Notes:
Remember that nobody but Giyuu can see, hear or feel Youma, and that they share a one–sided telepathy: Youma can read Giyuu's thoughts.
Italics are thoughts, which Youma can read, and will sometimes reply to. But they are not directed to him, specifically.
"Line of dialogue," I thought = thoughts that are directed to Youma.
There are some descriptions of gore in this chapter. For those who are squeamish, I'll indicate where it starts and ends with [].
Giyuu's POV
We were en route to Nagarekawa–cho, the red–light district of Hiroshima. Night had since befallen the frozen sky, and in the perfect black slate not a single star could be seen. The air was cool and relinquished of the stifling humidity that had occupied the day, and in the shimmering silence the eternal city seemed asleep – everything very serene.
Or at least, it should have been.
For truth be told, we were still en route to and not in Nagarekawa–cho because we, Shinobu Kochou, Giyuu Tomioka and Youma (Tomioka?) were totally –
Utterly –
Lost.
A clichéd way to start of this segment, I know. But hear me out.
For the past hour we had wended our way through an interminable and mystically endless network of cavernous alleys, paths, lanes, and avenues, and we had only come to this conclusion when stopping to catch our breath, realising that the ambient blaring and thrumming of the city – which we'd latched on to as comfort that we weren't completely lost – could no longer be heard. My dapper mood had since faded, replaced by what some would call my characteristic gloominess, and even the all-joyful, bubbly Shinobu seemed disheartened. Youma, on the other hand, simply occupied the role of the wallflower. He was impassive and deadpan and not at all his usually talkative self – though I guess it came as a result that the only person he could communicate with was busy being an indignant sulker.
Looking back, I can't help but feel a bit bad for the way I treated him (even if it was indirect), but to try to justify my end of the stick, it was Shinobu who recommended taking a shortcut – the shortcut that would invariably lead to our present dilemma. At first, I was wary, but since she seemed so sure of herself when pointing into that alleyway that bore through the palisade of buildings greeting us upon arriving in the city centre – telling me with beaming confidence that it would 'take only five minutes' – I gave in and followed; partly assured by the fact she lived here and the completely logical assumption that she knew the place better than me.
It seemed, though, that I was wrong.
The alley we had found ourselves in was cavernous and dank, shadowed by the looming black silhouettes of buildings, possessing a peculiar odour that was a mix between rice wine and gasoline. I didn't particularly dislike the smell, but the origin of it was probably something nasty so I forced myself to. The shadows cut by the moonlight seemed clean, and due to it having rained the before, patches of the normally serrated gravel ground had softened into a malleable mud. It was a test of balance to step over them without getting my socks dirty, for I wore open–ended sandals that I had fashioned myself, but after some point, I stopped worrying, and gave in to indifference. On the other hand…
I stopped, and looked over at Shinobu. The girl trundled behind me, staring aimlessly at the sky, ill-fitting clothes dangling off her frame, nose wrinkled like a used serviette and sucking at her thumb so viciously I could hear it from there. Smooch smooch. I thought that was a habit people dropped when they were, like, five? I didn't see her do it in those few days we spent together three years prior. Moreover, since she was so short, her scabbard dragged along the ground as she walked, and the scraping sound it made ever so slowly – bit by bit – ate away the remaining sanity I had left. Skrrrrrr. To my relief, though, she lifted it whenever crossing a puddle. Why she couldn't just keep it up all the time, I don't know. But one thought led to another, and in my inquisitive nature I began to wonder: where did she get the sword? And the uniform, at that?
Her clothes were clearly too big to be hers, so they must've been Tsubone's or Kanae's, as she didn't mention to be living with anyone besides them. Same went for the sword – or, maybe since Shinobu was training under an active demon slayer, and a Hashira on top of it, she got her blade forged early? Nepotism and all that. Urokodaki only allowed Sabito and I to use wooden swords for the majority of our tutelage; something which would nurture a vehement loathing of all handles wooden due to the countless sores and blisters it gave us. I remember how tough 'n manly we felt when we finally received our own proper blades, complete with sharppp cutting edges and more importantly, clothed handles; because we were young boys and young boys have a subconscious advocacy for anything that is a weapon. I digress, however. I wasn't about to ask Shinobu directly because frankly, I was in no mood to talk to her, or anyone, for that matter. And it wasn't of much consequence to know, anyway.
I didn't resume walking, and Shinobu, not paying attention, bumped into me.
