On this side of the world.
Giyuu's POV
"Did you know? There's a demon nation on the other side of the sea, far, far inland. It was created by a powerful regional lord hailing from Muzan's time, about fifty, sixty years ago. It has its own economy. It has its own army… a weak army. It has a big ring wall that keeps the outside out and the inside in, and a steady supply of food from a few nearby human towns. It is stable – seemingly. Its name is the Great Nation of Yan, and though it is not the first of its kind, it is by far the most successful."
It's a grand man standing before me, shoulders broad like stone, saturated with deific light. The poppy kimono flutters in an invisible wind, and in the haziness of a mind which recollected nothing from the past I hour I thought it to be Nishimon, or Youma.
"But now they've been noticed," the man continues. "And suddenly, the whole world is their enemy. A world those born inside those walls probably know nothing about. Sad, isn't it? Here in Japan you're never more than five minutes away from the ocean, which leads to everywhere in the earth. Them, however – there they live, and there they'll die. And now a coalition of demon slayers are going to lay siege to the city to lock their fate."
Then he turns around and I see the demonic complexion, the brilliant eyes of colours.
"But I have an idea. We'll go there. The demon slayers are still on their way, but we're faster. Not everybody's gotta stay in that narrow world, and we're gonna make sure of that. We'll go there – and bring someone back. Perhaps a child, because children are still curious and free from the island mentality. Then we'll share with them our dream; to have our own country, maybe even another place where demons can be free. How's that sound, Youma?"
Whose memories are these, I wonder?
It's the first time I've seen Nisegami Douma in three years and the foremost sensation that pulls on my conscience is not hate, but a scalding sensation in my heart. I only now know it was resonant so because it reminded me of my own inactivity in the gap years between my sister's death and then. But at the time I was too preoccupied with the thought of what was I doing, where I was, who I was.
Douma says it looking right at me; 'How's that sound, Youma?'. These were his memories, I realised then. I came to the conclusion so quickly because I'd experienced it once or twice before. At my occasional behest Youma would relinquish bits of his past to me that took the form of dreams while I slept, for even if I did not show it I loved to learn about him.
Because to me –
"…mon."
He –
"…genmon."
Was as a brother.
"Tengenmon!"
The voice booms again, I open my eyes which I did not remember having closed, and I see it: Douma had been replaced with Nishimon Uzui, a younger Nishimon Uzui, balancing on a stick before me, not smiling, but with neither an expression of apparent aggression. And I'm no longer Youma, but…
"I'm asking you, Tengenmon. What do you think's out there?"
Now it seemed I had embodied our best man Tengen Uzui. It's a wonky set of events, but I came to the uncanny realisation that for whatever reason I was being sent into the past to see the memories of those who came before me.
Blank-limbo space had been transformed into autumn garden, and we're standing in a courtyard burnt and frozen over by the fall sun, maple trees everywhere the colour of dried tobacco. And there were the walls. Black, tall, like columns of steel. Linked in an interminable row, they circumvented the property. It was to them that Nishimon motioned.
"I don't know," Tengen replied, and my mouth moved. "Father says it's people who're our enemy. Bad people. That's why these walls have always been here. To keep 'em out.
The gut feeling that I had been transported to the Uzui estate was confirmed. Then Nishimon points an invasive finger at me, and questions Tengen another time:
"Don't lie. I know you've been sneaking out with Hinatsuru. Only I know. So tell me what it's like. Bishamon won't say anything, and I've only been outside on supervised missions. Well?"
Tengen rubbed his chin, as if trying to squeeze the answers from it. Then he smiles and breaks away into an explosive chatter which shocks me.
"It's real nice. There's… there's… well, there's everything! The food out there's much better. And there's mountains and forests and fields and rivers and the ocean and… and… there's this thing called a movie where you see a show but it isn't really a show that's happening, just something that was 'recorded' in '2-D', and there's cars that move on their own with wheels and the people…"
Tengen pauses.
"The people aren't all demons, like father says. They're good. They're good people."
