"Thank you for agreeing to do this," Watari said as he readied his equipment. "But, if you don't mind my asking, why did you insist on me? You don't know me from Adam."
"It was your lab coat, actually."
Watari chuckled. "Is that so?" It seemed he couldn't be sure whether to take Ukyou at her word, or thought she was making a joke.
Ukyou was serious, though maybe there was a little more to it than that. This Watari fellow was someone genuine, someone who could be trusted to say what he meant and mean what he said, but also not rush to judgments or react from a place of emotional bias. Ukyou had met the type plenty of times before in her career. Enough that she felt confident she could discern when it was an act from when it wasn't. On top of that, the young man had a warm personality, and a curious mind she could relate to. Surely the "Dr." title didn't hurt.
"Call it a professional bias," she told him, while she waited with hands folded in her lap on the edge of an infirmary bed. "We scientists have to stick up for one another."
Ukyou thought she caught a bit of a blush spread across Watari's face. "Yes, well, they weren't lying earlier. I really am an engineer by training. Any medical knowledge I have is self-taught, and ofttimes born of necessity. You've probably guessed as much by now, but we don't see a lot of living in here. When we do, someone has to make sure they don't die from mishandling before their time."
"It's a passion, then, is what you're saying." At least, it was reassuring to think of it that way. Passion could drive a person to proficiency, if he was dedicated. "Besides, when you think about it, living things are just a type of organic machine."
"That's exactly what I've always said! You know, I've been reading your research." His job momentarily forgotten, Watari dropped down in a swivel chair, leaning forward to speak to Ukyou as if they were conspirators sworn to secrecy. "We had to raid your office as part of one of our investigations—er, that's a long story best saved for another time. But what most impressed me was your work on plants, believe it or not. The way you tweaked their genes so they wouldn't be triggered into bloom or dormancy by seasonal stimuli."
"It was inspired by the idea that sexual maturity and mortality are related. Philosophically, aesthetically, the two have been intertwined for millennia. But biologically as well, growth hormone production drops off and the chance for mistakes to be made in the copying of DNA increases dramatically once an organism reaches reproductive maturity. If you can find a way to trick the cells of adults into thinking they haven't reached that stage yet, you could potentially stop the aging process in its tracks. At least, that's the theory."
"And I bet plants had an advantage because they keep growing throughout their lifetimes."
"In the initial stages of my research, yes. There are also fewer ethical concerns with experimenting on plants. I always knew I wanted to apply my work to animals, and eventually people, but had to make sure I was on the right track first."
They bantered back and forth along similar lines while Watari performed various basic tests and checks. He wasn't equipped with any prenatal screening devices and was rather out of his league in that department anyway, but Ukyou could have assured him that the child was alive and strong.
She didn't want to think about it at all right then. She couldn't remember the last time she had had a chance to exercise her brain with another human being with similar intellectual interests. For a while she was able to pretend she was speaking to a colleague while on a business trip, and that her life hadn't been completely upended in the last six months.
It was good that Watari's easy manner relaxed her so, because eventually the conversation was bound to turn to matters more personal. "You were close to Muraki?"
Ukyou let out a deep breath. The needle slipping into her arm pinched, but it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as hearing that question, or knowing she had to answer it.
"We attended university together. Pre-med. We parted ways professionally, though—he to private practice, I to pharmaceuticals. I didn't think I had the fortitude to deal directly with the suffering of patients the way he could. But if I could help provide the medicine that saved their lives, or alleviated their pain even just a little bit—well, then at least I would have done the world some good. Kazutaka and I stayed in touch, however. We collaborated on a few projects, mostly through correspondence. And . . ."
She bit her lip. It was always difficult to decide whether to tell someone the next bit, but ultimately she concluded it could be relevant. "We were engaged. To be married. Still are, in fact. Technically."
Watari blinked. "No kidding."
"I have a pretty good idea of what you must think of me. The fact that I would still consider myself his fiancée, even knowing the things he's done . . . I'm sure I must seem like some sort of fallen woman. How could you not think I'm guilty by association?"
"It's not my place to judge," Watari said in a tone that left no room for argument. "That's Enma's job. I'll be honest, I never liked Muraki. Tortured and killed too many people I care about for me to ever warm up to him. But I don't know what good it would serve to hold his crimes against you. Seems pretty dumb when you didn't commit them, wouldn't you say?"
Ukyou couldn't very well argue with that. Even if she was certain he was just saying so to keep the mood cordial between them. "I'm no saint, Dr. Watari."
"You're no sinner, neither. At least, not for the way you feel. Loving someone doesn't make you any less than what you already were."
Even if the person I love is a monster?
Ukyou had to look away while her blood filled the vial. For all the blood she had drawn over her career, it still made her uncomfortable to watch her own leave her body in that precise, controlled manner. Now more than ever, it seemed. And the reason why was not a mystery to her.
She must have tensed noticeably, because Watari urged her, "Hey, just relax. You'll have less soreness afterwards if you do."
"It isn't that." It was all going to come out eventually. As soon as her blood had filled that vial, her chance to make any sort of defense would be taken away with it. "Dr. Watari, you remember when I said that I trusted you because you were a scientist?"
"Yes? Oh! Of course. Nothing you say has to leave this room if you don't want it to."
Ukyou chewed her lower lip. Part of her was still determined to keep the truth inside, at any cost. But the more rational part knew that she had to say it now. Before it came out in some other way over which she had no control.
"It's not Kazutaka's child. It's Tsuzuki's."
She wasn't sure what kind of reaction she had been expecting. Anything would have been more helpful than Watari's speechless staring, though.
"I didn't want to say anything when Keijou blurted it out in front of everyone," Ukyou went on. "That was the conclusion he jumped to when we were in Hell together and I couldn't bring myself to correct him. The way he spoke of Tsuzuki—it was obvious he hates Tsuzuki so much, maybe even more than Kazutaka, and I was afraid he might try to hurt me or the child in some way if he knew the truth. So when he told everyone it was Kazu's, I guess I thought it would be for the best if that's what everyone thought it was.
"But when you test my blood, you're going to find out anyway. If you have my research, then you have Tsuzuki's genome on file. Isolate the fetus's DNA from mine and compare it to his, and it will show a paternal match."
"That's not possible."
"I'm sorry, Doctor, but there's just no one else who could be the father. It's been years since—" But now she was getting into details of her personal life that Watari didn't actually need to know. "Just trust me when I say," Ukyou said with emphasis, "there's no one else it could be."
