A/N: In previous chapters:
Kyojuro and Obanai suspect AB-4527, the winged demon that wreaked havoc in the Upper Level and wounded Giyuu, Mitsuri, and Kyojuro, used to serve in the military.
The hashiras split up: Kyojuro would go to the Life Extension Center, a branch of the hospital, to interview veterans who may or may not remember the demon. Obanai would investigate the military itself.
This chapter is 9k words long, so please pace yourself!
Using the reflective quality of the windows, Obanai fixed his collar. He had worn his military uniform only twice before: once when he was indicted as a hashira, and the second time at a banquet. Clasping the final button on his neck, the young man glanced down. Endless sky stretched below, and the closest cruiser looked like a dot.
His fingers lifted up involuntarily to his mouth, and before he could control the reflex, ran over his scars. Obanai shivered, sensing the deformed tissue. His hand flew down immediately. Pushing away the embarrassment, the snake hashira turned away from the windows and looked around.
The room was circular with one-way windows in place of walls that flooded the space with light. A circle was drawn in the center. After a brief deliberation, Obanai walked across the room and stepped inside the circle. He was not given any directions whatsoever, but it seemed like the most logical thing to do. If it wasn't and he just made a fool of himself in front of several dozen hidden cameras, he didn't care.
The outer edge of the circle glowed white, and an encapsulating, cylindrical hologram rotated around him. Scanners, Obanai realized. He spread his feet apart slightly and squared his shoulders. Trying to relax his body, the snake hashira watched how the hologram rippled in faint, shimmering waves. His molecules were probably being dissected right now, making sure he wasn't a biological terrorist.
His cybernetic eye blinked, losing vision for a moment. The hologram beeped and vanished. Obanai frowned, suspicious at the sudden deactivation.
Without warning, his body was squeezed, and air was sucked out of his lungs. Because he didn't prepare himself, pain hit him in its full capacity. His brain plunged into darkness, as if someone pulled out a cord from the outlet.
"Water?"
The darkness granulated into a cold marble. Panting, Obanai stared at the floor. His head was heavy, and just attempting to think triggered a searing pain in his neck and back of his eyelids. Slowly, he understood that his kneecaps were burning because he was crouching, and his arms were shaking because he was supporting himself off the floor. He was drenched in sweat.
"Iguro-gunsou, water?" Obanai smelled an unfamiliar cologne. The hashira clenched his teeth. His head split into pieces, but the young man was able to lift his eyes.
A soldier was squatting next to him. He was holding a plastic cup of water in his hand.
"Iguro-gunsou, can you hear me? Sergeant?"
Obanai swallowed and closed his eyes. His artificial eye rattled inside the socket. His voice came out as a croak.
"Yes."
He heard a relieved exhale. Obanai opened his eyes shakily and observed in a daze how the man placed the cup on the floor and reached out. The hashira responded instinctively; he allowed the soldier to take him by the shoulder and hoist him slowly onto his legs.
"There we go," the man guided the hashira carefully outside the circle and reclined him against the wall. Obanai slouched and yanked the collar that he took so long to button up. Breathing heavily, he watched how the soldier kneeled down to pick up the cup and straightened out hastily.
"Here you go, sergeant."
Obanai grasped the offered cup and took a large gulp. The cold water caused the blood to drop from his head. Somewhat calmed down, the hashira glanced up at the soldier in front of him. His unsteady vision stopped at the insignia. A bar and two stars.
Obanai cleared his throat and tried to straighten out. They weren't that different in rank and treating him as a subordinate would be unfair.
"Thank you, lieutenant…" The snake hashira looked expectantly at the man. That one brought his feet together and saluted.
"Higuchi."
"Higuchi-tai." The shaking has mostly gone away, replaced by awkwardness. Salvaging the last crumbs of self-respect, Obanai took a step away from the wall and nodded towards the circle.
"Testing out new technology?"
"That's right, Iguro-gunsou," Higuchi lowered his arm and sighed. His eyes slid towards the circle which returned to its previous form.
"The technicians are dabbling with teleportation. Everyone has been taking the stairs ever since."
Obanai caught his features dropping into a condescending smirk and covered it up by taking another sip. He finished the drink in one go. Noting that the hashira had, more or less, come to his senses, Higuchi gestured with his hand to start walking.
After the introductions and the impulsive instance of camaraderie, there was nothing left to talk about. Obanai followed the soldier wordlessly. His head continued to hurt, but everything else seemed to be functioning properly. His eyes wandered around the surroundings carefully.
Although he was certain that the walls were embedded with weaponry, he couldn't find a single hint of the compartments. His eyes lowered to the floor. There must have been some coating, because the marble neither reflected them nor echoed the sound of their footsteps.