Tengen can't contain his buzz, and a bit of secondhand joy leaks into me. I don't let it cloud me, however, and it was because of this I noticed Nishimon's bitter, lopsided expression, staring us down. When Tengen saw too, there was a standstill, and then Nishimon spoke again:
"You like the outside world?"
"Of course," Tengen replied sharply.
"Then give it up."
Nishimon's intermission froze me, and so did it Tengen.
"It's better to stay here," Nishimon continued. "Ain't nothing for us shinobi out there. Father's right, you know."
"…I thought you hated him."
"Don't we all, Tengenmon? That's why I didn't want him to be right. But he is. Sixty years ago shinobi started disappearing not because they'd become irrelevant in a modern society, but because we were feared. It's not only the government guys that started hunting us down. To the people outside… we're like demons, just like how we see them. We're killers."
"But they don't need to know that."
"You gonna spend your whole life in hiding, Tengenmon? Even that name, Tengenmon. Everyone knows a name ending with mon is a shinobi name. Stay here rather. I'd say… become the head of the Uzui family. It's the only way to be safe."
Tengenmon leans back, confused. "But Bishamon'll be the head. Everyone knows that."
It's the first time Nishimon looks unsure of himself, and I wondered if such a rare display of weakness was a premonition for something. "He won't. I'll make sure of it. And since I'm next in line… I'll take care of that, too. Then, the whole world will be yours."
Splitting the air and earth in two came a bell that rung thunderously then, and Nishimon held up his stick through the noise and waved to the sky with it, repeating himself.
"The whole world will be yours. But don't forget we'll always be below heaven."
"Nishimon," Tengen asked. "Are you… going somewhere? You always talk like this when you're going somewhere."
"Who knows? Maybe its just the path that was laid for me from the start. I can't fight it. But no more talking…" – then he grabs Tengen's arm, and starts pacing off – "that bell means the end of break. Now, it's back to training."
The whole world will be yours, huh, Tengen? It didn't seem a pleasant legacy his brother wanted him to inherit, and neither did it explain why he ever turned into a serial killer. Maybe only God knows why, and God won't tell us. Now I saw how close they were, and in seeing the truth my want to battle slowly thinned. Perhaps – I would just drop my arms, proclaim peace, and head home, wherever that was, because maybe Youma was right when he said there was no need to fight.
Youma.
My brother, and my enemy's brother.
The brother who was the utmost example to me, in that he would never kill without conscience and without reason.
A demon brother who was the most human of them all.
A human brother who was the most demon of them all.
My sight again goes gummy, and when clarity returns I'm in another courtyard, this I recognised as the one of the Iguro estate which I'd passed through en route to Nishimon. And there were no more walls. And the leaves were once again emerald green. I swiftly realised I'd embodied Hinatsuru, because I saw to my right there he stood: Tengen Uzui, tense as a piece of bent wire, trying to lug his body forward but it would not go.
And opposite us was Giyuu Tomioka.
And opposite us was Nishimon Uzui.
I'm bent over Nishimon, Shinobu's sword held in one hand, the other shafted up his chest, and he keeps trying to pull it out but it doesn't work and there's veins bulging under his thin eyes, blood in his teeth. And my hand – my right hand. It's there again. Was I somehow seeing a version of the fight where I didn't lose it? Or did I imagine losing it in the first place? I'd learned through two tumultuous years of demon-slaying that shock was a powerful thing, that this was often cause for hallucination. Though even with this apparent explanation the disbelief did not exit me. Then, I heard Tengen say it:
That Nishimon was not the killer.
That he lied about everything.
That his brother need not die.