Watari shook his head. He laughed to himself as he withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball over Ukyou's arm. "I believe you, I really do. Still, I'm telling you, it can't be possible. Tsuzuki's dead, the same as me and y—well, the same as me, anyway. These bodies we shinigami have are just copies of our original selves. Our gametes shouldn't be viable. Our gametes aren't viable!" he corrected himself.
How was Ukyou supposed to argue with that? She didn't know the first thing about how shinigami biology worked. Until a few months ago, she didn't believe in them at all. "Test my blood—"
"Oh, I will."
"It will confirm everything I'm saying to you. I wouldn't know how to begin to explain it, Dr. Watari, but I don't have any reason to lie to you either. What would I have to gain by claiming I'm carrying the child of a dead man?"
"What indeed? But then, what would be the advantages to being seen to be carrying the child of a man as despised as Muraki?" Watari must have noticed how his musings were doing the opposite of putting his patient at ease, and amended, "I think it might be safest in the meantime to keep up the ruse Keijou started. I'll have to share my findings with my chief, whether they confirm your story or not—"
"Todoroki?" Ukyou remembered the man with the military bearing and flat top in the rotunda. Moreover, she remembered the look he had given her. The thought of that man learning the truth about her and Tsuzuki gave her chills.
Apparently she wasn't the only one. "God, no!" said Watari. "Chief Konoe, of the Summons Division. Tsuzuki's division. You'll like Konoe. He's kinda like the dad you wish you had growing up. Drives you hard, forgets half your birthdays, but is always there when you need someone you can trust. Someone who can keep a secret, like the identity of your baby-daddy, a secret."
Ukyou supposed she would just have to trust that was true, since she knew nothing about this Konoe. "What will he do to Tsuzuki when he finds out?" She hugged her middle, as though to protect the child from any judgment.
"I have no idea. Probably give Tsuzuki the sternest talking-to of his afterlife. But he's a good man. He'll make sure you're protected and well looked-after while you're in Enma-cho. Both of you," Watari added with a nod toward her belly. "In the meantime, you should stay here and get some rest. After the ordeal you had, you need time to recover. I'm gonna make a quick cafeteria run, get you some real food, but I promise I'll come right back."
"You're going to leave me here alone?"
"Not entirely alone!" Watari was quick to say, urging Ukyou to calm when she looked like she wanted to get up and flee. "I can ask my birds to look in on you if you want the company. But you don't have to worry about anyone coming to take you away. No one is going to disturb you here. They wouldn't dare. Because then they'd have to suffer my wrath, and it always strikes when they're least expecting it."
Ukyou had no idea what he was talking about, but by the mad-scientist grin on Watari's face, she could believe that his colleagues might have reason to find him terrifying.
It was wonderful to take a shower again. Such a routine, mundane thing, just hot water and soap, but it felt to Keijou as though he had finally been cleansed of the filth and iniquity of Hell.
Todoroki had already deemed him spiritually clean enough to return to his duties in the morning. In the privacy of his office, Keijou had stripped down to the skivvies, but Todoroki had been unable to detect any marks or other indications of demonic possession or tampering on his person.
"You say they tortured and interrogated you while you were in captivity?"
"You'll be pleased to know I gave them nothing, sir. No matter what they did to me."
Besides, Keijou was sure he would know if he were possessed. There would be voices in his head, or shadowy things glimpsed out of the corner of his vision that weren't really there. So far he had experienced nothing of the sort.
If he was expecting Todoroki to be proud of him for his fortitude, however, he was looking in the wrong place. "I wouldn't expect anything less," his chief said. "My department has no use for shinigami who cave when things get a little uncomfortable." It didn't seem to be Keijou's ordeal he was concerned about anyway. "The timing of your return couldn't be better. Now that Tsuzuki is back with us, I need my best officers around me more than ever."
"About that, sir," said Keijou as he buttoned up his shirt. "I noticed him among the crowd in the rotunda and assumed that meant King Enma cleared him to resume casework."
Todoroki's grumble gave away how he felt about that. "He's wearing a tracking spell as part of his probation, but I've made my concerns known to His Majesty. That man is not fit to mingle among the living. Once a menace, always a menace."
"I wholeheartedly agree, Chief. That's why I want to ask your permission to take up Agrippina's vendetta myself."
The strength of his conviction must have shown on his face. Todoroki seemed surprised. And thrilled. "Sister Agrippina was prepared to wait decades if that was how long it took to see it through."
"I know. But the man responsible for killing her twice over doesn't deserve to get away with his sins with just a slap on the wrist. I would wait a century to see justice done her memory. She served this department and her king loyally. And she was my partner. I was supposed to have her back. I owe it to her to do everything in my power to put Tsuzuki away where he can never hurt another soul again."
Being back in a Juuohcho without Agrippina's presence, knowing he would never see her again, only made Keijou more determined to keep that vow. It felt wrong somehow, this place without her, and it probably always would. There was nothing he could do to fix that.
Be that as it may . . .
Securing a towel around his waist, he stepped in front of the mirror, and was shaken by what he saw.
Behind the foggy surface, the details of Keijou's face and form were mere suggestions. But superimposed over his eye sockets were two faintly glowing rings, like the haloes around headlamps at night. When he moved side-to-side to see if they disappeared, they followed, always positioned firmly over his eyes.
Must be an optical illusion. Just a refraction in the moisture on the glass, or something. But if that was all it was, why did it feel like something was watching him through his own reflection—
Keijou shot out his hand and wiped the fog from the mirror. To his relief, the weird effect disappeared as soon as he did so, and the only eyes left staring back at him were his own.
He chuckled at himself. Spent too much time in that Hell hole. You're getting paranoid.
It didn't occur to Keijou to wonder why that thought should make him feel so victorious, as if at an impossible mission accomplished. As far as he was concerned, his mission was just starting.
Tsuzuki fucking Asato.
Just seeing that man again had been enough to send his blood pressure sky-rocketting. And to find him here, looking for all the world like he had never left, while in the meantime Keijou had been getting himself molested by rotting devils. Keijou hadn't thought it possible to despise Tsuzuki more than he already did, but now he understood his hatred of that man knew no limits.
Maybe it was too late for Agrippina to see vengeance done herself, but Keijou vowed, if it was the last thing he did in this existence, he would avenge the injustices his partner had had to suffer on account of that man. Now it mattered more than ever. Because against all odds he had been given a second chance, and he did not intend to waste it.
"Are you certain?"