Higuchi paused. Obanai eyed him; to an onlooker, it would've seemed that they stopped at a random spot next to a wall. The soldier straightened out and knocked curtly on the white surface.
Several tiles rippled on the wall, and a robotic camera sprang out. Not a single muscle moved on Obanai's face when the pitch-black, mechanical pupil zoomed up to his eyes. The camera snapped back into the wall. The wall seemed to jolt, then began parting swiftly down the middle.
"Your cup, sergeant," Higuchi said quietly. Obanai gave him the cup wordlessly and fixed his collar. Once the wall stopped moving, revealing an entrance to an office, the hashira stepped inside.
In a flash, Obanai's eyes slid around, creating an instant mental map. A single desk with two chairs on either side. Fireproof cabinet. Japanese flag in the corner. Windowless.
That was as much as he could gather before his body stretched out in a salute.
"Iguro Obanai-gunsou, snake hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps."
Bringing a pale hand on his chest, the man sitting behind the desk stood up slightly and gave a small bow.
"A pleasure, sergeant. We may have met before, but just for formalities… Sugai Toyoharu, captain and representative of the Demon Slayer Corps division at the Defense Forces." The man smiled coldly. "Please be my guest."
Behind him, Obanai heard the wall shuffle back into place. Lowering his arm, the snake hashira walked over to the desk and, dragging the chair out, sat down. The captain, observing him all this time, noiselessly lowered into the chair with him.
Obanai felt uncomfortable. The way he sat behind a desk, the lower quality chair — everything pointed to a junior status. Technically, he was on equal ranks with the captain. Ever since the military reformation several hundreds years ago, the demon slayers had been an independent part of the army. They participated in joint training sessions, filled out required paperwork, and attended biannual conferences. If Master held as much authority as the top commander, the rank of the hashira was beyond that of a mere captain. However, Sugai's exceptional position as the mediator between the two organizations, the unfamiliar turf, and a lack of bureaucratic knowledge made up for the gap.
Sugai, a man in his late forties with sharp features and piercing eyes, leaned back and crossed his left leg over the right. He intertwined his fingers and placed them on his knee.
"How is Ubayashiki-taishou?"
Obanai wanted to flinch at the captain's informal tone when mentioning the Master's name, but he controlled himself.
"Very well, sir," he replied evenly. Sugai continued smiling without dropping his stinging gaze.
"What about your colleagues? Is it the same set of hashiras, or have there been some changes?"
By changes, he referred to deaths. Obanai clenched his fingers under the desk.
"No, sir. The formation is the same as before."
Sugai raised his eyebrows to indicate that he was pleasantly surprised, although his eyes remained emotionless.
"Admirable. Staying in the same configuration for seven years… it's been quite some time since I witnessed such a continuance."
"Thank you, sir." Even if he was irritated, there was nothing he could do about it. He needed the captain, not the other way around. Sugai regarded him for another second, then leaned forward and tapped the side of his desk. A touchless keyboard glimmered under his fingertips.
"When you contacted me two days ago, sergeant, I was surprised. It is uncommon for the demon slayers to engage with us outside of obligatory actions." A hologram flickered off the desk, and Sugai slid his finger down. Files and documents scrolled down the hologram. Obanai watched the officer silently, wondering when the exposition would end.
"If I was taken aback, you can imagine the military's reaction."
"Was my request extraordinary?"
Sugai's eyes slid towards the hashira. Obanai tried to give his features a degree of innocence.
"I have reasons to suspect that a demon with the tracking number AB-4527 used to serve in the military," he continued, attentive to every word. "In any case, I don't believe asking for information undermines the military institution."
The corners of the officer's lips dropped slightly, but whatever it was that crossed his mind, he didn't show it. Sugai switched off the hologram and pulled out the drawer. He took out a thin folder and placed it on the desk.
"Take a look."
Obanai picked up the folder and, glancing quickly at the officer, opened it. His gaze was drawn instantly to the photo on the first document.
A boy, no older than eighteen, gazed with a somewhat frightened expression back at him. He already sported a buzz cut, but his cheeks retained an adolescent fat that the drills didn't kill yet. The hooked nose and thin lips were softer, and the eyes, a natural shade of gray, had a childish twinkle in them.
Part of him couldn't look away from the photograph, so familiar and distant, but impatience to finally learn something about the demon won over. Tearing his gaze away from the demon's human face, Obanai glanced at the filled out blanks. Having waited too long, he started reading faster than he could understand, and he forced himself to slow down.
Name: Arinaga Tomoe
Date of birth: 11 May, 2436
Obanai frowned slightly. He didn't have time to do the math in his head, but the year seemed too recent for a demon that old. The snake hashira glimpsed briefly over physiological data and hometown and went straight to the service record. It wasn't extensive, just information about when the recruit began training, which battalions he was stationed in, and which operations he participated in. Obanai paused.