They were meant for my hearing, those pleads. But neither of me would listen. Obviously, Tengen was desperate to keep his brother alive, and this was a desperate lie, the cracks in them palpable like a tree in a steppe. Tengen would not have fabricated such an elaborate amount of evidence against Nishimon to come and tell me he was not the killer. The me on the other side too remained unrelenting. I press my thumbs into Nishimon's throat, and in one moment he's screaming and in the next his voice pops and goes crunchy when I break his windpipe. I remember being awed by my own performance, and the thought that it may not have been I who beat Nishimon into the earth did not cross me once. It was also then that the question of my regenerated arm left me. I brandish Shinobu's little sword and point it at Nishimon's throat; at the intersection between body and neck. I'm saying something, too. I tune excited, rushing ears, and the words gurgle before rising above the static. Then came the hearing of an eternity, the sentence that would charter the course of my lifetime:
"I am sorry, Tengen. Do not hate Giyuu for what I am about to do."
One life in exchange for another.
The dead in equilibrium with the alive.
Seven Uzui brothers, and their ends:
Ketsumon Uzui
Killed in action; died accepting the world he was born in.
Nerūmon Uzui
Ran away; rejected the world he was born in.
Takemon Uzui
Sent away; could not bear the world he was born in.
Ōyamon Uzui
Killed while training; was too weak for the world he was born in.
Haemon Uzui
Killed attempting to usurp his father's position; was too foolish for the world he was born in.
Nezumon Uzui
Succumbed to illness; would not be allowed to stay in the world he was born in.
Bishamon Uzui
Killed by his brother; was too indicative of the world he was born in.
And the two who remain:
Nishimon Uzui
Refused to inherit the world he was born in.
Tengenmon Uzui
Refused to stay in the world he was born in.
January 1915
3rd Person POV
The day after Nishimon Uzui's departure Tengenmon Uzui was summoned to the auditorium of cream-coloured marble and lavish purple rug and told to sit down.
"Bishamon's dead, Nishimon's gone," the father reiterated. "You're left."
The father tapped his feet and stood with his arms over his chest in the middle of the room. When he found his son had nothing to contribute to his statement, he took up a cigar.
"And who said you could sit before me?"
The son stammered an apology, and he would not have dared said it sitting down if not for his father stopping him from getting up.
"No. Don't bother. We're two left. We're two men. Uzui men. You've earned your right on that couch."
There was a chair parallel to Tengenmon, and his father sat on it and lit the cigar that was already wet from dangling in his mouth.
"It ain't like older days. Normally this place would be bustlin'. Noisy lil' kids. Even if I told them to shut up they wouldn't shut up. And I hated it. Maybe that's why I let some of 'em die. So we could get some peace and quiet. Sure your momma agrees. But your momma never talks. A bit like you. I guess that's why I liked you from the start. You was always the good listener. So listen to me a last time."
The father let his words slur with a guttural sound that accompanied the end of them. Was he drunk? Tengenmon saw a bottle by his feet that could have been a bottle of water as much as it was a bottle of sake, but he found the former far easier to put past him. Then a coupon-looking thing held up between the father's two fingers took away his attention.
"A train ticket. Nishimon left it under his bed. Says it's meant for Hiroshima."
That's south of here, Tengenmon added.
"I can sense you're worried for him," the father said. "But worrying ain't a man's job. So I can see you're not one yet."
Tengenmon didn't know what his father was catching on to.
"I'm giving you a chance to get rid o' that worry. Nishimon's went to Hiroshima – and I'm asking you to get him back. Don't–"
A cesspit of feeling began bubbling inside Tengenmon, but neither he nor his father would let it spill over.
"–Don't get too excited. Don't. It's annoying."
Because the truth is that behind Tengenmon's façade of cowardice and subservience there was anger. But in the Uzui household to show emotion meant to show vulnerability, and his father did not like his sons to be vulnerable, and to warrant the dislike of such a man was to warrant a fate that rubbed shoulders with death.
"I'll give you a place to stay. A boutique. You'll pose as the owner of that boutique."
Tengenmon asked why a boutique.
"You think I don't know, boy? That you've been sneaking out? With that little shinobi girl. You go to all these fancy places. You dress up. You pretend to be someone you're not. Anyway, if you need to know why a boutique, it's just coincidence. Was the only place available. But I'm sure you'll enjoy it. You put on an obedient persona, but I know how you reject me. That's why I'm giving you a final chance to prove yourself worthy."