Watari had expected a strong reaction from Konoe when he broke the news, and sure enough, his chief looked as though he had just been punched in the gut. "I checked and rechecked my work," Watari assured him. "Believe me, I wish I could tell you it wasn't true."
"But how is it even possible? Shinigami are supposed to be sterile."
"That's what I thought too. But the data don't lie. Dr. Sakuraiji's child is related to Tsuzuki. Closely enough that I'm comfortable concluding he is indeed the father. I don't know how to explain it—at least, not without submitting Tsuzuki to some very invasive tests—but there it is."
"I can think of one perfectly reasonable explanation," Tatsumi said. "We know the Sakuraiji pharmaceutical company has been working with Tsuzuki's cloned cells since at least as far back as when Muraki Yukitaka was alive. And he was able to keep the cell line alive for decades before that. It's feasible she could have impregnated herself. She certainly had the means to do it."
Watari blinked up at him, surprised that Tatsumi would suggest Ukyou was capable of doing such a thing, never mind his accusatory a tone. Of course, Tatsumi always became a little more defensive when it came to Tsuzuki's wrongdoings. He probably wasn't even aware he had that tendency.
But that didn't give him the right to blame Ukyou for this, when she had made it clear to Watari her pregnancy was not the least bit intentional. "Dr. Sakuraiji was adamant her child was conceived in the, er, traditional method. She didn't even know it'd happened until it was too late."
"She could have been lying—"
"What reason would she have to lie about that!" Watari rounded on him. "It's bad enough everyone thinks Muraki's the father. They already believe she's carrying a baby serial killer, something that ought to be ended before it even has a chance to take after dear ol' dad. But at least he's a living mortal. You can imagine the outcry if folks find out just how abnormal that kid really is. So what could she possibly have to gain by telling us it's Tsuzuki's, if that's not the truth?"
"You're right," said Konoe. "This new information places Ms. Sakuraiji in even more danger here than she was already in. If she's telling the truth, then what Tsuzuki did is highly illegal. The powers that be aren't going to stand by and let her be delivered of that baby."
Watari could understand the reasoning behind that, too, even if he didn't like it. An impossible child born of a shinigami was a complete unknown—there was no recorded precedent to tell them what kind of being to expect. Flashbacks of Kamakura were already crawling through his mind, and he wondered if Tatsumi was thinking the same thing. He hoped, for Ukyou's sake, that her child didn't come out looking anything like Kurosaki Rui's.
This, Watari thought, was why, aside from those they were sent to collect, shinigami weren't supposed to have relations of any sort with the living. Certain checks were supposed to be in place to ensure that even if they broke those rules—being weak human souls, after all, who were terrible at resisting temptations—nothing would come of the union. If Tsuzuki's body wasn't subject to those same checks, then there was something wrong with it. Something that would have to be corrected. Enma would not stand for a shinigami that wasn't all dead threatening the order of his kingdom. "And Dr. Sakuraiji will be the one who suffers for it," Watari said to his hands in his lap. "Hasn't that poor woman been through enough?"
"I'm afraid it's about to get even worse for her," Konoe sighed. "I hear Todoroki has submitted a request to take the doctor into his department's custody."
"We can't allow that to happen! Never mind he has no just cause whatsoever. She's not a security threat!"
"I agree. I've made it abundantly clear to my superiors that the infirmary is the best place for her at the moment, due to her condition. There is no other place in the Judgment Bureau as qualified to deal with the medical needs of a living person. But I fear that may not be enough. We can't keep her locked up in your office indefinitely, Watari. The fact remains, she doesn't belong in this world."
"Well, you can't send her back to Chijou either! As soon as she steps foot in that plane the demons'll smell her like chum in the water!"
"I think I may have a solution," Tatsumi said. "That is, if we can secure his cooperation."
After the way he had questioned Ukyou's integrity just moments ago, Watari was skeptical. But that didn't change that he still trusted Tatsumi's judgment over anyone's. And at this point, he was willing to give any idea a fair hearing.
They were given a new case, their first together since Kumamoto. She was a young artist whose disease should have killed her weeks ago, who managed to convince Tsuzuki to let her hold on until after the opening night of her first gallery installation. It was her dream, after all, to live long enough to see her work admired by the public.
It was a straightforward case. But she was also the type Tsuzuki would have fallen for when his and Hisoka's partnership was just starting out. Idealistic but not quite to the point of naïve, twentyish, frail but buxom, huge, sad dark eyes. . . .
In those days, Hisoka believed Tsuzuki's problem was that he fell in love too easily. Now he wondered if it wasn't in fact some other emotion he was picking up on, one that Tsuzuki knew no other way to express but with affection. This is why shinigami must always work in pairs. So one of the two will be less likely to do something stupid, like sleep with the case or grant them immortality out of pity.
But now, Hisoka felt none of the emotions that once troubled him coming from Tsuzuki's direction. He thought the tracking spell that entwined them would make him feel Tsuzuki's projections more keenly. Instead, his partner was like a black hole, letting next to nothing escape. Tsuzuki felt sorry for their case, sure, he was sympathetic to her dream, but that was about it. She was just another dime-a-dozen doomed soul to him; and as much as Hisoka had been hoping Tsuzuki would treat their cases with more professional distance, the change was proving harder than Hisoka had expected to get used to.
As for Gushoushin the Younger . . . "See?" he yawned when they returned to their accommodations. "It's like riding a bike. You don't need me. If it's all the same to you two, I think I'll just stay home when you go and collect her soul tomorrow night."
"But you're required to be there," Hisoka started to say, but Tsuzuki spoke over him: "You sure, Gushoushin? There's going to be a small buffet at the gallery opening. Not to mention, free wine! You've never been one to pass up free wine."
Not that those two should have been drinking on the job to begin with, let alone when Tsuzuki and Hisoka were both under review.
Besides, if anyone should have been allowed to stay home from a dinner party, it was Hisoka. He'd barely been able to eat for days, and it wasn't just the particular stresses of having Tsuzuki back. He actually welcomed those. Like an irritating brace he hadn't known he depended on so much until it was off. No, this was more like his insides were gearing up for a revolt.
It wasn't painful, though. More like one of those random erections that would hit a person during middle-school math class, brought on by nothing and making it near impossible to focus on anything else. And it hit at the most inconvenient times: the slippery, slimy feeling like some caterpillar deep inside himself was twisting in its cocoon that was Hisoka. He could practically hear it screaming. Screaming to be let out.