Careful where you're going, shorty.
She staggered back, and for a second, glared at me as if I was the one at fault. "We're lost," she said. It seemed she had only processed our situation now. "That's bad."
"Oh?" I said, trying to sound as bitter as possible, "I wonder why...?"
She sensed my animosity. "Hey! People make mistakes, you know. I told you, I mistaked that alleyway for another one."
'…Mistaked?'
I wonder, would that be an error of grammar or pronunciation?
…Grammar, yeah.
"…That's what they all say," I offered, turning back around. "Now come. Let's get a move on."
"Hmph. Aren't you just the moody character?" she retorted suddenly.
"…What?"
"Nevermind, beanpole. Let's… get a move on."
A… beanpole?
Is she calling me skinny?
And when all of a sudden the certain seemingly foolhardy girl had acquired a vinegar disposition, I found myself taken aback.
Hmm… like to wag your tongue, eh?
Youma, who was heading up the convoy, snickered. Considering how bored he must've been, he was probably instigating me to go on – and I might've done so, believe me, but by that point I was too exhausted to do anything but trudge on moodily along that sodden muddy path, head hung down and wondering about my next meal. So, I let it go – for now.
Say, I could really go for some Salmon Daikon right now.
…Or anything else, to be honest.
As fate would have it, though, I wouldn't have to continue for much longer.
It happened while Shinobu was berating me – I didn't exactly know for what, but probably for something like not replying her for she was just that kind of person. We came upon a fork in the path of which one lane continued into the interminable twilight, dark and twisted and overgrown with ash-coloured vegetation, and the other leading on and on until ending in a patch of…
Light.
Mind you, for most of the time we'd been lost, we had been submerged in pitch-black darkness. We didn't seem to be in the most well-to-do part of town, as evidenced by the lack of streetlights, proper drainage, and paving, and the only thing preventing us from completely stumbling over our feet was the bare illumination provided by the moon. So, when for the first time in what seemed like an ultimate eternity proper light appeared – and a warm, red–hued, utmostly inviting stretch at that – combined with the fact that wherever there was light, there was human activity and thus an exit out of this maze, I found myself drawn to it incorrigibly.
Drawn, in the way that I beckoned Shinobu over –
Brushed past Youma –
Began to run –
And soon, tumbled out into open air.
'red–light district'
noun
"an area of a town or city containing many brothels, strip clubs, and other sex businesses."
origin: late 1800's: from the use of a red light as the sign of a brothel.
Youma recited the definition from his head, squinting up at the sky in an effort to jog his memory, before looking back down and observing the scene before us.
And what a breath–taking display it was.
A narrow road laid before us bearing carriages, cars, and troops carrying oirans on their shoulders – and laid out on the roadside were stalls and quaint delis stocking shelves upon shelves of sweets, confections, Yakitori (chicken kebabs) and brightly–hued Dango (mochi–on–a–stick); floral and savoury scents emanating from in exquisite kimonos and yukatas roamed the street, tending to their shops, most seeming to be attached to a business one way or another – but some leaned against the plaster–and–dark–oak walls of the buildings hugging the pavement, whispering into the odd yūjo's(prostitute's) ear, sometimes handing them wads of cash and beckoning them inside. The scene had an ecstatic, zealous air, and countless red lanterns hanging from the ceilings basked it in a smouldering ember hue. I looked up at a turret clock: it was 10:30 in the evening, and the late–night rush had just begun.
"Yep, definitely fits the criteria," Youma announced.
Nagarekawa–cho, eh?
Shinobu was mesmerised even more so than I was – in particular, the hot plates of simmering pork caught her eye. It seemed that the hunger had caught up to her, too, judging by the gaping 'o' of her mouth, and the way she stared silent and still. One thought led to another, and then I remembered that she too had skipped supper – but I kept quiet. I barely had enough money to pay for my own meals, let alone hers. Snapping back to reality, I spoke up: "Let's go, Shinobu."
"Hmm? To where?"
"To Devils and Saints. Do you… happen to know where it is?"
Of course she doesn't, Giyuu. You're asking a twelve–year–old girl the location of a brothel.
"No, I don't… sorry," she replied. "Tsubone tells me to stay away from the red–light district, so I've never been here before. But what kind of place is it? Maybe she's mentioned it at some point."
Well if she has, I'd be quite worried.
"…A brothel," I replied.