Blotting out a section of the grainy stone wall adjacent the lounge was a square wooden shutter that was kept closed with two huge metal buckles. Opened, the father beckoned Tengenmon, not to come stand but to look from where he sat; through the narrow frame he saw the garden where Nishimon and he had conversed only a few days earlier, the granny flat where he and his brothers slept, the small world of which his original doubt in had festered into despisal. It was through the looking glass that the father gave his departing speech:
"Don't you see it, Tengenmon? The world beyond our own isn't ours for the taking. All you see now is all that you will ever have. A meager estate belonging to a family that has been in decline long before even the country was opened up by the Americans. Spending day in and day out here, the world outside starts looking all wonderful. But know that once you give in it is the end – the end, for both me and you."
July 1915
Giyuu's POV
When I awoke in the dead field of the Iguro courtyard and saw Tengen Uzui bent over the body of his dying brother the euphoria that gripped me when I observed the fight that may or may not have taken place evaporated, and condensed in its place was a washing guilt. I saw in the mirrors littering the floor that I was back in half-half-haori getup, back in my body. I also saw that Shinobu was conscious again. She too noticed me and wobbled over.
"Hey," said Shinobu. "Where's my sword?"
"Don't know…" – I noticed the linear gash on her cheek and cringed – "…but your face–"
"Don't worry. Once it heals I'll look like Mikasa. So it's not all bad, hm? But I swear my sword was here somewhere, and, there was something else…"
Despite her nonchalant put-off, without thinking I raise a hand to her cheek, not quite sure what I was going to do with it, and Shinobu grabs it. My first instinct was that she only blocked me because it was an unsavoury thing to touch a lady's face without consent, but when she spoke with a disbelieving flare…
"I remember now! I saw it! I saw your hand get chopped off! But it's back! How?!"
Even I could not give her an answer. The memory of my visions had left me, and like a dream, only the fact that I saw them remained.
"Maybe…" I offered. "Maybe you were imagining it."
"I ain't no kid. Only kids imagine things. I saw it and I know I saw it."
She continued to hold and scrutinise my hand until presumably, she could not come up with an answer in her head that'd satisfy her and she let go and started pacing around aimlessly. I walked back out onto the field, and strained my eyes once more onto the far sight ahead of me to confirm it.
Against a tree –
Lay Nishimon Uzui.
And kneeling before him –
Was Tengen Uzui.
"Shinobu…" I called. "Look." I pointed over there and we stared a while at the two. Suddenly, I felt tense. Shinobu, likely sensing this, tugs on my arm to hold me back, but this doesn't stop me and I still make my way over to them. Leveling into clear view, Nishimon's face became discernable, and I saw that his complexion was pale to the point it was grey, and there was liquid pooling down his face, fever sweat. Tengen's back was turned to me. I stopped a certain distance from them, so that they wouldn't hear me approaching, and only when I was still did it hit me that the unknown sensation I felt was guilt. Guilt for nothing, it seemed. Nishimon opens glimmering eyes but he doesn't see me, and the pupils train on Tengen. Did he smile? I can't remember. But as he makes some sort of expression his hands slide off the grass and into his pockets, and neither I nor Shinobu can do anything because we're too far away, and Tengen's too fazed to react, and the final act of Nishimon Uzui is set into play.
Scene SIX, Act FOUR, reiteration
NISHIMON's leaning with his back against a tree. TENGENMON is kneeling over him. GIYUU and SHINOBU watch.
NISHIMON
(coughing)
I'm done for. He got me. He used that poison sword so that my death'd be slow. Who would've known a lifetime of toxin-taking and toxin-resisting wouldn't have changed anything? But maybe that's only God's will. Like a play… it's all just set out from the start.
TENGENMON
What are you talking about? You were never religious.
NISHIMON
I ain't no child of heaven. But when I was given the blood… I… saw myself like this, saw everything, and I figured that it was all planned from the start.
