Recently, I loaned a few books to Hinami. I hope you've had the chance to enjoy them together. Masks is an important book to me, but lately I've been thinking about the Izumi Kyouka anthology I left with her even more, particularly the ghost story. Maybe it's because I've been feeling haunted myself; it's the same sort of all-encompassing haunting as in the story, one that affects all of the senses. Perhaps possessed is a better word to use to describe the feeling.

I haven't worked up the courage to tell you this yet, and frankly, I hope I won't ever have to. I tell myself that it will all pass with time, but I'm really only guessing, trying to make myself feel better. When Tsukiyama asked me to help you, I was still struggling with my own insecurities and failures, but I've moved past that. Now, what occupies my mind is your situation and what could make it right.

But I should be honest, shouldn't I? After all, this is a letter that might not ever be sent, so I may write freely. The truth is more complicated than late-night ponderings or simple musings, and likely not what you've come to expect from me. I've written before that I don't think either of us means to keep secrets, and I still believe that. But it happens, time and time again, and we simply accept that there are some things we are not yet meant to know. I think you've grown accustomed to being the one who falls back on silence in the place of explanations, and you take comfort in knowing that you have unmasked me and seen all that lies beneath.

But there is more that you have yet to uncover, things that I have painstakingly hidden from you with layer upon layer of masks, and I suspect the same is true about you. We have so much to talk about, yet I fear we'll never get the chance.

I don't know why, but I feel as though something will tear us apart long before then.


Eika knows something is wrong when she calls the landline phone at Ken's and Hinami is the one to answer. "Hello?" the girl squeaks on the other end, sounding uneasy.

"Hinami? Is Ken there?"

"Um. No, he's not."

"Alright," Eika says, "How about Banjou?"

"He's not here, either." Hinami hesitates before adding, "It's just me here right now."

"You're home alone?"

"It's okay," Hinami says quickly, "Ken said it was okay, and everyone's coming home later."

Eika frowns. "Would it be alright if I came over?" she asks.

"Of course! Then you can have your books back."

She suspects Ken would be less than pleased to find out she went alone, but she also thinks what he doesn't know won't hurt him. She tells Hinami she'll be there soon and grabs her backpack, rushing to catch the first train she can. Tokyo flies by outside the window, people melding into crowds, celebrity's faces plastered on billboards, car parks and business towers. It's the same city it's always been, but nothing looks the same anymore. No one really knows how many ghouls live in Tokyo—she's seen estimates anywhere between a minuscule fraction of the population to over a third—but she knows they're there, right alongside humans, occupying the same space yet living in different worlds. Occasionally, when people go missing or when a raid on a foreclosed property turns up human remains stuffed in the back of a refrigerator, those two worlds collide.

Like Noh, or like one of Izumi's stories, she thinks, like the ghost that floods rooms and leaves behind wet footprints, interacting with the world of the living for just a moment.

Hinami was particularly fond of 'The Eyebrow-Hiding Ghost' for reasons Eika can't fathom, as it was the story they spent the most time on despite Hinami having more trouble reading the others. There are no children in the story; Eika isn't sure if Hinami relates to one of the characters or if it's just enjoyable. She thinks the idea of ghosts is romantic, at least, the thought that one might leave behind a tangible legacy long after their death, one that moves and speaks and seeks out their loves ones.

But the ghosts that haunt Japanese mythology rarely stay for love, and Eika thinks there is something to be said for leaving nothing at all behind.

Hinami is on the second floor balcony when Eika arrives, a flower pot with a single sprout in her arms. She notices Eika all the way down the block when a breeze blows by, waving excitedly and setting the plant down before running back inside, shutting the glass doors behind her. She meets Eika at the front door downstairs, surprising her with a hug.

"I'm glad you came over," Hinami says, leading Eika into the living room. The house is quiet without the rest of the ghouls home, the siblings absent from their spot on the couch and the kitchen empty without Banjou rifling through cupboards. "I read the Izumi stories with Ken," Hinami says, holding the book out to Eika, "But we're still finishing Masks. Can we keep it a little longer?"

