I recognise that this work was produced on the traditional lands of the Kaurna and Ngadjuri peoples.
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…
Blood splashed.
Bone cracked.
Black marrow pressed putty-like between nimble digits, blemished.
A groan.
A whimper.
Tendons pulled sharply and frayed like old strings, now a child's playthings.
Freckled skin tears.
Broken fingers clench.
Sounds – textures – unnoticed in the swirling disquiet of her adolescent mind.
…
[][][][][][]
…
"Please remember, while many do believe literature is valuable for its own sake as art, it still presents an opportunity for functionally varied investigations." Kaneki took taking a sip of his coffee, clearing his throat.
"For all that aesthetic value is broad, and that subjectivity-in-taste is an undeniable phenomenon, there are correct and incorrect interpretations of literature; because of this literature represents a very real tool to improve your skills of analysis."
His guide in this branch of CCG's academy – Akira's mother, Mado Kasuka – waited a few seconds before she clapped once and announced; "and that's about all the time for today, please give instructor Kaneki a warm goodbye."
Some of the students clapped and some others bowed their heads quickly, the majority, however, simply seemed excited to make their exit for lunch.
Ken withheld a sigh, hoping that some of the lecture would sink in. Not that he could blame them their excitement to leave. He knew he could be a dry teacher; it was why he liked to treat his own classes more like a seminar with frequent discussions.
There had simply been too much material to cover in such a short time, so, despite his best efforts, their eyes had glazed over towards the end.
For all it irked him, how could a ghoul begrudge another their hunger?
For a first attempt, ultimately, this had to be seen as a success. That there would be future opportunities? that this single opportunity even excited?
Well…
Small steps walk far.
The more Investigators exposed to different, conflicting, and new perspectives found in the intimacy of following a narrative from within someone's head – fictional or otherwise – means more investigators equipped to begin letting go of their hatred of ghouls.
Their "deprograming" efforts would be long-term; but then their civil resistance campaign was still months away from its full implementation – they still needed the manpower of volunteers to begin at scale. That Ken could start here and now was a boon.
…Or is it ghoul-power?
Kasuka gathered up her belongings, her pale blond hair swaying with her movements. She was also here as a guest lecturer after all, having brought Ken along as a last-minute addition given his meek contributions to the capture of the Nietzsche ghoul.
One could say what they liked about the CCG academies, but they updated their curriculum at the first sign of an effective tool for identifying, investigating, and exterminating ghouls.
Unfortunately.
The pair walked out the classroom, squeezing into the hallway beside the many students, teachers, and instructors as they all made their way to the small and large courts where food was dished by volunteering students. Ken suddenly felt nostalgic for his own school years.
They made their way outside, pressing past a recently released class of juniors and stepping into the fresh air and looking for a spot to sit and discuss their lectures. They'd agreed to make notes on possible improvements.
Ken overheard one young man complaining that his mother hadn't been home in three days for all the pressure her current investigation had loaded her with.
He paid it no mind, readily following in Kasuka's wake, keeping his expression neutral.
It–
It felt strange…
Assisting the wife of the man who had once murdered his own wives' father. Tou-Tou's and Ayato's father… But that was the nature of change; sudden new things then trying to adjust.
They had exited the building through a stairwell, descending then striding out into the compass gardens between their gym and lecture rooms, the sulphur-like stench of the intermittently planted herbs saturating the air: sage, thyme, mint, and rosemary.
They sat at a worn-out bench, Kasuka launching into to what she felt Ken could improve on the next lecture. He responded in kind, taking notes of her points.
Despite everything, it was fun – not even the odour permeating the air could change that.
Akira definitely got her no-nonsense attitude from her mother and Ken smiled at the thought of his once friend turned pseudo-niece.
"What?"
"Nothing – thinking about how alike you and your daughter are."
Kasuka sighed, her expression rueful. "Sometimes it scares me."
Ken frowned. "It shouldn't."
She hummed, searching his expression for something.
He thought of Amond, who had loved Akira, sharp edges and all in the old timeline. "She's still growing – things could change." Her eyes narrowed. "I don't think they need to, though," he backtracked.
She grunted, noncommittal.
They were quiet for a moment.
Ken's mind began to wonder again, considering the days he'd spent as a peacekeeper in the reformed CCGC. Trying to normalise relations with other East Asian countries after Japan's paradigm shift had been a herculean task, and he'd only been an adviser in the process.
"Do you think other countries have problems with ghouls the way we do?"
The question almost surprised Ken himself. It brought Kasuka out of her own musings if her curios expression was any indication.
"Moast. Ghouls are hard to exterminate fully, especially for landlocked countries." She shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with the topic for all her eyes seemed to shine. "Some countries in West Africa gave up entirely during French colonialism and tried to work with ghouls instead."
Ken hummed, rubbing his chin. "The Blockaded Three? Even if they're crazy for making such concessions, I hope there doing well."