TENGENMON doesn't reply. NISHIMON continues.
NISHIMON
Maybe… that's why my powers are the way they are. Maybe it's 'cause of the blood I was given. Future-seeing and all. She… that woman…
TENGENMON grabs NISHIMON's arm, and he goes quiet.
TENGENMON
Do you realise… you…
NISHIMON
'Course I do. Maybe I wanted it to turn out this way, and that's why I accepted it so easily.
TENGENMON
You're not making any sense. Over these past few months… you never did.
NISHIMON
It's just you being closed-minded, Tengenmon. Think outside of the box and you'll realise you've been trapped all along. How many lies I told you to keep you down. Everything I've done…
TENGENMON
Just stop talking, already. It ain't good for you. I've got… an antidote somewhere–
NISHIMON interrupts TENGENMON in a frenzy.
NISHIMON
What good'll a no-name antidote do for a dying boy like me? You really are desperate! And… so am I. I wonder why, sometimes. Why I did everything I did. Maybe… it's just 'cause I'm selfish, and I wanted to do something that'd ease my conscience. Maybe… it was for Bishamon. That's right. Once Bishamon died I was next in line to be the Uzui head. But why'd I throw that all away…?
NISHIMON goes silent. Hisheavy breathing grows quieter. TENGENMON slowly comes to accept that his brother is going to die. After a while of contemplation, he speaks up.
TENGENMON
Tell me, Nishimon, why'd you leave then?
NISHIMON
No real reason. It's just…
I
ain't
cut out
to be no family leader.
"That's a lie," Tengenmon says. "We all know that. What's the real reason?"
With the last drops of his strength Nishimon folds his arms over his chest and sighs the sigh of peace. He looked for a long while into his brother's face, and when his eyes had stopped shimmering Tengenmon saw through his murky own the clarity of the final farewell. And with a surprising movement, as though he was trying to bounce back into life, Nishimon whispered:
"I only wanted for you to become the head. I only wanted for you to be safe. That is why I left. That is why I will not come back. If both of us go home it will definitely be the end for you, Tengen! As long as two of us remains there will always be another 'test'. So promise me, promise me this…"
Nishimon muttered his final goodbyes after that, but they were impalpable grievances, uttered shyly and not meant to carry much significance. Those final minutes Tengen took up Nishimon's hand and watched as his life seeped away. For eternity onward, his brother's last words would burn like an inferno in his heart.
Nishimon Uzui
Died refusing to inherit the world he was born in.
I'll kill him.
That monster.
That monster –
Who took him away from me.
Giyuu's POV
"You killed him, Giyuu. I saw you do it. Why? You promised me. You promised me not to."
I never did promise Tengenmon Uzui anything, but I see the quivering eyes and the bursting expression and empathy overcomes rationality and I stir up my brain in search of something to say. I saw the two brothers and it hit me then that Youma was nowhere to be seen. One thought danced to another, the last leads to the next, and I open chapped lips and my tongue becomes dry and I force the words from my lungs:
"Did you know? Crying is much the same as cleaning house. The same as removing clutter, the same as sweating away poison. It is only natural. So, for now, just let it go. Just let it go…"
Tengenmon's composure crumbles. His face shakes with the force of tears he tries to hide, and he looks at me through snapping and curling fingers with an anger that could have strangled the earth itself.
"Go," he snarled. "Go! Go home! Even if you didn't keep your part of the deal, I will! Go!"
So I left. I paced back and turned around and left. Even at fifteen I was already mature enough to recognise that there was nothing left for me to do, and my decision then is one of the few I look back on now and can say surely I did the right thing. I left – and Shinobu followed; but only Shinobu. Youma was missing. I turned back one more time at the brothers and saw him standing over them, watching, only watching, like a saint come to lift Nishimon to heaven, or a demon come to toss him into hell. I also see that Hinatsuru had appeared under Tengenmon's shoulder, comforting him. I call Youma over in my thoughts and he joins me, but still he keeps his eyes on them. A longing expression takes his face. Perhaps even guilt. I asked him what's wrong, and he said this:
"Nothing. Just getting nostalgic."