Went missing in action during an offensive attack launched at 5:32 around -3.46, 178.87
Foreboding stirred inside Obanai's gut. He flipped over the page to check the back, then checked the other piece of paper inside the folder. It was an equally short medical record. Obanai held back from snorting. What medical record could a healthy seventeen-year old have?
He looked back at the first document. His eyes ran over in desperation over personal information. As if on purpose, he was an orphan, and the emergency contact was the drill commander. Obanai raised his eyes on the captain.
"Is that all?"
Sugai tilted his head. "Is it not enough?"
"I…" Obanai had to stop and swallow, reminding himself that he was in a subordinate position. "Sir, this document seems incomplete." He slid the paper forwards slightly.
Sugai understood the hashira's intentions and picked up the paper. His eyes ran across the lines.
"Arinaga Tomoe, seventeen years of age. Participated in the Continental War of 2453. Went missing in action after the first five months of the war." Sugai placed the document on the table and folded his hands in front of his face. His eyebrows creased together.
"Looks like a typical service record from that time to me." Not dropping his gaze from the hashira, he shrugged. "As for his demonic side, well, that seems pretty explainable. Sometime at the end of those five months, he was converted into a demon, and that's when he went MIA. After all, he couldn't resume fighting during the day."
Obanai shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. The reason wasn't even in that his expectations weren't met; the information did not correspond to the being that the demon was.
"AB-4527…" he looked down at the document. "Arinaga." The name felt strange to pronounce. "Did not turn into a demon during the Continental War. He was a demon long before that."
Sugai gave the hashira an inquisitive look. "Evidence, Iguro-gunsou?"
Obanai bit his tongue. He couldn't say that the only reason was a wide range of timestamps from footage videos. After a significant pause, Sugai leaned back in his chair. His expression became sharp.
"Iguro-gunsou, you requested the military for intel about a demon. First of all, the military is composed of humans, not demons, so the request itself was absurd."
Obanai narrowed his eyes. If all previous statements have been a line between passive-aggressive, this one was aimed directly at his ego.
"Despite that fact," Sugai continued evenly."We looked into our records to find a soldier who fits the physical characteristics that you've given us. This young man was the closest fit, and if he had disappointed you, then perhaps the issue is in your overly high expectations."
Obanai was silent for a moment, digesting the words, then stood up. If he was going to be insulted, there was no point in staying.
"I understand. May I have a copy of the documents?"
Sugai stood up as well. He towered over the hashira.
"Yes. I'll have a holographic copy be sent out to you."
The snake hashira stepped around the chair and saluted.
"Thank you, sir."
The captain nodded silently. Obanai turned around on his heels. The wall shuffled noiselessly apart to let him through.
Higuchi was fidgeting outside the room. When he noticed the hashira, he straightened out into a line, and his hand flew to his temple.
"Iguro-gunsou…"
"Do you have any other mode of transportation except that damn circle?" Whatever camaraderie Obanai had shared with the soldier was gone without a trace. The snake hashira ripped at his collar, and a button flew off. Higuchi flinched.
"There are stairs at the…"
"Lead the way," Obanai ordered coldly. The soldier jumped up and saluted unnecessarily.
"Yes, sir!"
Maybe because Higuchi was frightened, but the stairwell turned out to be very close. The soldier didn't follow the hashira inside, and Obanai had the entire metal, large staircase to himself. He ran down the steps, skipping several of them at once.
Blood thumped in his temples.
The elevator took him out to the front entrance where he had walked in some forty minutes ago. Obanai strode across the empty lobby, having no remorse about walking over the seal of the Japanese Army inscribed on the marble, and pushed forward the heavy door.
He was bombarded by the roar of traffic and the blinding sun. The uniform instantly became heavier.
Shielding his eyes, the snake hashira quickly searched the platform until he saw a familiar, black flyer parked among the numerous other vehicles. He jogged up to the machine and knocked on the tinted window. There was a snapping sound of security being unlocked, and Obanai opened the door to the backseat.
"Finished all your business, sir?" Chewing gum, Nijimaru tossed over his shoulder. Obanai met his gaze briefly in the rear-view mirror.
"Yes."
"Perfect." The Crow switched gears from parking to reverse and, glancing between mirrors and the back camera, began backing up. "You're right on time, sir. Me and Kabu-kun were starting to get a little hot waiting here."
Unbuttoning his uniform jacket, Obanai glanced at the dozing snake on the seat next to him. He brushed the animal carefully on the head, and Kaburamaru's tail rattled in a wordless greeting.
Nijimaru maneuvered around the vehicles and drove out onto the platform. He slowed down for a moment.
"Home or straight to HQ, sir?"
Obanai reclined his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. The scent of Tengen's expensive cologne and the heavy rap tunes which Nijimaru had prudently lowered in volume that permeated the flyer lulled him down. The air conditioner, turned to max strength, ruffled the slightly damp bangs on his forehead.