I don't have to listen to you, Hisoka shouted back at it in his mind. I will never summon you again. So shut. Up. Leave me alone!
Bold hands slipped around his waist from behind, arms possessively crossing his stomach. A second later, Tsuzuki's face was nuzzled in the crook of his neck, his body warm against Hisoka's back.
Hisoka melted under the gentle pressure, which broke up and soothed away the other presence inside like a hot compress. He would have liked to be able to stay that way forever, wrapped in the curious but comforting mental silence of Tsuzuki's embrace.
Until he remembered they were in the middle of the Summons Division office. Then he started freaking out. "Ge-get off of me, lech!"
"Fine~ fine~ . . ."
At least if Tsuzuki was offended by his reaction, he didn't let it show, as he released Hisoka and leaned back against a neighboring desk. "But just so you know, I wouldn't have done it if there were people watching."
Sure enough, when Hisoka turned to face the Summons office, he found it empty of souls but for him and Tsuzuki. "It's lunchtime," his partner observed, "in case you haven't noticed."
Hisoka hadn't, in fact. "I'm not hungry."
"So I've noticed. I'm not going to tell you how to treat your own body, Hisoka, but you know it's not helpful to let your energy run down when you're working an investigation. Anything I can help with?"
He wasn't going to come out and ask what was wrong directly. Hisoka appreciated that, as it let him hide the truth more easily. "Nothing in particular," he lied. "And I'm sorry. For calling you a lech. You startled me, is all. I thought all our coworkers were watching and I didn't want them to know . . ."
"That we'd taken things to the next level? As if they haven't already guessed?"
Hisoka smiled at his choice of words. Normally "next level" would have implied sex, or at least something much more intimate than a kiss. But as damaged as they both were, Hisoka supposed even a little kiss or an affirmation of love counted as a huge leap into the uncharted.
"It's still new for me," Hisoka confessed, finding it easier to do so to his and Tsuzuki's shoes. "Touching another person, that is, and allowing myself to actually feel. To feel safe enough to drop my guard."
Muraki had ruined that for him. Having everything that man felt forced upon him had left scars almost as deep as the physical rape. Surely Tsuzuki understood that. That it mattered to Hisoka to have the power of choice. "Believe it or not, I really do like it when you and I touch, Tsuzuki. Just . . . maybe I can be the one to initiate it next time? On my own terms?"
"That's fair enough," Tsuzuki said with patient smile.
"Also, maybe we can make the workplace off-limits? You're not sensitive to these things so you're probably not aware that that kind of energy leaves a psychic fingerprint."
That wiped the smile clean off. Hisoka doubted he could have gotten the same reaction if he'd told Tsuzuki they were being videotaped. As if afraid of leaving butt prints, psychic or otherwise, Tsuzuki nonchalantly slid off the desk on which he was leaning.
It was impossibly endearing. And maybe if Hisoka hadn't been in such a dark mood when Tsuzuki arrived, he would have allowed himself to laugh.
As it was, he found himself taking Tsuzuki hand in his, and holding it there between them. He craved that warmth, that silence, that he felt coming down from Tsuzuki's end. It didn't desire anything of Hisoka except for his presence. He let it chase any last trace of Yatonokami from his consciousness. What would he have done without this? If Tsuzuki had never come back? Who would have saved him from being alone with the monster in his soul?
"Hm?" Tsuzuki stiffened in his grip as something outside the window caught his attention. "Is that Ukyou?"
Hisoka turned and looked for himself. He saw Konoe walking with her, the two appearing to be out for an afternoon stroll through the cherry grove.
Unless, "Is she being moved?" From what little he and Tsuzuki had been told, Hisoka gathered she had spent the last few days since her arrival cooped up in the infirmary.
Tsuzuki made to rush to the door, but, sensing it coming ahead of time, Hisoka tightened his hold on Tsuzuki's wrist and stopped him.
"I have to talk to her, Hisoka!" his partner said. "They haven't even let me get close enough this whole time to see if she's okay! And it's all my fault she's . . ."
Even if he didn't finish that thought, his guilt hit Hisoka like a blow to the diaphragm. If they weren't allowing Tsuzuki close, it was almost certainly with good reason. But Hisoka's heart went out to him. It would have been cruel of him to ignore Tsuzuki's pain, when he felt it so keenly inside himself: the desperate need to apologize that threatened to come bursting out of him if he had to hold it inside much longer.
"I'll go with you," Hisoka said, and released his grip.
They caught up with Ukyou and Konoe on the bank of the little stream that ran through the grove, sitting and chatting on a blanket spread out on the grass. By all appearances, they could have been enjoying a picnic, or a hanami, if there had been any food or drink beside the thermos of tea Ukyou held in her grip.
Ukyou was even smiling. Tsuzuki knew because he watched it fall when she saw him approach.
"Would it be alright if I talked with her for a bit?" he asked the chief.
Who exchanged glances with Ukyou. "Why don't you ask Dr. Sakuraiji if it's alright with her? I can't give my approval if she doesn't want to talk to you, Tsuzuki."
It didn't escape Hisoka's notice how the two had to struggle to make eye contact. And even then, it was easier for Tsuzuki and Ukyou to focus on one another's hands, or the empty space beside the other's ear, than speak to each other's faces. "It's fine," Ukyou said. But her gaze flickered nervously to Hisoka, whom she didn't know.
"I'm not allowed to go anywhere these days without supervision," Tsuzuki began, but Konoe filled in for him, as he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt: "You two talk. Kurosaki and I will be waiting over there so you can have some privacy."
Or some semblance of it anyway, Tsuzuki thought. He didn't have much privacy from Hisoka at all these days.
But he settled down beside Ukyou. Trying to act casual, but feeling like a miserable failure at it. He had only really come over here for one reason: to apologize. And so far he was failing at that, too, because he had no idea where to start.
"Your chief is a very kind man," Ukyou said to fill the silence. "And Dr. Watari has been most generous in looking after me, even though I don't think he's ever had to wait on a pregnant woman before. You're lucky to have coworkers like them."
"I feel the same way," Tsuzuki agreed. "Sometimes I think they're too generous for a place like this." By which he meant, a place surrounded by so much death.
It assured him somewhat to see a small smile flitter across her lips, however briefly. "What's important is that they have your back when you need help. Right? And they've put me very much at ease since coming here, considering the circumstances. Even sitting here, under these trees, with Mr. Konoe has been surprisingly pleasant. You see, I don't care for cherry blossoms. They remind me of something terrible that happened when I was younger. I think I mentioned it to you before."