Shinobu looked a bit confused: "A bro…thel? What's a bro–"
"If you don't know, then it's fine. Let's just ask around." I didn't want to reach the point in a conversation where I would have to explain what that was to a kid, so I cut our talk short.
I examined the scene for any potential sources of intel, and caught sight of a rather extravagant–looking woman leaning on a beam. She eyed me warily as I approached her, before standing up and confronting me. "Business?" she asked. Her jeweled headpiece jangled when she spoke.
"No. No business," I replied, waving her off, "but I want to ask you something. Do you know where Devils and Saints is?"
At first, her expression was one of mild irritation, but the instant I mentioned the name 'Devils and Saints', it turned into one of great concern, and above all, fear. She sized me up again, before coming close and whispering to me: "Sweetie, nobody's heard that name in months. And you best keep it that way – for your own good." She then brushed past me, and disappeared into the crowd.
Strange…
"Tch. What's wrong with her?" Shinobu muttered.
"No matter. Let's ask somebody else." And we moved on.
Over the course of the next half hour we asked and asked every conceivable character in the district the same question: 'Do you know where Devils and Saints is?', but they would always reply the same thing: 'Don't talk about that place' or something along those lines, and then run off with their tails between their legs. Once again, I began to grow weary. I started to doubt whether we were in Nagarekawa–cho at all; there were no signs or anything to confirm our location thus far, and it's not like Youma could verify it, either, as he'd never been in Hiroshima before. Shinobu did eventually chime in and say that there was only one red–light district in the city, but by that point I didn't know whether to trust her as an accreditable source of information, so I took her words with a grain of salt and a tablespoon of wariness. In any case, it didn't change the fact that everybody I talked to seemed to think too highly of themselves or were too jittery to divulge any information to my humble cause. Being my ultimately negative self, I began to think that the world was just against me that day.
"It seems that the devil controls the business of my life," I muttered, sitting somewhere with my head in my hands. Shinobu stared at me with this deprecative look in her eyes, as if I'd said something disturbing. "Are you quoting Bolívar?" she asked in a by–the–way tone. I asked who that was, but she dismissed me. Strange girl.
…After some time, we found our way into a comparably desolate avenue – a place where the hustle, bustle and tussle of the district barely reached, and in which the mysterious silence and unlikened stillness a few shady–looking individuals sat with their backs against the wall, puffing on pipes that were attached to some engraved metallic tube, which I'd later learn was called a hookah. Holding my breath in, I walked up to them.
"Do you…" I wiped my face, tired after asking the same question hundreds of times and because I was going to do it again. "Do you know where Devils and Saints is?"
I braced myself for the inevitable denial – but it never came. Instead, they stared at me auspiciously, and the hooded woman in purple robes sitting at the head of the group – whom held the air of the ringleader – spoke up.
"You guys demon slayers?" She had a bold and virtuous voice.
Even though I had no reason to be, I was immediately weary. My hand found its way to the grip of my sword.
"Relax – I can tell by your uniforms. Even if the government doesn't recognise you people, you're still relativelywell known among the populace."
Uh–huh…
"…"
"Oh! Don't get so touchy!" She chortled heartily. "Umm… regarding your question; it's just over there."
I was genuinely taken back, not so much befuddled as I was surprised, when she answered. The woman stood up from her seat and pointed towards the end of the street, where the road disappeared turning right behind a mass of decrepit wooden hardware. She then turned to me.
"I don't know why kids would wanna go to a strip club – I'm guessing it's just part of an assignment? I hope so. In any case, be careful. Many terrible things have happened in that place, which I'm sure you've already inferred by now. It's been closed for a few months already, but whenever I walk past it… umm… I don't know, it just gives me bad vibes. So be careful."
Closed?
I wasn't told that.
But I guess it makes some sense…
And the breath in which this woman is talking about the club… some bad event or string of events must've been the cause for the closure.
"Well… thank you. We will," I said, gesturing Shinobu over. We were about to leave when the lady stopped her, and threw a dark, pebbly–looking thing into her hands.
"It's a sweetie," she said, "a date covered with chocolate. Have one."
Shinobu stared at the confection in her palm for a second, before beaming. "Thanks!" she said, popping it into her mouth.
None for me? I see how it is.
…In any case, how naïve.
I wouldn't eat anything given to me on these streets.
She waved the woman goodbye, and we continued on.