"HQ." He wanted to get out of the uniform, but he already wasted enough time.
"Aye, aye, sir."
His stomach dropped familiarly when the flyer rose into the air. Opening his eyes slightly, the snake hashira watched how the platform receded behind them and the skyscrapers, previously stationary, started moving one after another.
It was still early in the morning, and the traffic was easy. Guiding the steering wheel with one hand, Nijimaru rapped quietly to the music. Obanai gazed out the window. Kaburamaru clambered into his lab, and he petted him absently.
Of course, there was always a possibility that he and Kyojuro were wrong. Maybe AB-4527 was really only an unlucky kid who only served in the Continental Wars. What if the Sugai found the wrong soldier?
Onanai's watched beeped, and Kaburamaru hissed, disturbed by the sound. Giving the snake a soothing pat, the hashira glanced down and instantly opened the notifications. It was from Sugai.
The hologram of the young man projected between the seats. Obanai peered at the wavering pixels, trying to find anything that would hint on a mistake. After a moment, he leaned back in dissatisfaction.
The face clearly belonged to AB-4527.
The snake hashira chewed his lip, then looked at the watch and scanned the information again. No relatives, no significant breakthroughs in his career…
"Kaburamaru," Obanai said quietly. The snake perked up and wrapped around his owner's hand. The hashira switched off the hologram. For what he was going to do, the projection itself wasn't necessary.
"Perform a cross-verification."
Kaburamaru hissed and tightened around Obanai's hand. His pupils narrowed, then expanded to fill the entire iris. Obanai closed his artificial eye. He didn't want to overload his friend.
For a while, Kaburamaru was still, and only the tip of his tail swayed slightly from side to side. Then, the snake flinched and shrank, curling aggressively around Obanai's arms. The watch beeped on his wrist as it flooded with data. Caressing the snake with one hand to soothe him down, Obanai scrolled back to the beginning of the information thread.
Sinking down into the seat, the snake hashira read the lines of data as they appeared. The more it loaded, the more prominent the grim smile of satisfaction appeared on his face.
The drill commander's phone number was a burner.
The photograph was a modified version of the image that Obanai had sent them as part of the request.
There were other inconsistencies, such as holographic ID displacement, but it was enough for the snake hashira to understand what had happened.
Taking a deep breath through his nose, Obanai switched off the phone and, taking it off, tossed it on the seat next to him. His mind worked rapidly.
Sugai, either through his own initiative, or on someone's orders, had thrown him a made-up service record.
Stroking Kaburamaru's head, Obanai gazed out the window.
If AB-4527 — or Arinaga, as the record had branded him — had never been a part of the military, all Sugai had to do was tell that to him. But he didn't. Meaning that he, or his higher ups, wanted to hide something. By giving the demon slayers a seemingly legitimate service record, they steered away attention. Sure, this man had been part of the military. But as you see, our dear colleague, he was with us only for a short while, so we can't help you with anything else.
Obanai's eyes narrowed as he watched the flyers outside pass by.
Maybe Arinaga Tomoe had entered the military once as a human and then became a demon. But that happened way earlier than what the document stated. And he did not go missing in action.
Kaburamaru nudged Obanai in the chin, and the young man glanced down.
"Good job," he whispered. The snake licked him gently with his tongue and curled in his arms.
If that was the case, then Sugai's lukewarm response made sense. The military would never admit that it was using demons as soldiers.
The Central Station of the Kaunan District was crowded, and the rushing of the water in the fountains was trampled by squeaks of the machinery. The commotion of bodies and human heat made the Buddha statue seem insignificant; the last rays of sunshine falling through the glass windows created almost despairing shadows on the god's face.
Standing underneath the train information display board, Kyojuro watched the sea of people whisk back and forth and regretted that he hadn't gone earlier. When he was planning for the day, he thought he'd be smart about it and complete both the final check-up and trip to LEC in one go. However, the check-up took longer than expected. Kyojuro cracked his knuckles. His head wasn't as clear as he wanted it to be, and that bothered him.
A sleek, polished subway train pulled up noiselessly to the station. People flocked to it instantly. Fixing his tie, Kyojuro started forward. His body, used to the breathable, light cloth of the patient garb, felt rigid.
By the time he reached the cabin, it was nearly full. The flame hashira had to squeeze in between the patients, and he was delegated a meek spot right by the doors.
"Train departing. Please watch your step."
Kyojuro inhaled as the doors slid across his suit and tried to contract his body. The cabin swayed, but because the flame hashira was compressed by the other passengers, all he felt was a small nudge.