Eika smiles, nodding appreciatively as she takes the book and puts it in her bag. "Of course. What do you think so far?"

Hinami goes to sit on the couch, picking up her notebook from the table, and Eika drifts over to peer over her shoulder. "I like it," Hinami says, "But there are some things I don't really understand. I wrote down all the stuff I wanted to ask you."

Masks sits on the table with a bookmark sticking out somewhere in the first half, next to a pile of texts on Noh theater with library tags. The last thing on the table holds her attention the longest, though, sticking out with shiny black leather, zippers and buckles, a row of teeth in the front. "Hinami, what's this?" she asks curiously, reaching over her to pick it up. It's a mask, she thinks, or some kind of garment anyway, as she turns it over in her hands to examine. There's a large tear in the square patch above the teeth, unraveling and fraying the edges.

"That's Ken's," Hinami says quietly, "It got torn earlier, so he can't wear it now."

Eika stares at the mask for a moment, trying to imagine Ken wearing it, and struggles to come up with a mental image. "It was torn?" she asks.

Hinami bites her lip and looks away, putting her hands in her lap and twiddling her fingers. "Well, we were busy," she mumbles.

"Busy?" Eika repeats.

"Yeah. Um." The girl glances around the room as though looking for something, though her gaze eventually goes back to the mask in Eika's hands. Suddenly her eyes light up. "So we have to get it fixed."

"What?"

"Yeah!" Hinami jumps up from the couch, smiling. "Everyone else is already doing other things today, so we should go fix Ken's mask. I bet that'd make him happy."

Eika studies Hinami's face carefully, seeing just a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She relents with a sigh. "Well, alright," she says, "But I'm not really sure who fixes masks around here."

Hinami's smile widens. "I know someone."


Eika has vague memories of hearing mention of the 4th ward in the news frequently as a child. It had been a lawless ward overrun by ghouls who tore each other apart when the number of human residents dwindled. The CCG had little choice but to step back and let the problem take care of itself, resuming operations only at the end of a year-long campaign to swoop in and exterminate whatever was left when the dust settled. Since then, things have gotten better. Property values have gone back up and it's grown again into an artist magnet of metropolitan and alternative fashion, gothic Lolita shops and tattoo parlors springing up in once-dying strip malls.

She isn't surprised, then, when it's where Hinami claims they'll find someone who can fix Ken's mask. She stays close to the younger girl, who leaves home wearing an oversized coat, a medical mask, and a black wig, looking a bit like an eccentric preteen and fitting right in with the Shinjuku crowd. She leads Eika down twisting alleyways, past art galleries and nightclubs that have yet to open, before stopping front of an antique door with a little "open" sign hung on the knocker. A long sign on the left reads "HySy Artmask Studio" with the hours printed beneath, and a list of daily specials, sales and price listings is scrawled on a little blackboard outside. There's a dark red curtain hanging in the window, blocking any view of the inside of the shop, but two mannequin heads are propped up on the sill in front of it, one wearing a gas mask and the other some sort of balaclava with markings like a cat skull.

"This is the place?" she asks Hinami uneasily, and the girl nods, opening the door without hesitation.

Eika freezes in the doorway, a little intimidated by the display. Mannequin torsos are elevated on golden pedestals, all wearing different masks and staring in different directions. There are elaborate Venetian masks with feathers and gemstones, eerie and bone-colored masks with rows of sharp teeth carved into the bottom, Japanese festival masks that look like ogres and foxes, and no two designs are quite the same. There are a couple rows of masks hanging on the walls, seemingly leering down at them, and Eika feels self-conscious somehow as she follows Hinami into the store.

"Mr. Uta?" Hinami calls, tugging her medical mask down to speak clearly, "Mr. Uta, it's me."

"Just a minute," Eika hears a quiet reply, "I'll be right with you, Hinami."