'Devils and Saints', huh? I can't believe I'm saying this, but at the time, I thought the name had a nice ring to it, if not a bit too… innocent, considering the area we were in. Of course, that only proved beneficial, due to Shinobu having tagged along. I wouldn't have wanted some overly amorous phrase to be stuck in her memory after this whole experience, and suddenly be let out in the presence of Tsubone. From what Shinobu told me, she seemed a woman who could dish out vehement punishment. Tsubone would've probably came after me once learning I'd corrupted the innocence of her dear, pure apprentice – her, and maybe Kanae. Hell, they might've done it anyway just for taking her along.
That is, if I was still alive after all of this.
I wasn't the type of person to get jittery about much. That stemmed from having spent a good chunk of my adolescent nights out alone in the woods, due to having no money for a hotel nor credit for a rest station. And let me tell you this: the forest at twilight is a scary place. There're the wolves, the snakes, the hobos, the cockroaches (the lattermost which I continue to have a deadly phobia of), and the ever–present fear of the odd gangster or highwayman jumping you in your sleep. After spending so much time out in the boondocks, though, I eventually formed a tolerance towards those things mentioned, and against most of anything else that I might've previously perceived as frightening.
But this –
None of this seemed right.
Everything about this place –
Reeked of death.
We were standing before the brothel situated at the end of the street; a decrepit and seedy complex situated in an eerily quiet part of the neighbourhood. The spiny and gaunt wood of the building creaked under its own weight, and the few windows breaking up the imposing walls were misty with dust and shattered in all places with cobwebs lining the gaps. A sign painted with ominous black and red lettering hung from one failing screw pinned to the bottom of the balcony identified the fine establishment: 'Devils and Saints'. The latter word was written in crazy–looking, all–caps font. If I had to guess the age of the structure… maybe 50, 75 years old? It wasn't a very Japanese–esque building, so it must've been built by the American expeditionaries that came over in the mid–1800's or so. But for them to have raised a house in such a backwater part of a town that wasn't really charted by them in the first place was quite strange – if I'm remembering correctly the history Youma taught me.
"Woah," Shinobu muttered, "creepy." She was fixated on the building, yet in spite of her comment, didn't seem fazed in the slightest, and was more absorbed in strange childish wonder, which only made me – who was trying to keep my fear from seeping out – feel like a wuss. I quivered a bit with the thought of having to go in there, and turned to Shinobu.
"Ladies first," I said, motioning towards the building, having figured out a roundabout way to ask her to go first; disguise one's request as simple gentlemanliness. She seemed the type to fall for that.
"What?" Shinobu rebuked. "No. You go. I'll stay here."
…Yet it didn't work on her. She returned my proposal with another proposal that contradicted her first proposal of wanting to accompany me; although I guess I should've come to expect something like that from her at that point. Nevertheless, I was still disgruntled: "Weren't you the one who wanted to come along in the first place?"
"And...? What's your point?" Shinobu eyed me with arms folded across her chest, like a boss staring down at a foolish employee who just asked for raise (or staring up, in this case). Pardon the specific example, but I'm sure you get the idea.
…
I'm – speechless.
"You know what… never mind," I relented, not in the state of mind to fight with a fiery midget on her own terms. "I'll go."
"Wait. I'll stay behind, too," Youma chimed in. "If you go inside by yourself, it's, erm… good psychological training. To face your fears."
I gave him the side eye, but chose not to reply.
I trotted up the splitting plank stairs and twisted the brass doorknob, only to find that the door was stuck. I glanced over at Shinobu and a hovering Youma one last time – looking to see if they were watching, which they weren't – before bracing myself and kicking the lock with all the might I could muster in my leg. The panel swiveled open, and with my hand curled over the grip of my sword, I stepped inside.
The room I found myself in seemed to be a lobby of sorts; it was compact, had various torn velvety Chaise lounges and ottomans lining its low walls, and hanging from the eroded ceiling was a frazzled chandelier that appeared on the verge of falling. The place looked abandoned in every sense of the word, and the air inside was cold and silence deafening. Navigating around the chandelier's presumed area of impact, with each step I took kicking dust up from the floor, it didn't take long for me to notice the terrible, rotten smell filling the interior. The stench was too powerful to just be the result of rotting wood. Opposite where I stood there was an archway that led into what I presumed was the main compartment of the building – what little light illuminated the foyer failed to reach there, however, so I couldn't judge from where I was. As a result, the only way to know for sure – a fact I begrudgingly accepted – was to go in there.