Kyojuro prioritized keeping his injured arm, still wrapped in a sling, as untouched as possible. As a result, the rest of his body had to compensate. Healthy arm flattened against the doors and feet pointed at an uncomfortable angle, Kyojuro watched the different facilities flicker outside the window. This was his first proper work after three weeks of hospitalization. Truth be told, he didn't look forward to it, but it wasn't because he thought it was futile. He had never appreciated his time at the hospital as much as this week. These past couple days, when the pain and the number of tests subsided, were great. He slept in, allowed himself something sweet during lunch breaks, and could remain in a half-dazed, languid state for the whole day. Going back to a mission seemed like something from a different reality. Kyojuro held back a sigh and looked away.
The doors opened, and the flame hashira stepped off to let the people through. He clambered back as soon as the gust of people ended, but the cabin was no emptier. This time, he ended up with his back against the doors, and he had no option but to face the crowd.
The further the train traveled, the thinner the crowd became. After a while, he was able to grab a seat. The tunnels shifted to a more urban landscape as they traveled into the residential portions of the district. Most of the hospital staff left here. For the past several stops, only Kyojuro and another robot were in the cabin. The latter exited on the second to last stop.
The blocks of apartments ended and, suddenly, a forest emerged in their place. Kyojuro stood up from his seat and walked up to the windows. He gazed in loss at the luscious green flickering outside. Pagodas rose in the distance. His eyes darted upwards, sensing a trick, but the map stubbornly pointed to the LEC. Kyojuro returned his eyes back to the windows. The subway was slowing down, and he could even see the individual leaves on certain branches.
"Lifetime Extension Center. Please watch your step."
The train came to a soft stop. The doors swooshed open, and the flame hashira stepped out.
The smell of wormwood and grass hit his nostrils. Stunned, Kyojuro looked over his shoulder. The forest winding on both sides of the train tracks, the white buildings of the Kaunan District glimmered far away.
The young man turned around, and his eyes fell on the tall post driven into the platform.
Kaunan District: Lifetime Extension Center
When Shinobu first described the center, Kyojuro had imagined something akin to an elderly care facility. He never thought that the center could be a full-blown reservation. His eyes traveled to a single trail whisking away from the platform and into the forest. The flame hashira examined it from several moments, then looked back around. The train remained still, a dark silhouette against the reddening sky. No one else was on the station except him.
What a popular place.
Kyojuro gave his suit, tousled from the trip, a rough jerk and started towards the stairs at the edge of the platform. In any case, it was time to figure out how this center worked.
The sunlight cascaded through the tree branches and illuminated the small shrines next to the path. Birds rustled in the underbrush. Breathing in the dizzyingly fresh air, Kyojuro was reminded of a childhood he, a kid of skyscrapers, never had. Although that disoriented him somewhat, he was also intrigued. The gravel cracked under his feet with a sound completely different from that of the city.
The more he accustomed to the environment, the clearer he told apart hints of human presence. The shrines were well-kept, and every second one would have an offering inside. Electric lines wove among the leaves. When the sun rays beamed at a particular angle, the noise cancellation hologram glimmered in the sky. And when the first tips of a pagoda appeared above the trees, Kyojuro saw outlines of children blowing kites from the rooftop.
However, he didn't meet a single human along the way. There were also no indicators, as if whoever established this place wanted to keep it as natural as possible.
The gravel under his feet hardened gradually into round, stone slabs. The path steepened into a staircase adorned by a short, wood-and-rope fence. The trees thinned, a pond with low bridges hopping across peeking through the trunks. The pagoda loomed from above.
Kyojuro paused and looked around. There were still no signs or humans. The flame hashira returned his gaze at the building. He noticed the glass doors behind the red pillars, and that calmed him down somewhat. If a temple had a modern artifact incorporated into it, then it carried more of a functional rather than symbolic meaning.
His footsteps resounded against the steps. On the third step, the flame hashira noticed the first creature apart from him; a robot dressed in Buddhist robes was brushing the stone floor among the pillars. Kyojuro paused, but the robot did not react to him at all.
The doors slid open, and the young man walked inside. The inside of the pagoda did not resemble a religious temple at all. The foyer was a pristine hospital white, and bright lights shone down from her ceiling.
Rolling back his shoulders, Kyojuro strode down the coated floor towards the front desk. A young woman in a medical uniform perked up when she saw the visitor.
"Good evening, sir. How can I help you?"
"Good evening, ma'am." Kyojuro stopped in front of the desk and nodded respectfully. "My name is Rengoku Kyojuro. I'm a hashira."
Her eyes went round. She placed down the pen she was writing with on the tablet and straightened out.
"I'm listening, Rengoku-san."
Kyojuro was mildly surprised at her respectful tone. He realized a second later that having Shinobu and Gyomei, who poured in a lot of effort into the hospital outside of their profession, must have left an impression on the staff workers.