Hinami tugs on Eika's sleeve, smiling. "It's okay. He's really nice."

Eika forces a smile back, realizing she must look a bit nervous. "I'm sure he is," she says.

"While we're waiting," the younger girl says, tugging her notebook out of her shoulder bag, "Can we talk about the story?"

"About….?" Eika blinks. "Oh, Masks, right?"

"Yeah. There was a part when they all went to look at the Noh masks, but I wasn't sure what they looked like, so I couldn't imagine it very well." Hinami flips through her notebook for a certain page, holding it up for Eika to read.

"I see." She takes it from Hinami, smiling at the childish scrawl of words she isn't familiar with. "This first one is zo-onna. It's often used for characters with an exalted rank, like women in the royal court or goddesses. It's beautiful, but I've heard people say it looks cruel."

"Like that one?" Hinami asks, pointing to the wall. Eika follows her gaze and meets the cold eyes of a startlingly human-looking mask, one with small dots for eyebrows raised high above the eyes, perhaps in amusement, gently smiling lips painted in a rose red.

"Ah," Eika says, surprised and a little unnerved, "Yeah. Like that one." The painted eyes seem to follow her when she moves, its smile changing to a sneer if she tilts her head, and while she wants to look away, she's afraid to. "That's really impressive, actually. It almost looks like a real Noh mask, the way its expression changes in the light."

"Mr. Uta is really good at making masks."

"I can see that."

"What was the other one?"

Eika glances back down at the notebook. "That one was ryo-onna. It's used for ghosts."

"That's a bit vague, isn't it?" Eika hears from just over her shoulder and shrieks, dropping the notebook on the floor as she whirls around and presses herself back against the glass case. There's a man standing there, tall and a little pale, half of his head shaved and the rest of his black hair smoothed over one eye and tied into a ponytail. She sees tattoos, numerous piercings, black and white attire, but the rest of the details are secondary to his eyes; black and red like Ken's when he starts to lose control.

"I mean," he elaborates, "Zo-onna is used for vengeful ghosts born of older women, who are still tormented by their unrequited love long after they've died."

"Mr. Uta!" Hinami scolds, "You scared her."

"Oops," he says evenly, and Eika can tell he's sizing her up, gaze moving from her face to the rest of her body, lingering briefly at her hands clutched in front of her chest. "I'm Uta."

"Eika," she squeaks, heart still beating rapidly, "Ishihara, Eika. Nice to meet you."

"Eika," Uta repeats slowly, dragging her name out as though weighing it on his tongue, "The writer."

"Uh…."

"Center of a media firestorm for a while there."

"I—!"

"And, of course, an associate of Kaneki's, but that's not surprising."

Eika pauses. "It's not?"

"No," Uta says, "Kaneki's gotten to know a lot of people in the last few months. A few friends, a few more enemies. Mostly people who want nothing to do with him when they realize what they're getting themselves into."

"What…?"

"Mr. Uta," Hinami pleads, "I'm not supposed to…."

Eika is still confused, but Uta seems to understand, nodding. "My bad," he drawls, "I shouldn't talk about things that aren't my business, which is what I assume you came here for?"

"Ken's mask got ripped," Hinami says, producing it from her bag and handing it to the man.

"I see," he says, examining the tear, "That's quite a gash. I'd love to know what he did to get it." He glances at Hinami. "I assume the Gourmet is paying for this?"

She nods. "Will it be ready soon?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, I don't have a lot going on today, so I can start on it now. Might be worth it to just replace the whole eye patch. You can come back for it later."

"Thanks, Mr. Uta!" Hinami says, and starts trotting towards the door.

Eika doesn't quite take the first step to follow her when she hears, "Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute," and turns back slowly to see Uta's eyes boring holes into her. "If you don't mind," he adds after a long silence, and Eika glances at Hinami, who's stopped in the doorway uncertainly.