Gulping, I tightened the grip around my sword. My joints fastened, and each time I forced myself another step forward they snapped and shrieked and the sound slowly gnawed into my head and lit the spark of fear in my conscience. Something was buzzing in my ear; burning in my body. For some reason, I was immensely, inordinately afraid. Not afraid of who or what might've been lying in wait for me…
But afraid of what I might find.
Despite the lobby being dead quiet, the silence in the next room managed to feel even more eerie. But the unnerving reticence was broken up by something I never wanted to hear: the sound of liquid splashing. A muted, viscous splash that sounded itself with each step I took, indicative of a shallow pool. I couldn't identify exactly what it was, due to it being pitch black and not being able to see anything below my knees – but admittedly, I already had a pretty good guess. The miry liquid and sound accompanying it became deeper and more pronounced the further I went into the room, and straying from the main path, I traced the right–hand wall, my hand finding its way onto a handle attached to a shutter. With bated breath, I pulled it open, and let the moonlight shine in.
Nothing would've prepared me for what I saw next.
[]
Atop the podium comprising the far side of the room, and strapped to the pole merging platform and ceiling with a rope was the desecrated corpse of a woman. Her abdomen had been slit open, gleaming, pulsating entrails having been wrapped around her twisted form, reminiscent of a vermillion boa coiling its sorrowful prey. The way they curled in and out of her body seemed almost alive. Her limbs appeared splayed, and broken, like the branches of a battered tree, yet were ripe with bursting purple sores evidence of a beating. The colourless head that hung limp from her neck bore atop it an extravagant jeweled headpiece that contrasted with her rudimentary, working–class clothes. I confirmed my suspicions that what I'd waded in before was blood; a trail of it, getting progressively deeper and broader, edges having dried in a crust already, stretched from the archway until ending in a thick pool at the foot of the body. The entirety of the podium was drenched in it, and the crimson hue of it was only magnified in the moonlight.
[]
I staggered back with my hand lifted to my mouth. The contents of my stomach threatened to upturn itself, and even if I knew there was nothing to retch I still bent over in the corner of the room, shameful, in my perceived masculinity at the time, that I could not endure such a sight, but most of all afraid, and sorrowful for the woman that had to die such in such a torturous and dishonourable way. After the nausea had quelled somewhat, my mind began to warp in and out of every possibility I could conceive in my hurried mental state at the time. Was it the demon I'd been sent after who was responsible for this? If so, then why? Why'd he just leave her body here, instead of eating her? The way she was posted up was clearly intentional, and meant for someone to discover – could it be that he was expecting Demon Slayers to come after him? Even if that was the case, it wouldn't make any more sense. Perhaps it was meant to symbolise something, but then what? And most of all, who?! And–
But before I had any more time to process the situation –
I heard the wooden beams of the ceiling crack above me –
And in the corner of my eye, saw someone descend from the darkness –
A massive, unearthly silhouette of a man –
Falling through the air –
And descending right upon me.
He landed knee–first onto my spine, and I heard a vicious crack, something in my ears pop, and my body went limp for a second; the grip on my sword vanished, and the pulsating nausea in my stomach disappeared. Sensation soon returned, however, and in response to the searing pain that arose in my back, soaking into my extremities, I screamed. Through my cry, however, I barely heard the metallic shing of a blade unsheathing. Before the mysterious assailant could drive it through me, I steeled myself, distancing my mind from the agony, and elbowed him in the stomach. Squirming out of his grip, I swiveled around and threw him off me with all the power I could muster in my legs. The man flew to the other side of the room with fearful momentum, throwing up dust as he zoomed past, but it appeared that it was the result of dodging rather than my kick. He landed with utmost grace in front of the platform, and in the moonlight and split second he was still, I saw the lascivious white locks, maroon eyes, and the powerful, yet supple figure; realising, with great surprise, that it was the man who I'd encountered in the bamboo forest during the day. He no longer donned the off-white cloak, and he held in his hands a beautiful hooked bronze dagger embedded with jewels that painted its surroundings in a shimmering glow. He must have hidden his weapon in his clothes when we first met. Following an almost instantaneous line of thought, however, my astonishment quickly faded, battle spirit was ushered in, and clamouring to my feet, sword in hand, I stanced myself in anticipation for a fight.
So – it's that easy, huh?
This is the fastest I've ever found a demon!
Judging from the man's quirked brow and shocked expression in his eyes, he seemed to recognise me, too, and opened his mouth to speak. But before any words could take flight, any phrase could manifest itself, I crossed the distance and hurled myself at him: close enough that my katana would reach him, but still far enough that he wouldn't be able to retaliate.