We leave the complex, and down the road we see a kid with a bag of seeds feeding some birds. To put it very deeply, and morbidly, we were all steeped in some kind of negative mood, and seeing such a lackadaisical, mundanely innocent activity inexplicably lifted our spirits a bit. But then another boy joined him, and this boy was his brother, and suddenly we felt terrible again.
"Say…" Youma said to me. "Now that we're on the topic of birds, your crow should be coming with your paycheck soon."
I nodded, not paying attention to what he said.
"Well? Food makes you feel better, doesn't it? Go on. Have a nice meal. No need to dwell on what's already done."
Only then did I realise my hunger, and Shinobu hers too. We came onto a spot on the road where there were no trees to block the sun, and we looked at each other, weary, then this weariness sizzled away and the sunlight and the summer air and the dawning on us that our job was done and that now we were no longer demon slayers but only two hungry, tired children, was just enough to bring the mood back up.
Evening's come and spilled ink over a darkening orange sky, and under it sat Shinobu and I in a seaside restaurant that amount to a bare motley of a few benches, tables, and tattered umbrellas. A half-sun bobbed on the water touching the horizon, and from the distance there were the sounds of gulls talking, waves rushing, a warm wind blowing. A burly man with a big beard and no hair came up to us and, after explaining we weren't ambling children come to take a break from their playtime, he gave us our options: rice with chicken, or noodles with fish. Shinobu chose the former and I went for the latter; two portions, because whenever I ate I ate for two as to supplement Youma's appetite, as our joint condition had dictated I should do.
"I think…" Shinobu said. "I think that's the last time I'll ever go to the red-light district. I'm guessing Tengen feels the same, too."
"There was a first time?" I asked.
"Kanae took me there once. We were in town supposed to buy cabbage, but then we saw this lady with a lot of jewellery, and we followed her for some reason… and we ended up there."
"A tall tale."
"Pfft. It's just like…"
Shinobu hesitated.
"Just like this whole thing with Tengen and Nishimon."
I asked why she said so.
"It's underwhelming, I mean. We found the guy in one day and he was dead by the next. Maybe… I wanted to be gone for longer. It's boring being stuck in that estate, you know? And… we didn't even find the culprit."
I stared at her a while, in disbelief.
"So you're saying it wasn't Ni–"
"Don't ask why!" She's massaging her scalp, pressing in her temples. "And what was that Tengen said about you killing Nishimon!? It's all stupid, stupid!"
"True…" I said to myself, forgetting Shinobu's proposal. "What was that?"
Though I could not linger on it longer. The food came, and then the sight of it, the beautiful smell of it, amplified the hunger that I'd pushed to the back of my mind, and I could not withhold myself any more.
Like free dogs, we ate.
"Bwy the way," Shinobu said through a mouth half-full, "why'd'chu becowm a slayer?"
Now only the head of the sun was visible above the edge of the earth, and the burly man was starting to close shop and all was quiet and there was nobody on the beach but us. An otherworldly vibe hung in the air. Under the light of a gas lamp, we finished our meals.
"Say again?" I replied.
Shinobu swallowed. "I said, why'd you become a demon slayer, anyway?"
It seemed a crazy question to me. Then I realised what I told her three years ago – the shy tale of Nisegami Douma and Tsutako Tomioka and I – she may have forgotten.
"I joined… to avenge my sister."
"No, not that." Shinobu said. "I mean, I never took you for the – what was that word? – the belligerent type. Y'know, a fighter."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"It's just, back then, when you told me your story and how you wanted to kill this Douma guy, you didn't seem very convinced of yourself. Now – even more so. It's like… you know what you're fighting for, but you don't see anything inwhat you're fighting for. Kinda like it's worthless to you."