The men in the park, who tried to pull you away and assault you, and almost succeeded. Muraki coming to your rescue, like some avenging angel, and nearly killing one of them. . . . Tsuzuki nodded.
"But I'm trying to move past it now," Ukyou said, meeting Tsuzuki's eyes, as though she might draw encouragement from him. "I'm trying very hard to see the beauty in these flowers that everyone else does."
Everyone but me, Tsuzuki thought, but it didn't seem right to correct her at a time like this.
"After being in Hell, I suppose everything seems more beautiful. Hell was like the surface of Venus, always black clouds hanging in the sky. The only light came from lava and lightning, so you could never tell if it was day or night. Even though I tell myself I'm in the Land of the Dead, now I feel the warmth of the sun and for a while I can pretend I'm back in my world. And that gives me hope. That maybe . . . Maybe there's a way out of this yet." She glanced down at her belly. "When it's all over."
"Why didn't you try to get rid of it, when you found out what I was?" It wasn't a very polite question, but it had been the one weighing on Tsuzuki since he had last seen Ukyou, and first learned of her pregnancy. If he had been in her situation, he didn't think he'd want to carry the spawn of a demon. He wasn't sure he would have been born himself, if his own mother had known what he was while he was still in her womb.
"I tried," Ukyou said, "when the demons told me what their ruler—I think Ashtaroth was her name?—what she had planned for the baby after it was born. I thought it would be better if it never made it that far, rather than grow up in that awful place and become the kind of monster they wanted it to be. But it wouldn't let me."
She stared at her hands in her lap, remembering what she had done. "I healed," she told Tsuzuki, "almost as fast as you did when I cut you. The child healed us. It doesn't want to die—"
"It doesn't want anything," Tsuzuki said, shocked at his own callousness. But it was true. Or at least felt better if he believed it to be. "It's not conscious."
"Its genetics, then," Ukyou shot back. "Your genes saved it. And me. It's changed me. Do you know what your colleague Dr. Watari said when he examined me? That I have the telomeres of a teenager." That meant nothing to Tsuzuki; but judging by the laugh Ukyou forced, it was a big deal to her. "Now, I try to take care of myself, when I'm not working too hard, but even so, that's ridiculous."
In other words, I made you an abomination, too, when I put that thing in you.
Tsuzuki had tried to keep up a strong, optimistic front for her, but at the last, he could prop it up no longer. What was left of his fragile smile fell, and tears burned unshed behind his eyes.
"I'm sorry." The words left him in barely more than a whisper. Anything louder, he feared, and he wouldn't be able to keep his composure. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. I ruined your life. If I hadn't gone looking for you, if you'd never met me, none of this would have happened to you."
"Kazutaka said I was your revenge. Was he telling the truth? Is that what you came to me to get?"
The words hit him like a rod laid across his back, even if she hadn't meant them as punishment. They were reminder enough of what monstrous sins Tsuzuki, in his anger, was capable of committing. He couldn't bear to look at her, let alone answer. He didn't think she needed him to say anything to know the truth.
"Just answer me this," she said. "They said I was in Hell because Kazutaka promised them a child of his blood. But I don't think beings like that would consider a cousin or an in-law a close enough relation. You weren't lying after all when you said you and Kazutaka were related, were you? Are you really h-his . . ."
She couldn't even bring herself to say the word.
Tsuzuki nodded. "He's my son."
Like ripping off a bandage, it lifted a bit of weight from him to say those words to another human being, even if it only left the wound beneath raw in the open air.
"Biologically," he added. That distinction seemed important, even if it didn't change the basic facts. "I died long before he was born, but his grandfather—I was his patient, for a time, and he kept some of my tissue after I . . . Well, you know that much already, I think, you worked with the stuff your whole career. The elder Muraki cloned it, experimented on it. He wanted to use my DNA to create some sort of superhuman—"
"Wait a minute." Ukyou shook her head, urging him to slow down. "Are you saying Kazutaka was just an experiment all along? Like one of the animals in my lab?"
Tsuzuki wouldn't have used the word "just." Though he couldn't bring himself to say "one success in a long line of failures" either, the way Muraki had impressed it upon him. "He never told you he wasn't conceived naturally?"
"It wasn't the sort of thing that ever came up, no," Ukyou said in a distant tone of voice. "But it makes sense now, looking back. My father must have known. He would make comments in passing about Kazu not looking anything like the other Muraki men, and about his poor mother. I think he blamed Yukitaka for driving her insane."
Tsuzuki said nothing while she related this to him. But his thoughts returned to the conversations he had had with Muraki over the last few months. Their stories matched up. And though Muraki still seemed to hold his mother responsible for so much of what he was, it seemed more and more to Tsuzuki like she had been the lone innocent in the whole mess.
"I never knew why Father would say those things," Ukyou said. "He never explained them to me, and I wonder now if he felt himself to be culpable of their crimes, too, just by professional association. He must have found out the truth shortly before he cut ties with them. Something they did must have finally crossed a line and he could no longer justify working with the Murakis. And he chose to take the secret with him to his grave, rather than share his shame with me."
"Yet he still experimented on my tissue. Until the day he died."
His accusatory tone caught Ukyou momentarily by surprise. "Yes," she began. "But only because he believed so strongly that what you had was unique—and that it could save lives! My father wasn't perfect, Tsuzuki, but he was a good man at heart."
Unlike Muraki Yukitaka, Tsuzuki thought with clenched fist, and his son. If he was going to blame anyone for Kazutaka's crimes, he should start with them. They made him. "It sort of makes you feel sorry for Muraki, doesn't it? He didn't ask to exist or to be what he was any more than that child," he nodded toward Ukyou's belly, "did."
Wrong thing to say. Out of the corner of Tsuzuki's eye, he saw Hisoka turn and hurry away from Konoe. They may have been standing a few trees away from Tsuzuki and Ukyou, but that didn't mean they weren't able to hear the gist of what was said.
And judging by Konoe's face, the news had come as a complete shock.
Though Hisoka's face was turned away from him, Tsuzuki could guess what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He could see it in the bow of Hisoka's head, in the fall of his shoulders, the slight trip in his steps that told of someone who was desperately trying not to be seen running away.
"I'm sorry, I have to go," Tsuzuki said, getting to his feet. Mumbling something to Ukyou about his minder getting away from him that ultimately wasn't important.
Tatsumi, why did you have to be so good about doing what I asked? Why didn't you tell them while I was gone?