But I wouldn't allow him to even do that – I twisted my hands and perched my sword above me: the stance for a slash, as I had learned from Urokodaki. Then, I swung down with full force. Edge met edge, blade hit blade, sparks flew into the air, and there was the sound of metal grinding: he had barely parried me. But I thought nothing of it at the time, for his grip was waning, and I could feel myself overpowering him. I forced the tip of my sword away from me, towards his body, and with deceitful confidence, prepared to thrust – but in a striking move, the man maneuvered his dagger and used the crevasse on the edge to hook onto my sword, pulling it down. Since all my power was focused into pushing the tip of the blade, I could do little to stop the lateral movement. I missed his body by a hair's length, and unable to halt my momentum, the sword was lodged into the wooden floor.
After that, it wasn't really a fight. Unable to dodge, and without thinking to let go of my katana, a fist was slammed into my stomach, and I could hear something break, some of my flesh tear, perhaps even my ego shatter into pieces. I was struck over the head with something hard, and a liquid warmth began to trickle down my neck, before I collapsed to the floor, eyelids fluttering, things blending into one another and eventually sliding into darkness.
...
... ...
... ... ...
"…thought he was a girl…"
Someone is talking.
"…we agreed to keep this covert…"
Two people; a man and a woman.
"…but they're Demon Slayers…"
A disintegrated, broken conversation I can barely follow.
"…does that have to do with anything?"
A fight, it seems. Perhaps even a lover's quarrel.
"…they're after the same thing as us…"
And I'm smack–dab in the middle of it all.
"…you know how the Demon Slayers deal with those who interfere with their business? I'm telling you…"
Something snapped, and I was wrung out of lucidity.
…Wha–what?
Woah – what's that?
…Shittt, man.
My head… my damn head...! It hurts like hell! Lord in heaven…!
Wait.
What… was I doing?
That's right!
I was out on an assignment!
Brain pounding like a clenched fist, ears ringing, body numb and in a state of not-so-blissful-wakefulness, my eyes shot open, before being scorched and etched into by a burning white light the sting of which was only amplified by my delirium. When the flash had subsided, however, I was faced with a most uncanny scene: a bickering couple, taking centre–stage in an unfamiliar room, comprised of the man who I recognised as the one who I'd encountered in the bamboo forest, and a scantily–dressed woman whom I presumed was his lover; a sleeping girl in the far corner, tied up with cord and yet possessing an expression of soft ecstasy as she snoozed, butterfly clip hanging off her disheveled hair; and a man who leaned against the wall opposite me, green eyes half–narrowed, invisible to everyone but myself, appearing as if he was waiting for something, or someone. I examined the room a bit more – it was this dingy cabin; small, decrepit, with peeling green walls broken up by a translucent panel to my left, from where the light shone through, and an oily wooden floor sparsely populated by furnishings – and it took me only a few moments to realise two seemingly trivial, yet critical things: one, that I was tied to a chair and could not move, and two, that it was broad daylight, and my last pounding recollection was of being in a brothel in the middle of the night. After failing, though not for lack of trying, to put two and two together, my attention turned to Youma. He smiled in response.
"You're awake, Giyuu," he said, "try not to move too much. They'll notice you're up – even if they seem so very absorbed in their squabble."
"Youma...? What happened?" I thought, keeping my head down.
Indeed, another symptom of Youma's condition was that it if I was unconscious, he could (by choice) remain awake to loll around the immediate area around me; of course, being still unable to interact with the environment. Either that, or he could project a dreamscape up for me and we could talk freely inside there while I slept, like how we used to do when I first met him.
"What happened? You were knocked out in a fight and brought over here by your best man; that clown–looking guy, with the white hair and rose eyes. You do remember…?"
The bitter memory of being pummeled into the ground came back to me, and I scowled a bit. So yes, I did remember.
"Oh, yeah… that."
"Don't worry, there's always next time…" Youma cooed.
There was a pause, before I remembered: "Wait, isn't he the demon we're looking for?"
"Nope," Youma replied, "I saw them walk in the sun with my own eyes. You mustn't have been thinking clearly back then."
…
So it's a dead end, huh?
"And, what about Shinobu? How'd she end up here?" I thought. It was a question which I'd already inferred the answer to, but still asked for the sake of changing the subject.