"I'm leading an informal investigation, and I would like to ask your residents a few questions." Kyojuro paused, but the receptionist's face remained serious. Reassured by her reaction, the flame hashira continued. "I believe some of them may be very useful witnesses given that, well, they've lived a long time."
"Hmmm…" The receptionist tapped her chin with her pen. "I see… yes, that makes sense. All of our residents are over one-fifty years old, so they can be quite knowledgeable."
Her eyes glimmered behind the glasses.
"Could you show me your ID?"
Kyojuro reached into the inner pockets of his suit hastily. He hustled for a minute; the badge was trapped on the side of his healthy arm, and he had to use his injured hand to fish out the ID. Jamming it between two fingers, he showed it to the young woman. The receptionist nodded in satisfaction and, dropping the pen into a utensils holder, stood up.
"Which residents do you want to see?"
"Veterans." Kyojuro hid the verification card back inside. "Are there many of them here?"
"Seventeen." The receptionist fixed her glasses. "Would you like to meet them one-by-one or should I arrange a group session?"
"One-by-one," Kyojuro replied after a brief hesitation. He didn't want to risk the veterans closing up in the presence of others. The young woman nodded and dislocated the tablet that was engraved into the desk.
"Perfect. If you don't mind taking a small walk, I'll take you to each one."
She walked confidently around the table, and the hashira followed her obediently. She glimpsed at him, and a small smile appeared on her lips.
"I'm Miyazaki Emika, by the way."
Kyojuro smiled back. "My pleasure, Miyazaki-san."
The glass doors slid by again.
Once outside, Miyazaki took a right towards the pond that Kyojuro noticed previously. The wooden bridges creaked warmly under their weight. Glimpsing down, the young man saw large koi fish swimming lazily in the dark water.
"The LEC has only been existing for three hundred years or so, when the required technology for life extension was invented in the 2200s."
Kyojuro returned his gaze back to the young woman. A simple kanzashi was pierced in her bun.
"For most, the surgery and transition is traumatizing, even if they had wished for it. The founder of the center, Hayato Akito-hakase, wanted to alleviate that by creating a sanctuary where the residents could continue with their lives undisturbed."
Kyojuro listened in interest. Their reflections rippled in the water. As the wooden pathways intertwined along the pond, simple houses appeared in their view. Some were by the pond's banks, but others, supported by beams tied with thick ropes, rose straight out of the water.
"The traditional aesthetic is meant to pacify the patients' troubled minds." Miyazaki smiled. "He was overall correct. I worked here for three years, and even I feel better."
Her expression saddened.
"The only condition is that they're allowed only minimal information about the outside world. It's for their own good, but…" the woman sighed and trailed off. Kyojuro passed his eyes over the houses standing an arm away from them. Light glimmered from inside, and human silhouettes appeared occasionally on the shoji doors. They were like shadows.
Kyojuro shivered and turned to the receptionist.
"Who's the first veteran we'll be seeing?"
"Wakamoto Taichi," the young woman spoke without hesitation. "He's two hundred and twelve years old. He was part of the military campaigns that occurred a little under one hundred years ago as well as the Continental Wars fifty years ago."
She was quiet, then spoke up again. "We're almost at his place."
They followed a thin trail made of wooden planks into the midst of the floating houses. Miyazaki led Kyojuro to one of the homes. Light streamed out of its windows, and the sound of a knife hitting against the cutting board resounded from the partly open doors.
Sitting on the engawa, an old man was reading a book. His jeans were rolled up to his knees, allowing for his legs to hang comfortably into the water. Either by the footsteps, or an innate sense that someone was approaching, the man glanced up. His eyes narrowed, but otherwise nothing reflected on his face.
"Good evening, Wakamoto-san," the receptionist bowed respectfully. Kyojuro modeled her silently. The veteran nodded.
"Hello, Miyazaki-san." His gaze traveled over to the hashira, then back to the woman. "What's up?"
Even though the man was over two hundred years old, he looked at most fifty-five. Kyojuro kept his face even, but his gut twisted involuntarily. This was the first LEC resident he'd meet.
"Nothing much, Wakamoto-san. Just several questions." Miyazaki turned to Kyojuro, and he understood that the rest was up to him. He cleared his throat and, smiling, gave another half-bow.
"Good evening, Wakamoto-san. My name is Rengoku Kyojuro, I'm a flame hashira from the Demon Slayer Corps."
The veteran's eyebrows traveled upwards. He closed the book and placed it next to him. Straightening out, the old man looked squarely into the hashira's eyes.
"How may I help you?"
His tone was completely different. Kyojuro swallowed, trying not to rush.
"Do you mind if I record this conversation?"
The veteran jerked his shoulder ambivalently. "Go ahead."
The flame hashira switched on the transmitter on the side of his watch. The hologram which he linked to the home screen half an hour ago projected on its own into the air.
