Kaneki had been at the bookstore for over an hour. But there was no work for him; he was a seasonal employee, after all. He felt so restless.
Knowing Kuri was just across the street had been a comfort to him until now. Now he longed to join her. But she had her own life over there, and work to accomplish.
Kuri was her own person; but Kaneki was barely a person to begin with.
Kaneki paused in his journal entry. He wondered how many more of these he had left. He'd entrust them to Kuri, when he finally faded away; he decided.
Then there was the problem of Nishio. It wasn't likely the ghoul would lay off, that wasn't his style. But it was the pitying that bothered Kaneki.
Any ghouls he saw or heard nearby just gave him a sad, pitying expression. They knew what he was denying; there was no hope.
Might as well go out in style.
Kaneki stood up and clapped his hands together. Enough gloomy thoughts.
He decided to do the monotonous tasks always entrusted to him by Yoshimura to do when he was human.
Kaneki got back in the car and drove to the post office. Incoming mail. There was probably a lot; so he took a bag. Yoshimura had a habit of ordering huge textbooks, usually for Kaneki's education.
It had been Yoshimura who introduced him to books in the first place.
Kaneki sighed fondly, remembering the weird collective homeschooling he'd received, then scowled, remembering the scorn of some others like Nishio; who believed there was no use for education in the ghoul world.
Even Tsukiyama, who loved culture and sophistication; didn't pretend that the sophistication of humans had any worth. Some he managed to be a snob even as a ghoul; saying that he had a proud heritage as a ghoul gourmet. Whatever.
Ghoul or human, Tsukiyama was Tsukiyama.
After the altercation with Nishio, the ghouls had backed off. Kaneki wondered if that was because Yoshimura had called them off; or a more sinister reason—Amon.
Perhaps they were going to initiate him.
Kaneki shuddered. He had failed his initiation miserable, and taken Yamori with him.
Flashes of disjointed memory assuaged him, and he held his head quietly as he leaned against the wall, waiting for it to pass.
When it did, he calmly opened the locker—and received a shock.
Only two letters.
It was just like the expired milk.
Kuri was right
Someone was AWAKE.