"Hmm? Your lady–friend? While I was waiting outside for you, she started nodding off, and by the time your scream came, she was already fast asleep. I'm guessing that date–thingy she ate has something to do with it. Your attacker came out of the brothel carrying you on his shoulder, and suddenly, the lady who gave you directions appeared too; that one with the purple hood. They had an argument on the street – about whether or not to bring you with – and it got dangerously loud, to the point where it attracted a crowd even in that deserted part of town, so they took off with you guys, assuming that the police weren't far behind. I followed them, and they led me to their hideout – where you are right now. Thereafter, they continued their fight. From night, until now. It's a shame you didn't wake up sooner; as well as a miracle. It was quite the magnificent altercation they had."
The lady who guided me?
So… they're in league with each other?
I don't quite know what to make of that, and it doesn't explain why Shinobu was given that tranquiliser…
But, on another topic, why was the man in the brothel in the first place?
Don't tell me – he's the murderer?
"No… I don't think so," Youma said, reading my thoughts. "From what I understand of the conversation they had while you were asleep, he isn't. Neither is the lady. Nevertheless, they still seem to be linked to the murder in some way."
"Oh, okay…" I thought.
"In any case, Giyuu, I'll have to get back to you," Youma said, "looks like your new friends have taken note of your awakening, so adieu, adios, auf wiedersehen, for now. And… try to use the route of diplomacy this time, eh? Maybe you'll actually get off scot–free for once if you do."
"Huh? What? Youma?"
His hurried tone sent a chill through my bones, and I began to feel a bit nervous. Taken note of my awakening? But how? I've stayed completely still all this time. No… it must be another one of Youma's sick jokes. His sense of humour has forever been an enigma to me. Where could he go, anyway? And–
"Hi."
Before I knew it, I felt the shadow of prying loom over me, my peripheral vision in which I framed Youma was obstructed, and there he was: my assailant, menacing as all and ever, right up in my face, so close that I could feel his breath tickle behind my ears, spirit of gross intimidation palpable to the point where it made me shudder.
We were still, for a few seconds, but they were seconds that felt like eternities, and as neither party was willing to make a move, they were awkward in addition to being prolonged. Even though I shouldn't have expected anything less, I still shrunk in my seat under the oppression imbued by the man's presence, and the fear stemming as a result of being tied down and the realisation that I was totally at my captor's mercy. And yet, despite fully knowing how vulnerable I was, the cancerous mentality I had at the time of 'being a man' still managed to weave its way into my head: be self–sufficient, be a bad–ass, and you will get your way. In simpler terms: defeat your enemy with humour. Not that I had much sense of it, but – I could try.
So – summoning up the courage, that I did. I faced up to the man, and stared him dead in the eyes:
"Yo."
…
He looked surprised, and backed away.
"So you were awake…"
Wait, he wasn't sure?
Youma snickered in the background, a brief pause followed, and then I realised.
You don't mean…
…
…Damn you, Youma…!
So it was a prank…!
The apple–eyed fool waved me off, and disappeared into the wall, taking my newfound confidence with him.
Now what?!
"Woah… you okay?" the man said. "You're staring into space… hey!"
He flicked me over the forehead.
"Goddammit… must be because I hit you too hard," he muttered to himself.
Yeah, well hitting me again isn't going to solve the problem.
…Dumbass.
His significant other seemed to come to the same conclusion as me, as she pulled him away and slapped him over the cheek. I can't say I felt bad for him, but witnessing the supersonic speed at which the hand met his face, and the deadly cracking sound that accompanied it, it was more of a second–hand pain.
…For people holding two minors captive, they sure acted like they were the children.
Another small quarrel ensued – an argument as about as petty and asinine as somebody washing their window on a rainy day, pardon the simile – until someone said something significant, they were silent for a while, before the man turned away from her, ponderous:
"Then, should I kill them?"
My heart stopped.
The woman didn't immediately reply. "Do whatever you want. I'm going to make breakfast." And she exited the room.
My humour soon dissipated when I realised I was facing a very real life–and–death situation. Even though I had always considered dying an unavoidable professional hazard… everyone does, until they come face–to–face with the threat of it. Talk the walk, walk the talk – I think that's the figure of speech, but it sounds stupid, so to put it in other words: everyone's a big, lean, killing machine until they're not. People who've traded the substance for the shadow, so to speak. Tenacious in theory, a wimp in practice. And admittedly, despite my tough, cold, perceivably cool demeanour at the time, fifteen–years–old Giyuu Tomioka…
Was about the biggest coward of them all.
