.


"Leaving so early?" A sandy-haired investigator draped his lanky frame across the exit.

"If I don't, I may not leave sober," Kannon smiled as she hesitated. All she wanted was to shed her stuffy dress and priggish company for the cool, safe darkness of nighttime air.

"I'm sorry; I can't seem to recall your name." A scruffy brunette extended his hand.

The sandy-haired investigator burst out laughing. "That's because she's new, silly! She's Director Washuu's new secretary."

"Well," said Kannon, taking the brunette's fingers with caution, "I seem to have forgotten both your name and face, so perhaps I'm worse than your friend."

"Yeah, I'm sure I've seen you before. Terribly sorry." The man tilted his head. "First Class Hidenori Tateshima."

"And I'm First Class Kuramoto Itou." The sandy-haired man waved his hand about. "Of Itou Squad."

"But not of the flirting squad, apparently," Kannon said dryly.

"What? Madam!" Itou gasped, his cheeks flushing.

"Never fear; you're quite adorable, First Class." She avoided Tateshima's eyes as she patted Itou on his shoulder. Did he remember?

"Don't reward his behavior!" gasped Tateshima.

He didn't remember. He was funny, too, and cute, and innocent. Kannon plastered a smile on her face and patted him, too. "There, happy? Now I'll be going, gentlemen."

She pushed past them and out the door, into the fragrant Tokyo air. Humidity settled embraced her like lost family.

"Beware of ghouls," Itou said with a wink.

"Oh, is that so?" Kannon backed away. "Beware of yourself. You may find you're far more frightening than a ghoul."

"Hey!" Tateshima laughed as the new girl melted into nothing but the click of heels under darkness.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I saw someone murdered tonight. And then we returned to drinking and laughing.

No, Mom and Dad wouldn't like her. She ought to speak to Akemi and Maro. After yanking off her blistering heels, Kannon sank onto her ratted couch.

His blood still stained the stage while we did. Do you think that's odd? That people die every second while we carry out the banal basics of life?

She rested her chin on her hand.

Akemi would probably ask, "Have you been drinking?"

I swear I'm sober. I'm just not used to seeing someone die. If I'm honest, I'm more scared how … unaffected I was. I mean, I hated it, but it was more a function of my brain than a feeling. Kannon furrowed her brow. Does that make me a psychopath?

"No. You're feeling now. Maybe you went numb as a coping mechanism," Maro would suggest. He would then bustle towards the kitchen for a soda.

Well, I do have enough of those.

"Here. Just in case." Maro would hand her Coke in a glass bottle, because Kannon had once been rich enough to hate cans.

Say, you don't have rum to add, do you?

"Kannon!"

I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Kannon waved her hand about. Maro relaxed and his smile returned. They could almost joke again.

I saw a former customer tonight

At that, no power of imagination could transmute her siblings' disgust.

Kannon wrapped her arms around herself as tears pressed against her eyelids. You're all ashamed of me, aren't you?


Pretend it doesn't matter. Doesn't it make you laugh?

Furuta chuckled as he lay across his bed, still clad in his inaugural suit. Minus the shoes because, of course, dirt.

His father would have never imagined this. Furuta spread his arms out in preparation for his future, not that there was much left.

He hadn't asked to be born. He hadn't asked to be hated, not at first. A lump rose in his throat as he found himself pulling blankets around his shoulders. He wasn't cold at all, but blankets added security and how could he sleep without that?

Baby.

Maybe, but I still beat you, Dad. Literally. Furuta forced a smile. He'd found that smiles and giggles were like boosters in whatever sorry video game life was. With earth as it was, who could predict a laugh?

A thrill ran through him. He would dig and dig into CCG until they buried themselves in shame, but he himself could never be ashamed no matter how many were slaughtered.

Because he'd won. People were going to die and he would the eye of this chaotic hurricane. Wasn't it fabulous?

"And when I die," he whispered to the bright room – he always slept with the lights on – "I'll be free."

Free of hatred. Free of shame. He craved that kind of existence even if it meant no existence, and he intended to free as many as he could. When you thought about it, really thought about it, he was almost an abolitionist.

Tsuneyoshi Washuu's ashen, bloodied face appeared in his dreamlike state.

"Hey Dad," he whispered, as he always did. "You're in awe of me, aren't you?"