Kasuka snorted. "Supposedly, they're fine. Something like that though, it would never work here – those countries already had a symbiotic relationship with their ghouls. It was an established relationship through their culture and history."
She was slipping back into a lecture-like modality as she continued: "Naturally, no other country wants to deal with them – and their neighbours are always wary of ghouls overthrowing those governments."
Ken hummed again, a particularly strong note of sulphur making his nose twitch. "Do you think the CCG will ever be successful?"
"Ghoul numbers are on the decline: so long as enough good people dedicate themselves we'll remove them all in time." She began to pack her materials, their conversation finished.
Sulphur burned in his nose again, as he nodded along.
The following day, being a Saturday, meant Kasuka, himself and Touka were free from work.
What had begun as a playdate between Tou-Tou and Akira snowballed into the children hanging out in the apartment playing chess or PlayStation while the adults sat back and tried to cool off from the cloying hot moisture.
They were spending the afternoon in the Mado apartment, sitting on their balcony facing out to Tokyo Bay, watching the water shimmer a rainbow in afternoons light. The air this high up cool and breezy and caring with it the distant salt-taste of the ocean.
Although, it did have to fight for precedence over the other scents in the air.
The dust and smog.
Their conversation was light and relaxed – even after the last Mado arrived home early. Ken had to wonder what had happened to these people to make them so vicious in his own time.
He took a sip of his home made "gin." Something both Mado's had wanted to try the moment he told them about it. That had been a moment for worry.
Technically anything with simple sugars could be made into alcohol. As far as Ken's own ghoulish tastebuds were concerned those originating sugars needed to come from human meet: so, here he was, drinking heavily diluted "blood wine" with two unsuspecting CCG investigators.
It wasn't even made from blood. Ken and Yomo fermented from the livers of some of the plumper suicide victims they'd found. Indeed, like gin, it had a subtle sweetness when added to sparkling water.
Fortunately, the Mado's jus though it was poorly made alcohol and not anything suspicious.
There was a crash behind them, causing the inebriated adults to look back lazily at the youngest children who were standing frozen, caught trying to move the furniture into a circle.
Then Kuro laughed, bear hits of laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, and Touka snorted, smile sharp.
It was a minor miracle that with their varied ages they got along so well. Akira being the eldest at sixteen and Ichika and Ayato youngest at nine.
Kasuka's daughter was certainly very patient.
Or very lonely.
…
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…
There was so much green in this space, both in the ground entrance and the floor above – it was clearly something their firm's building manager loved.
Green in the plants – both bright and dull. Green in the painted geometric patterns forming honeycomb across the walls. Every third couch in the waiting room below was forest green and every fifth chair a brighter shade of emerald.
Or was that supposed to be lime?
Credit did need to go to the designer; regardless of how it made her gag; it was eye catching against the grey-dull metal supports and bright white walls. The largely open space of their entrance way allowed for the accent to stop just short of overwhelming.
Apparently their other offices in the east of Greater Tokyo had a similar design. It had become the Gaikokuho firm's signature look.
The plants helped to diffuse the artificial nature of it.
It was not a calming design.
Maybe if it was red? No, not even then.
Native and non-native ferns, almost creating a tropical environment where they were nested underneath the two blue-grey catwalks connecting the offices on the right-hand side of the room to the "client spaces" on the left – which themselves reminded her of the various study spaces offered by the university.
It was a typical open-air design, and her coworkers loved it.
Touka only found it overly cheery for the heavy nature of their work. The only thing she felt she liked about it was the hope it seemed to inspire…
That, at least, was appropriate, for all that her heart longed for natural accents of dark wood and polished floorboards instead of painted iron and polished concrete.
At least the room was mostly empty, the office having closed to clients for the night, her coworkers middling about bellow her in the waiting room, talking to the sectaries and a clerk.
They were laughing – much to loudly for her hungover state – about something which had occurred for them last night, while they were out with one of their firm's partners. Touka would never understand the "salary man" culture of getting blitzed after work with people she barley cared about.
But then she was a Ghoul – getting drunk with people who didn't already know that truth was a terrible idea. Mado's especially.
Her skin crawled.
Bakugou rushed past her nook almost jogging to catch up to the others below, before suddenly leaning back into her field of view. Touka's eyes flicked to his, then his lips; a question clear upon them before he smiled tightly and wished her a calm night.
She smiled to herself; never let it be said that her being a working woman with kids at home wasn't the best cover she'd ever had in the human world. Her coworkers seemed to think that her husband did very little at home. Touka wasn't going to correct the assumption if it meant she was given peace.
She took a moment to stop musing about the office to look down at her half-written missive, laying over the top of several lose papers which had been safely kept between two cardboard and – what, twine? – bound folders overflowing with their own documents.
It was all very aesthetic, but… Fuck this career.
She knew they'd be paperwork but really – fuck this. As soon as the revolution was over I'm going back to cafés.