"I have been chasing a person for some time." At the last second, he decided to change his word choice. If he said that AB-4527 was a demon, that may influence the veteran in the wrong way.
Because of the setting sun rays, the hologram was all but transparent, and Kyojuro could clearly tell out the old man's face. Wakamoto gazed thoughtfully at the projection. It was hard to tell what he was feeling.
"Some of my leads imply that he has been involved in numerous armed conflicts throughout the years," Kyojuro continued, trying not to get discouraged beforehand. "I understand that in a thousand man army, knowing every single soldier is impossible but…" Wakamoto frowned, and the young man hurried up to finish. "Even the vaguest memory is crucial to me."
The veteran lifted his hand and placed it above the demon's forehead. He wrinkled his forehead.
"I've definitely seen that face before." Wakamoto squinted one eye. "If you ignore the hair... hold on a minute."
The old man rose up and, leaving wet footprints on the wood, disappeared into the house.
Kyojuro disconnected the hologram from the watch and lowered his wrist.
"Wow," he said quietly. Miyazaki glanced at him.
"Is something wrong, Rengoku-san?"
"I didn't think that anyone would recognize the man I'm looking for," the flame hashira admitted. The receptionist furrowed her eyebrows.
"Why so?"
As the young man was breaking his head to find a believable answer, he was saved by the veteran.
"I apologize for the wait." Wakamoto pushed the shoji to the side and walked out. He was carrying a tablet. A woman shuffled after the veteran. She was around his age, and a cozy shawl was wrapped around her shoulders.
"This is Aimi, my wife," Wakamoto introduced the woman as he unlocked the tablet. Kyojuro quickened into a bow. Aimi smiled back. Her eyes shifted to the hologram.
"I worked as a nurse in Taichi's squadron," she said quietly. Despite her age, she had a melodic voice. "Since a lot of soldiers filed through the med unit, he said I may recognize whoever you're looking for."
"What do you think?" Wakamoto interrupted, looking down at the tablet. Kyojuro noticed that he was scrolling through numerous photographs on the tablet. "Doesn't he look like someone?"
"Your memory has really gone bad." Aimi reached out and touched the demon's face. The hologram shimmered around her finger. "I remember him. He's the one with the broken bones."
Surprise, followed by realization, melted on the vetern's face.
"That's right… here you go, Rengoku-san." Wakamoto held out the tablet. Kyojuro and the young receptionist peered down together.
Around twenty soldiers were huddled in front of a now-outdated humanoid robot. The photograph had a ten-second live switch, and the soldiers kept on moving periodically. Kyojuro's eyes raced across the faces until they stopped at the rightmost soldier.
The sensation was like staring at a young photograph of his father, recognizable but at the same time completely foreign.
In the ten seconds of the past that was captured by whatever the recording device was back then, a reluctant, condescending ghost of a smile hovered on the demon's lips. His eyes slanted to the side, then back at the photograph, over and over again. Kyojuro's fingers flinched. The demon's arm was also wrapped in a sling.
"Right, he was from the fourth one," Wakamoto mused, observing the demon. "I worked mostly with guys from first and second squads…"
Kyojuro straightened out and swallowed. His heart beat fast in his chest, but he had to remain calm to avoid making mistakes.
"You said he's the one with the broken bones," he turned to the elderly woman. "What do you mean by that?"
Aimi hugged herself by the arms. Her face wrinkled in discomfort.
"We always thought he had an early stage of osteoporosis because his bones would always break. He'd be lifting a robot arm or something, and his elbow would just… pop." A soft smirk appeared on her lips. "He'd rather get shot by a cannonball than go to the nurses though. We always joked that he was afraid of us, which is why I remember him. He was unproblematic. We liked him."
Wakamoto laughed and switched off the tablet. He hugged his wife by the shoulders.
"So he was a ladies' man, huh?"
Aimi scoffed and swatted at him with his hand, but their words flew over Kyojuro's head. His brain, untrained after several weeks of hospitalization, was slow and forcing it to work felt like starting an outdated flyer.
The reason why AB-4527 avoided hospitals was obvious; he had to hide his regenerative skills. The detail about breaking bones was interesting, but not useful at the moment.
He tilted his head.
"Never?" Kyojuro asked, furrowing his eyebrows. The old couple got startled.
"I'm sorry?" Aimi asked. Kyojuro cleared his throat and smiled encouragingly.
"I'd assume he got wounded in a way that he couldn't patch himself up."
Even if he could regenerate himself, the demon would have had to have insane luck to explain it to his comrades - especially if some of them saw him getting injured. He had to lie in the hospital at least once, even if only to calm down rumors.
Aimi chewed on her lip. Wakamoto watched her thoughtfully, seemingly also interested in her response. After a moment, the old woman shook her head.