So I wouldn't have to.
When he caught up to Hisoka, Tsuzuki barely touched his partner's shoulder and he spun around, knocking Tsuzuki's hand away.
"You forgot I was standing there, didn't you? That I could hear every word you said? Otherwise you wouldn't have said any of it—"
"Hisoka—"
"When were you going to tell me?"
Tsuzuki could only blink, the words getting tripped up on his tongue. All he seemed to be able to focus on were the tears rolling down Hisoka's cheeks, and the anger in his eyes. This whole tangled web of cause and consequence had even caught Hisoka in its strands, and Tsuzuki didn't know where to start to try and unravel it.
"You weren't ever going to tell me, were you?" said Hisoka. "After all that bullshit about not keeping secrets from each other, you didn't want me to find out!"
"I didn't want you holding my actions against Ukyou, after everything she's had to go through—"
"I'm not talking about that! You're both adults. I don't give a fuck what the two of you did, while you were alone, in her house, where you shouldn't have been. . . ." Clearly Hisoka did care about that, but it was beside the point: "I'm talking about you being Muraki's father!"
"Hisoka . . ." But he didn't know what else to say. Tsuzuki wanted to reach out to him, wanted to enfold Hisoka in his arms until those tears somehow went away. But he knew that moment was past now, maybe never to come again so long as the two of them existed. His touch would only make things worse now. His touch was what Hisoka feared. Knowing I'm responsible for Muraki existing . . .
It's like I'm the one who raped him. I'm the one who killed him.
There was no excuse or apology that could possibly set that right. And that was precisely why he had been determined to keep it a secret. This was precisely the outcome Tsuzuki had feared most.
But that didn't excuse him from giving Hisoka the explanation he should have a year ago. "I swear, I only found out at the end of our last case. He had evidence—"
"I guess that explains why you couldn't kill him when he was right in front of you, practically unarmed. Why you wouldn't let me do it for you."
So Hisoka's bitterness over the events of that night at the Sacred Heart school still hadn't abated. Hisoka must have known it wouldn't help now, though, and fought it down. Wiping one cheek with the back of his hand, he leaned back against the nearest tree for support. "I should have guessed what was really going on. It was like you completely changed after you talked with him that night."
"I should have told you then, I know. I know we'd said we were going to be open and honest with each other. But how could I tell you that? I knew you'd react this way and I didn't want to lose your trust. 'Cause how could you trust me after finding out I was the one responsible for all the shit you went through? If not for me, Muraki would never have been born, and he never would have done any of those deplorable things to you. You could have died an old man, surrounded by your family—"
"You're right," Hisoka cut him off, after something suddenly changed in him at Tsuzuki's words. "Maybe none of that would have happened, maybe I would have gone on with my life, and maybe I'd still be alive right now. But it wouldn't really be living."
Tsuzuki started. Was he missing something? This wasn't the way he'd envisioned this talk going. Hisoka was supposed to blame Tsuzuki for robbing him of the life he rightly deserved, until Tsuzuki felt properly chastened!
Instead, Hisoka said, "I hooked up with Tsubaki, you know. On the Queen Camellia case."
Where is this coming from, all of a sudden? "I know," Tsuzuki heard himself say dumbly, trying to find the connection. "At least, I guessed as much."
"It seemed like every moment you weren't undercover, you were off with Muraki, my murderer, playing detective, and it got to the point I couldn't stand it anymore. How easy the two of you were with each other, when you knew what kind of man he was. So when Tsubaki suggested we fool around, I didn't think. I felt so alone—and angry, at you—and I wanted to do something, anything, to make you jealous. I knew I wasn't the one she really wanted. She was just using me, and I her. But I went ahead with it anyway. I knew it was against the rules, but I told myself, since they never seemed to stop you . . ."
He paused, but Tsuzuki could find nothing to say to fill the space. What could he? He knew about all this already. Hisoka's confession just brought it all back as fresh as the day he had felt it. The guilt, knowing he had pushed Hisoka into becoming just like him, had come too late.
"It was a mistake. I knew that the moment you congratulated me for it." Hisoka grimaced at the memory. "Then I only had myself to blame, for my foolish expectations. I had started to think you cared—"
"I did care. I do!"
"Just not enough to keep it in your pants?"
Tsuzuki clamped down on his protest. He couldn't deny he deserved condemnation for that. It was forbidden, like Hisoka said, and he never learned his lesson.
"So maybe I am angry about you and Sakuraiji," Hisoka said under his breath. "I'm pissed off, and hurt. You've been at this for seventy-five years, Tsuzuki, you should have known better."
I know. I did.
"But that's the difference. What you did to Sakuraiji was your choice, and you'll have to find a way to live with it. I'll have to find a way to live with it, because I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at you the same way again."
That tore at Tsuzuki's heart. He hadn't given much thought to what he did being a betrayal of Hisoka's trust. And why not? Because he had blinded himself to the possibility that Hisoka had deep affection for him? Denied that Hisoka could love him, after the traumas he had suffered? No. Those were just more empty excuses.
"But," Hisoka continued through the tremor in his voice, "even though I could blame you all I wanted for Muraki, if I thought that would make me feel any better, that doesn't make him your fault. You weren't aware of any of the experiments his grandfather was doing with your blood. You had no idea what Muraki did to me, or that I even existed, until I showed up here as your partner. You certainly didn't choose what that man did, or order him to do it. So you can say 'If not for me' all you want, and yeah, there might be some truth to it, but that doesn't make what happened to me your fault."
Tsuzuki couldn't believe it. He should have felt like he had dodged a bullet. He should have been relieved that this wasn't what he had feared. Hisoka didn't hate him.
Instead, it felt like that proverbial bullet was lodged in his heart. He couldn't help feeling that this wasn't the outcome he deserved, and therefore he had to be suspicious of it. He wanted more than anything to reach out to Hisoka, to thank him from the bottom of his heart for this clemency, but to do so felt like it would be reaching for something Tsuzuki had no right to. Even if had believed for so long that Hisoka's forgiveness was all he wanted.
But was this forgiveness? "If that's how you feel, then how come you're still upset?"
That earned him a none-too-light punch in the chest. And one he absolutely deserved. "I'm upset that after everything we went through together, you still didn't think you could trust me to handle the truth! Idiot."
Somehow, hearing that word in Hisoka's voice again made Tsuzuki very happy. Or would have.