The man unsheathed his knife, and ever so slowly, waded over to me, gripped me by my hair – not too tight, but with enough force that I wouldn't be able to move – and placed the edge right to the crest of my neck. The coolness of the metal almost burned me. Sweat started to trickle down my face. My heart froze, breathing slowed to a hush, a crawl, before stopping altogether. And then –
"Just – kidding!"
The tension was shattered into pieces.
He made his way behind me, and in two seamless moves, slit the rope restraining my hands, and then the one around my feet. For a second, I couldn't believe it. He slapped me on the back with full force, effectively forcing me out of the chair, then dancing over to a still–sleeping Shinobu and cutting her cord as well, before skipping back to me with an unnervingly excited expression on his face.
"Well, well, did I get you?" he asked.
"Sure. With the death stare, hair–grabbing, and knife to the neck? Yeah, yeah you got me." No amount of modulation could hide the trembling in my voice.
I wasn't very happy about any of it, but, comical as it may sound, I was still grateful to be alive, so I took the nasty joke as compensation for keeping my life. Regardless, I instinctively started looking for a way to escape, but when I remembered that Shinobu was there, and that running away would mean having to leave her behind, the notion was shut down promptly. It didn't help that the man was blocking off the only way out of the room, either; and considering how our encounter went last time – despite whatever excuse my pride could make up explaining my loss – I wasn't about to engage him head–on, again. Despite the arrogance that my adolescence had brought, I still retained some semblance of rationality.
"Oh! Pardon that! It was only to add spice to the illusion."
I get the impression that him choosing to let me live was a split–second decision.
In any case, I'm not going to ask why he kept me alive.
That might reset some gear in his brain, and then he'll change his mind. Hell, he might change his mind just on his own, from what I've seen so far. The inner ruminations of a madman.
…That's why, when Shinobu wakes up, we'll run.
But for now – I'll probe him for info on the murders. See what I can extract before I bolt it.
"Your stuff's over there, in the corner. Wake the girl up, too." He pointed to a bench, and leaning against it were my and Shinobu's swords. It made sense he disarmed me, but to give back the weapon of the man he'd just released from captivity? I wasn't about to protest, though. If anything, it would've just made my job easier – that being, to stab him in the back while he wasn't–
"Oh–" As I was holstering my katana to my belt, he gripped my arm. "and if you try anything funny, you'll be dead before you know it. You – and your girlfriend."
I returned his glare, and for a while the air was so thick and so brittle, I couldn't even find it in myself to retort to how he thought Shinobu and I were a couple. Soon, though, his expression softened once more, and he relented.
"Annnddd with that said and done, come on! Let's eat! I am flamboyantly famished."
Yeah. And if you don't get your hand off me within the next five seconds, I'm going to flamboyantly cut off your arm.
…
…Wait, did he say 'eat'?
"My girlfriend – her name's Hinatsuru – cooks really well, so I'm sure even you'll like whatever she whips up."
I didn't know what he dropped the 'even' in there for, but then I felt my stomach rumble, the dizziness begin to creep up on me, and my knees wobble under my weight, and ironically, when they suddenly gave away, the man's grip on my arm was the only thing that stopped me from falling.
"Woah! You alright? You mustn't have eaten for a few days by now." His deduction was eerily accurate. "While you were sleeping, your stomach wouldn't stop rumbling. We almost felt sorry for you, keeping you tied up like that."
Almost, huh?
"Well, before we eat, there's something we need to get out of the way first," he said, childish smile fading and giving way to a deliberate expression. I perked my head up. "Tell me… what is your name?"
A sensible question – but when he had asked it, I still saw him through the lens of adversity; as an enemy. Yet in the moments I saw the earnest eyes, witnessed the sincerity in his tone, and felt the firmness of the hand that was now gripping mine in a gesture of amiability, I could not help but thaw to the man who, despite being my captor, was treating me with kindness which I perceived could not have been anything but genuine. With this in mind, I then presented my reply:
"Giyuu. Giyuu Tomioka."
And he grinned once again.
"Tengen Uzui. I'll tell you all you need to know."
Enter:
– Tengen Uzui –
– Age: seventeen years–old –
– Occupation: freelance shinobi, fashion designer –
– Side hustle: menace to society –
But for now – a reluctant comrade.
Woohoo! Happy one year anniversary. Even if it is two days late.