I never did tell Shinobu about the memories that I lost, and even now I'm ready to admit it was just as she said: I saw no urgency to get them back because I did not know the magnitude of what was taken from me. That is why, after nearly three years of non-stop demon-slaying, hunting, whatever, I was still only barely more skilled than the average, still only a hum-drum Kanoe doing hum-drum jobs, still only amnesiac Giyuu Tomioka with no cause to fight, no goal.
"And you?" I asked. "Why'd you become a demon slayer?"
Her reply was so immediate it shocked me:
"To see the world!"
She said it throwing her hands up in the air and with a great big girly smile that made her face creasy, and when she calmed down she spoke again:
"Not to see the world, actually. That's my 'dream'. But…"
She lapsed into musing silence.
"I guess I'm the same as you. I don't really have a goal as a demon slayer. After my parents… y'know… I made a promise with Kanae not to let anyone else go through the same thing. And for a long time I trained, trained, trained to work towards that. But then I began to lose steam. I… lost interest. It's bad of me, I know! I haven't told Kanae yet 'cause I'm scared of what she'll say. She's always the noble one. But, Giyuu…"
She splays her hand out towards the sea, and makes a sweeping motion over it.
"To the east of here… is America. The land of the great plains and the thirteen colonies and glitzy California and the Iroquois. To the north of here is Russia. Huge, and wide, and cold and hot, and so different from one end to another. To the west of here is China. The central country. Where one-thousand dynasties rose and died and where both the greatest tool of knowledge, paper, came from, and the greatest tool of warfare came from, gunpowder. And beyond that is everywhere else. All these fancy places. All so different. There's a huge world out there, man! If you think about it, Japan's boring as sin! What do we have here? Sushi? You?"
She apologises through her own giggling, but I can't find it in myself to be irritated with her either way. In fact, quite the opposite.
"But only strong people get to see the world. Have you ever heard of a weak explorer? Francis Drake, James Cook, Hernando Cortés: all soldiers. I guess that's why I still wanna train, even if I make it sound like I don't. Say…"
Now her eyes are on me, so shiny.
"Why don't you join me, Giyuu? You're strong. If you can beat Nishimon, apparently, then you must be. Nobody'll be able to mess with us. The world – will be ours!"
Many a time in later years I would ask myself how it all began. I had occasionally this urge to find the connection, the reason why, and when people ask me why I went down the path I did the answer lies in the days of my adolescence. Back then I saw in Shinobu's amethyst eyes a hope for the future, and in her dream the desire to reach it – because the world was just that wide, just that free, and it was up to us to claim it! But if only I knew the totality of human foolishness that befell us that day, and the end it would invariably lead Shinobu Kochou to.
I got my fifteen-yen wage, paid my and Shinobu's one-yen bill, and we were soon on our way home, to her home, since I had nowhere to go and had no cause to part ways with her yet. During the walk back I pondered with great deliberation what I was going to do when the morning came and when the euphoria of the previous day would have inevitably faded. I told Shinobu that I'd join her, yes, but I had entered this mission with the mindset that I was going to leave the same way and admittedly, this notion had not entirely left me yet. I agreed to her dream without considering my own and that of Youma's, and after weighing up the many factors that would dictate such an endeavour, the ins-and-outs, the good and the bad; with great disillusionment I realised that keeping my part of the promise was going to be impossible.
With fortitude I resolved with myself to break her heart sooner rather than later. While she slept, I would flee into the night, and we would never have to see each other again.
The image of the perched, mahogony dome of the Tsubone Endou estate building juts into the air as we entered the final alleyway that which upon crossing, would leave nothing but level field between us and the property. Shinobu's walking ahead of me, humming, hands behind her back, and Youma's nowhere to be found. The air is fragrant, no longer balmy. For reasons unknown I stop and lean on the alley wall, maybe to catch my breath. Shinobu doesn't notice me, and continues walking. I see something in the corner of my eye, in the shadows. A glint. I turn around. A man runs out of the darkness and puts a knife to my chest. His chest is remarkably broad. He smells a mixture between rice wine and gasoline. I don't move. My throat cracks when I try to speak. He plunges the blade, my knees buckle, and I fall.