"That's fine," she says, exhaling when Hinami comes back inside. She tells herself she's protecting Hinami, that she doesn't want her going home alone, but she's also relieved she won't be in the store by herself with the mask maker.

"I've got a couple spare chairs around here somewhere," Uta says, gesturing towards the back of the shop where his desk is. Sewing equipment and sketch paper are scattered across it and a cork board full of photographs and human anatomy posters hangs on the back wall. He pulls up a couple of stools—one on the side that Hinami plops down into and one pointedly beside his own, but Eika makes herself sit without looking like she's hesitating too long. Uta takes his seat, and though his eyes are on the mask as he reaches for a seam ripper, Eika still feels that his attention is on her.

"You don't have to stay the whole time," he says, "I just wanted to talk a bit. We haven't been properly introduced, after all."

"Right."

"So. Let's talk. About you and Kaneki."

Hinami has pulled out a cell phone and is playing a game of some kind, oblivious to the conversation. Eika glances at the wall, studying a vintage diagram of the abdominal cavity. "What about us?"

"You're a lot alike," he says as he works, "Although, maybe it's more accurate to say you were a lot alike. Before Yamori."

Eika nods.

"I was there that night," he goes on, "The manager of the place he used to work at organized a rescue party. We didn't know it at the time, but we were probably unnecessary. Ken would've escaped with or without our help, because he'd gotten that strong." The eye covering comes undone from the rest of the mask, and Uta holds it up, sticking a finger through the hole slashed across it. "I only met him a couple times before that," he says, "And honestly, I didn't think someone like him could get through what he did alive. And maybe he didn't. You're a literature student, right? I guess you know all about metaphorical death."

"He's definitely been through a lot," Eika agrees, "I don't know if I'd go as far to say that he died, though. He's had to change to survive, but he's still the same person I remember."

I still love him, she thinks, and her face flushes a bit.

"That's true," Uta says, "He is still Kaneki, underneath it all. I don't think he'll be able to change that, even if he tries." He reaches into a drawer beneath his desk, digging through fabric scraps. "It makes you think, though, doesn't it?"

"What does?"

"Kaneki's changes. It seems even the most unassuming people can undergo the kinds of transformations he has. It's inspiring, I guess. But more importantly," he pauses meaningfully, turning to meet Eika's eyes, "It makes me wonder if he had it in him all along and this is just what brought it out."

Eika looks away. "Ah. I'm not sure."

"Aren't you curious?" he pushes, "Don't you ever think about what you would do if you were in his position? Do you think you would have made it?"

"I don't think so."

"I didn't think Kaneki would have," he says wistfully, "Yet here we are. It's interesting."

"Are you," she hesitates, unsure if she wants to even ask, "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"Hinami lent me a book of hers not too long ago," he says absently, though he glances at Hinami to see if she's paying attention, finding her engrossed in her game, "It was something by Edogawa Ranpo, can't recall the title. Lots of short stories."

"Oh. Did you like it?"

He nods. "It was good. I remember, in particular, the one about the woman who takes care of her husband after he comes home from war disfigured. You know the one I'm talking about?"

"The Caterpillar."

"Yeah, that's the one. Both of those characters were in a pretty hopeless situation, don't you think? Wasn't much they could do to fix it; he was a deaf-mute quadriplegic amputee, and she had no one to help her take care of him."

Eika glances at Uta's profile as he begins to work on a new eye cover, hand stitching with a large needle. He's looked half-asleep since they came in, slouching and looking at her with a half-lidded gaze, but now she thinks he seems a bit more animated, something like an excited smile touching his lips.

"And yet," he says, "They both underwent transformations in their own way."

"I thought the point was that they couldn't change," Eika says warily, "The husband was like a caterpillar that would never become a butterfly, and the wife had no one else and nowhere to go."

"But they did change," Uta insists, "Even if it was only in each other's minds, and in their memories of one another, they changed. Not into butterflies, or into better people." He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, smiling. "But into monsters."