She put the loose papers back into their folders, finished her missive, collected it all into her arms, phone on top of it all, and walked across the catwalk to the elevator.
She'd put these back into the archive, get home, fuck her husband, sleep for a few precious hours, then go on patrol through the ward.
Like she had for the past three months.
Really wish the shareholders would hurry up and get their shit together. The choice is so clear.
…
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…
The bell began to chime, a comparatively soft sound over the noise of the street outside their classroom. The students rose, talking, and made for the door.
Shū followed, his dress shoes clicking against the hard floor as he strode out of his history class into the hallway. That was a benefit of attending a privet school – no poor fitting rubber indoor shoes, something he'd always detested.
If only it weren't an English one. Although, the introduction of Catholicism has been amusing, if nothing else.
Shū was neither religious nor spiritual; attending morning chapel services was a novelty. He wouldn't go so far as to describe them as boring enough to put him to sleep, so much as they were a bland meditative start to the day. Probably something farther wants me to incorporate…
He fought not to shudder as he restrained from rolling his eyes. His farther was only trying to expose him to as many different cultures and modalities as a ghoul could be exposed to, being restricted to their country of birth as ghouls were.
Afterall, only a country of mad men would allow travellers, migrants, and immigrants to enter without testing RC their levels.
"Oh, Sir!"
The call pulled his attention.
Shū tried not to shout at his cousin, he really did. "Kanae!" She jumped, startled. He tried to be softer as he continued. "Stop that. Honestly – everyone will think it strange."
She pouted.
It was a part of a game the two played – who can pretend to care for the other the most.
"What do you have now?"
"English literature."
She bumped his arm lightly, "talk after?"
Shū smiled a Cheshire grin, happy to be rid of her for the while. "Of course."
He crossed the school, waving to a few of the less annoying students as they passed, almost being rundown by young middle schooler with an odd scent as he walked.
Fear?
It had him reminiscing on the terror attack on CCG's headquarters in the 2nd by a ghoul organisation called Aogiri Tree – that had been something else. It had made a stark impact on the school's environment; all the little humans swaying like long grass in a strong breeze, all but begging to be helped along into the unending quiet.
The aroma had been exquisite.
He entered Kaneki's classroom, taking his usual seat in the second row inline of the teacher's desk, and pulled his book out. Kaneki had instructed them to become familiar with 1984 before the end of the fortnight, with dedicated reading time in class.
Within moments he was engrossed, such that when he next looked around the room was full. It was one of the only good things about the English, their written works. And maybe their language. Shū felt his smile sharpen. Maybe.
"You thinking unkind thoughts again buddy?"
Oh god – Its back.
"Good afternoon, Teruko."
"It was, wasn't it?" she muttered.
Shū sighed and tried to retreat back into Orwell George's work.
It seemed to work.
For a short while.
"So, Shū, you hate the English, right?"
He would not sigh.
"Hate? Not at all."
The girl stopped, looking at him strangely.
He would not snap. "What could I have possibly done to give you such an impression?" His accent fought to surface.
"Well… You are French… so–"
"Mon ami, I'm Japanese."
His classmate rolled her eyes; "yeah, same, still–"
"–must there be something else?"
"Probably Frenchy – pride in heritage is important, don't you think?"
It gave me a nickname again…
Shū smiled magnanimously, ignoring the urge to tear her head clean off her stupid shoulders.
"Of course; heritage is important, yet must we always identify with it before our own nationality? I should think not."
She eyed him sceptically, before turning back to her novel.
At least she's–
"You're fucken weird for a French, Frenchy."
His eye twitched but he still smiled.
He wouldn't let her win.
He turned back to his own book, only to be interrupted again.
"Alright – while this is technically a last-minute addition to our course, I will be adding Amalgamation by Takatsuki Sen to the reading list for this year." Kaneki announced. "As you're expected to write responses to the prompts for 1984 and The Prince, you'll also be expected to write them for Amalgamation."
His least hated teacher smiled. "I'll hand out copies of the text next class, alright?"
There was a courses of "yes" as the students began to move about the room, being dismissed early, Shū standing with them, a new pep to his steps. He had been excited to read The Prince but Takatsuki Sen's work in addition? She was swiftly growing to be his favourite author – and the pace at which she was publishing books!?
It was making for an exciting year, certainly.
Teruko, the annoyance, shoved past him with a scrutinising look about her features, Kaneki regretfully squeezing past him as well, trying to get his student to apologise.
Shū stopped, suddenly, before continuing to walk as before. The was something… off, in the air.
Something–
He smiled, walking with purpose to the school's entrance to find his cousin waiting by their car, she opened the door at his approach.
"I've realised something…" Shū announced, before he leaned into whisper: "we're not the only Ghouls in school, Karrin."
Silence, as she thought it over, then:
"Oh dear."
They shared smirk.
…
Authors note: Setup and characterisation. Sorry for the delay – I was finishing my semester.
Comments are still writer's fuel.