"And it's this damn guilt of yours, too!" Hisoka whimpered as a fresh wave of tears broke their dam. "You have no idea how much you're projecting, do you? It's no wonder you're such a basket case. I feel like I'm barely holding it together and I'm only catching a contact-low—"
Tsuzuki did wrap Hisoka up in his arms then, holding him close about the shoulders, his cheek on Hisoka's crown. Relieved when Hisoka didn't push him away, like force of habit probably told him to, but leaned in, blotting his tears on Tsuzuki's shirt.
He hated that this was how they had to get to this point, and wished it could be any other way, but if Tsuzuki was grateful for one thing, it was Hisoka's new willingness to touch and be touched by him. Physical intimacy had always come so easily to Tsuzuki, but he felt he was beginning to understand, truly understand now, how great a gap Hisoka had to bridge inside himself just to do this much. He wondered if Hisoka knew how much this simple gesture healed Tsuzuki's soul.
He did as asked, and walled some of his guilt and self-loathing off from Hisoka. At least, as much as he was able with those emotions running so high. He didn't want to have to release Hisoka too soon.
"I won't ask if you can forgive me," Tsuzuki murmured against his hair. "I don't think I can ever deserve your forgiveness. I just wish I could show you how sorry I am. For all of it."
"Tsuzuki." He could feel Hisoka's eye-roll against his chest. "How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me? I know how you feel. I'm—"
"I know, I know." It just felt like this was too easy, and it wasn't supposed to be.
Tatsumi shot up from his power nap with a start when Hisoka slammed the stapler down on his desk.
He was about to chastise the boy, but the look on Hisoka's face stopped him.
"You knew about him and Muraki, didn't you, and you didn't tell me!"
How the hell did he find out . . .? The question was on Tatsumi's lips, but he saw it was futile to voice it. Hisoka was an empath, after all, and if Tsuzuki had finally confessed how he was related to Muraki, Tatsumi could easily have been implicated. He couldn't blame Hisoka for treating him like a co-conspirator, when the shoe fit.
"He asked me not to say anything," Tatsumi said, gesturing for Hisoka to keep his voice down. "He wanted me to swear to it, in fact. He was afraid of what it would do to your relationship if you knew the truth."
"Worse than him running off and all of us practically being accused of sedition for sticking up for him? Worse than almost losing him forever?"
No, Tatsumi could agree what had happened was pretty bad. "I didn't say it was a good decision on his part to keep it from you. But it was Tsuzuki's right to decide whether to tell you or not. If I'd gone and told you behind his back, I would have been making that choice for him, and I respect him too much to do that. I respect both of you too much to do that."
He fixed Hisoka a hard look as he let that sink in.
"So before you go branding me a hypocrite, did you happen to tell him the truth about what you are yet?"
The color rising to Hisoka's cheeks and the silent terror in his eyes told Tatsumi more surely than a spoken answer that the boy had not.
Zepar's eyes went wide with surprise when he arrived in the Living World, and saw just who it was who had summoned him there.
"I don't need this shit," he started to say, and attempted to teleport back to Hell.
But when he found himself anchored to the Living World, and to the pentacle of light beneath him, he panicked. And shot Muraki a murderous glare.
The doctor, on the other hand, just smiled and waited patiently for his catch to exhaust itself.
"Let me go," Zepar tried through clenched teeth. "I don't answer to you anymore. Remember? Ashtaroth took back the powers she lent you when your contract was concluded. You can't call on your hellhounds to do your dirty work for you now, and you certainly can't call on me."
He allowed himself a wry grin, even in his precarious position. "How is your eye feeling, by the way? Vision acting up on you? Focus a little . . . unreliable?"
Muraki resisted raising his hand to the offending eye. It would not do to show the devil any sign that he was right, and let him take news of Muraki's weakness back with him to his master. "I make do," Muraki said as he stepped closer to the circle. "That isn't why I brought you here. You will tell your master that I want to make her a deal, but it isn't for the fucking eye. It's for Ukyou."
Zepar laughed. That should have been Muraki's first tip-off that something in Hell had changed since he had last spoken with the devil.
"Tell her I'm ready to offer a trade," Muraki pushed on nonetheless. "My soul in exchange for her returning Ukyou to this world alive and unharmed, and renouncing any claim to her child."
"Would that I could," Zepar purred. "It's a tempting offer, you playing Orpheus, but it just comes too darned late."
Muraki narrowed his eyes at him. "Why too late?"
But Zepar had said all he was willingly going to say. "I don't. Answer. To you. Anymore," he repeated in a sing-song tone.
Enough with games. Muraki shot out with his hand, sinking it deep into the devil's very essence. If Zepar had had a heart or some similar organ within him to grasp, Muraki would have found it, and squeezed it till it burst. As it was, he seized the largest root of energy within Zepar's soul he could find, and held onto it tight.
Zepar gasped as he felt his energy start to leave him, sucked from him as if through a straw. This should not have been possible! For a human to do this to the likes of him . . .
"I think you'll find I still have some tricks up my sleeves that even Ashtaroth cannot revoke," Muraki said as he held Zepar there, his own strength increasing by the second. "This one, for example, I discovered and honed myself. It's very useful, I find, for convincing demons to tell the truth."
Zepar clamped his mouth shut, determined not to give Muraki the satisfaction. But proof of how dearly he struggled flickered across his face, as he was slowly stripped of his glamour, like dermis off raw muscle.
"I'll ask again. Why did you say I was too late?" Muraki's heart pounded with dread, but he had to know: "What's happened to Ukyou?"
The devil fought with himself, but eventually could withstand the agony no longer. "We don't have her," he gritted out, as though he were fighting to bite back words that had a mind of their own. The dulcet tones he had used in his various guises was leaving him with his strength, replaced by a horrible, grating gargle of a voice. "She's gone—"
"Where?"
"Meifu. The traitor helped her escape, and the shinigami took her. . . ."
Muraki released him then. He had all he needed, information- and energy-wise.
And Zepar fell to his knees in the circle. His being felt raw, abused, flayed both physically and in spirit. A humiliation he should not have allowed the doctor to live to see, but he was sapped and so long as the circle held him he could do nothing. Not even disguise his hideous form.
"Thank you, Zepar," Muraki said, though he did not think the devil deserved his gratitude. He flexed his hand, feeling the nerves buzz within it and all down his arm. This was why he hesitated to drink demonic energy. It was more powerful than any other kind he'd tasted—save for Tsuzuki's, and that was to be expected. They were not wholly different. But Tsuzuki's energy was perfection, whereas this was like overindulging on an exquisite wine. A dizzying, euphoric experience in the moment, but he was sure to regret it later. "Now you may go. As you're so keen on reminding me, I have no more use for you—"
"Wait."