"Banjou and the others should be back by now, don't you think?" Eika asks as she walks with Hinami back to the train station.

The younger girl nods, glancing up at the sky. "It's almost nighttime. If they're not home yet, they should be soon."

"Good. You can tell Ken about the masks you learned about."

Hinami hesitates a moment before answering. "Ken probably won't be back tonight."

"Oh." Eika doesn't know if it's worth asking why; she knows they don't want to tell her much. "Well, later on, you can come back with them to get Ken's mask. It'll be a nice surprise when he gets home."

"Yeah!" Hinami looks up at her, and Eika can tell she's smiling from her eyes even with her mouth covered by the medical mask. "Are you going to stay the night again? Then you can come with when we go back to Uta's. You guys talked for a long time."

Eika smiles tightly. "Not this time," she says, "But I'll come to visit again soon."

She goes back to the 6th ward to drop Hinami off, waiting until she turns the lights on upstairs to let Eika know she's in safely, and heads back to the train station for the final trek home. She tries to think about what classwork she needs to get done for next week or what Ken might be up to, but her thoughts keep straying back to her conversation with Uta, the way he looked at her as they sat at his desk and she wanted nothing more than to run away.

"No one becomes a monster because they want to," he'd said, "But he became one to cope with what happened, and she became one to cope with him, and that's how they began to see one another and themselves."

Eika had swallowed her nervousness and asked timidly, "Are we still talking about the story?"

Uta regarded her with amusement in his eyes. "I dunno. You tell me."

She wraps her arms around her bag in her lap, taking a deep breath. Does Uta know something she doesn't? She finds herself thinking about all of the things she doesn't know, all of the things Banjou and Tsukiyama and Ken himself—and even Hinami—are keeping from her, the way they go quiet when she asks certain questions and hush one another when they misspeak, and she worries.

Her worry morphs into a gnawing anxiety as the train slides into her home station, and as she steps onto the train platform, she feels eyes following her from somewhere she can't see. She tries to walk normally at first, keeping pace with the crowd that departs with her up the stairs and onto the street, picking up the pace when it begins to thin out and everyone goes their separate ways. She waits nervously at the crosswalk, glancing over her shoulder and tapping her foot impatiently, unsure if this is simply paranoia, but she speedwalks across the street when the light changes. By the time she's a block away, she's running, footsteps heavy on the staircase up to her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her and resting her back against it as she waits to stop hyperventilating. She starts to feel a bit embarrassed, laughing quietly to herself as she locks the door and kicks off her shoes, going to sit at her desk and relax.

She doesn't quite have the light on when she hears something heavy land on her balcony, and she's just turning to look when something bangs against the glass, making her jump from her seat. She can make out a silhouette in the dark, someone crouching outside with a hand and a twitching, pulsing thing that must be a kagune pressed against the glass, though not one that she recognizes. Eika takes a step back, voice seemingly frozen in her throat as she feels behind her along the wall, trying to find the door without taking her eyes off of the intruder.

The balcony door is wrenched open, lock snapping out of place uselessly, and the kagune shoots into the room, slamming into the wall beside her head. She takes a shuddering breath as more begin to spiral into existence from behind the figure as it steps inside, several hanging limply at their side, one reaching back to pull the balcony door shut. Eika squeezes her eyes shut and waits, too terrified to move, when she's caged in by the other kagune and the figure comes to a stop in front of her. She hears the large kagune beside her head writhing, small tendrils coming off of its sides scraping the wall, and takes a shuddering breath.

"…Eika…."

She opens her eyes in shock. In the dark, she can make out some kind of inhuman face, something like a pointed beak and a single glowing eye in the center, but it looks too hard and stiff to be flesh. A mask, she realizes.

"Eika," her name is muttered again, slowly with odd intonation. As her fear fades into confusion, she notices the familiar black clothing and white hair, the smaller kagune that she's seen before and held in her hands, and she almost feels foolish for not noticing before.

"Ken?" she whispers.