With deep, ragged breaths like a stick drawn across a washboard, Zepar hauled himself to his feet. Bits of glamour flickered across him here and there, with great effort and little success—an obscene sight, like watching a butterfly try to cram itself back into its pupal shell. "What do you intend to do with that information?"
Muraki had to laugh at the reversal of their positions. "Ah, but I don't answer to you anymore," he said, and sent the devil on his way, back to Hell.
Ukyou was speechless as she took in the grand interior around her. The Castle of Candles was immense, and the Baroque trims and decorations far exceeded any expectations she may have had after her time among the modern buildings of Juuohcho's main campus.
"And through here is the formal dining room," the butler Watson warbled as he led the tour. Ukyou still hadn't adjusted to the sight of him, yet in a morbidly fascinated sort of way found it difficult not to stare. How a man could be so decayed and still move so quickly and speak so cheerfully was beyond her comprehension; but she was, after all, in the Land of the Dead, and probably should not have been quite so disconcerted when Watson's ear fell off in the middle of the tour and he casually pressed it back on again.
"Breakfast is served at nine," he went on, "luncheon upon request and tea at four in the afternoon. Dinner is white-tie for the men, evening gowns for the ladies—"
"I'm afraid we shall have to dispense with the formalities for a little while, Watson," said a new, smooth, deep voice. "After all, Dr. Sakuraiji came to us in a hurry and didn't have time to pack the necessary attire."
"Some could be procured for her, my lord Count," Watson tried helpfully, but did not press the issue further.
Ukyou looked around herself, trying to find the source of the new voice, but she didn't see anyone.
The others in her party, however, seemed to have no trouble at all. "I want to thank you, Count, for agreeing to this arrangement," said Konoe as he stepped forward to shake someone's hand. "I apologize for any imposition."
Then Ukyou noticed him. Even forewarned, she couldn't help her gasp. He was nothing but a floating mask and pair of gloves!
Yet there must have been someone behind them, even if he had somehow rendered himself invisible. When one of the gloves shook Konoe's hand, there seemed to be weight behind it. "Not at all," the mask said in a voice that dripped like dark honey. "It is my great pleasure to welcome the doctor to my humble abode. We do not often receive visitors, and visitors of the living kind are the rarest by far."
"She isn't here to visit," Keijou said sharply. "She's here because someone decided this would be the best place to keep her safe. I can only hope they weren't mistaken."
Nonomiya shot him a sidelong glance in warning, but as Keijou was occupied staring the Count down, it went wasted.
"Mr. Keijou, is it?" the Count said with a hum. "Is that a note of jealousy I detect?"
"Agent Keijou was in Hell with Dr. Sakuraiji," Konoe explained before the young man could embarrass himself further. "Since he swore an oath to protect her there, Chief Todoroki thought it only fitting that he be allowed to continue in her service while she's with us in Meifu."
"Oaths sworn in the company of demons aren't always best kept," the Count said darkly. But just as quickly, his mood lightened. "Well! If he is so dedicated, I shall count on him to do his utmost. Ms. Nonomiya, I am pleased to see they've assigned you to this detail and not your partner."
"Thank you, Count," she beamed, matching his amicable air. As much as she wished she could be sharing this assignment with Kazuma—for one because she had a feeling Keijou still blamed her for her role in what had happened to him and his partner—she understood that the Count probably hadn't forgiven Kazuma yet for leading the raid on his mansion. Even if she wasn't personally responsible for any damages to his property.
"Which would make this Dr. Sakuraiji," the Count said, turning at last to Ukyou. He bowed—or, at least, she assumed he did—and extended his glove, which she rather reluctantly placed her hand in. "Enchanted, my dear. I've heard such good things about you already that I have been dying for a tête-à-tête. Perhaps you wouldn't mind indulging me after you've had a chance to get settled? I would be honored to show you around my extensive rose garden."
She could feel his breath warm across the back of her hand, and couldn't be sure if that made his invisibility more or less assuring. Ukyou only hoped his offer hadn't been a double entendre. Watari had warned her the Count was known for such things. "I . . . I suppose that would be alright," she said, unable to keep the small tremor out of her voice.
"It's my appearance, isn't it?" the Count said mournfully. "Of course, you must find it discomfiting. No need to deny it, dear. I'm sorry to say my position requires me to keep my identity concealed at all times, but perhaps I can find a solution that would put us both at ease. You see, Doctor, I wish for you and that precious child you carry to feel as relaxed as you would at a five-star resort for as long as you two are in my care. Anything you should desire during your stay, simply ask and I shall make sure it is fulfilled with all due haste."
"You might not know it to look at him," Nonomiya explained for Ukyou's benefit, "but the Count is one of the most powerful beings in Enma-cho. You're safer here than anywhere else."
"My castle is a sacred space," the Count added. "It would be blasphemous for anyone to try to enter here with evil intentions or take it by force. At least, they wouldn't make the same foolish mistake twice."
"How about Watson shows you all to your suite?" Konoe was quick to interrupt him. Ukyou didn't need to hear about the raid Todoroki had ordered on the place just a few months ago.
But more than that, he wanted a chance to speak to the Count alone.
"You'll probably hear rumors," Konoe said when the other three were out of earshot. "I thought you should hear it from me—"
"It's Tsuzuki's. Isn't it."
He didn't say it like a question.
Which concerned Konoe. "Is that what people are saying?"
"No. They're saying the child is Muraki's. But I don't believe it." The flowery voice the Count had used in Ukyou's presence was gone, replaced by a dark gravity that cut through any bull Konoe may have attempted to sell him. "When I heard Tsuzuki had spent seven months living under her roof, it was the only natural conclusion I could make. Don't forget, Konoe, I know that boy. I know how he works, and what little regard he has for rules."
"You don't find it improbable? He has a shinigami's body—"
"And is himself the product of a demon, remember. It wouldn't be the first time such an impossible thing has happened."
"What are you going to tell Enma?"
The Count turned to him, as if shocked Konoe would think that question even needed to be asked. "Nothing, for now. If it was known Ms. Sakuraiji is carrying Tsuzuki's child, I would have a horde outside my door trying to beat it down and kill it. I swore to you, did I not, that I would do everything in my power to keep them both safe, and I intend to keep that promise, even if it means I must set myself against my king. It wouldn't be the first time for that, either."