"Now that you mention it, I never saw him. But I worked the day shift, while he was stationed at night most of the time."
Kyojuro felt himself grow cold inside. That was the loophole that the demon used. "What about the nurses who worked during those shifts?" The hashira tried. "Do you know any of them…"
Aimi's face became sad, and Kyojuro understood that this was the extent of what he got to know.
"That's alright." He lowered his head slightly, expressing his silent consideration. "I have just one more question left. It's not that important, but it would be nice to have. Do you remember his name?"
The husband and wife exchanged a glance. Aimi fiddled with her shawl.
"Was it… permanence? Eternity?"
"Something like that. I don't remember which kanji it was, though." Wakamoto shook his head. He turned to the hashira. "I'm sorry we couldn't be helpful."
"Trust me, you provided me with more than I could imagine."
Kyojuro bowed deeply, and his eyes bore the wooden planks. "Thank you so much."
The pair bowed back.
"Have a great evening," Miyazaki wished and, turning around, gestured to the hashira. "Let's proceed, Rengoku-san."
Kyojuro nodded wordlessly and followed the receptionist.
The sun had rolled behind the trees, and although it was still bright, the lanterns hanging on bridges that Kyojuro didn't notice at first began glowing a blinding yellow. The waterproof bulbs inside the lotus pads drifting in the pond slowly began to shimmer.
Walking behind Miyazaki, Kyojuro processed carefully what he had just heard. Kanji for eternity… If he went with the onyomi reading, he ended up with ei. If the demon's name used the kunyomi pronunciation, though, it resulted in naga-i. None of them were close to Shun, which, if he recalled correctly, used the kanji for fast if read from onyomi. Kyojuro rubbed his forehead. It's not like the name was important, but after running after the demon for so long, an identifier would have been nice… lost in thought, the young man didn't notice how the receptionist quickened her pace to match his stride.
"Since we're in this area, I'm going to take you to Horie-san next."
Kyojuro blinked and glanced at the woman walking next to him.
"How do you know where each of them are?" He asked after a short silence. Miyazaki chuckled and double-tapped her tablet. A map with shining, occasionally moving dots appeared on the screen.
"The residents are tracked as per the terms of the contract." The young woman switched it off. "This is still a medical facility, and we need to keep a record available if something goes wrong."
Kyojuro didn't answer. Keeping a steady pace, he allowed his concentration to slip, and his thoughts wandered between demons and people who chose to live beyond their lifetimes.
The next conversation dampened the initial exhilaration he had after talking with the Wakamoto couple. Horie-san, a man in his sixties with a cybernetic eye, had never seen or heard anything about AB-4527.
"That's only natural," Kyojuro said in a purposefully cheerful tone as the receptionist teetered guiltily next to him. "Searching for a man in the army is like searching for a needle in a haystack."
"You're right." Despite her words, Miyazaki seemed distressed. Kyojuro knew that she, just from the psychological desire to be useful, really wanted for all the responses to be positive. He sighed.
One by one, they checked off the dots that were on the receptionist's screen. As they went from veteran to veteran, Kyojuro started to feel that it wasn't just him and Miyazaki walking down the path.
AB-4527 — or the clearer understanding of AB-4527– with its hands in the pockets walked quietly along with them.
The wind rustled the low leaves of the trees stooping over the ground. Sitting on a rock, the veteran with an indentation from a bullet molded into his forehead leaned on his cane and shook his finger passionately.
"Oh yeah, I definitely know this guy." He brushed away the leaf that fell in front of his face impatiently . "He was from the special units and never hung out with us. That bastard thought that just because he could carry out night missions alone he was better."
The demon, feet crossed on a rock behind him, smirked.
"Do you remember anything specific about him?" Kyojuro asked, ignoring the annoying illusion.
"I sure do. The guy was missing a finger on each hand. And he always wore gloves."
The demon turned his hands around mockingly as he examined the sharp talons. After a while, Kyojuro started keeping a mental count of the characteristics that aligned. Night duties to avoid the sun, gloves to hide the lack of fingers…
"Do I know him?"
This time, they were at a shrine. A man physically in his thirties was sitting on the front steps and wrapping a rope around a kite's poles. Several kids, gazing at the hashira with curious eyes, huddled next to him.
"That's the boneless soldier."
"Boneless soldier?" Kyojuro repeated, tearing his gaze away from the children. He didn't want them to see his horror.
AB-4527 yawned and, rubbing his neck, looked at the trees.
"Yeah. Rumors say that he was exposed to a chemical during a scouting which made his bones go brittle."
"And you believe that?"
"Hell nah." The veteran shrugged. "But he did stroll around in crutches and slings all the damn time."
Once they entered a veteran's house.
"So he has blue hair now?" A man in a wheelchair fixed his glasses and squinted at the hologram. He unlocked the wheels and rolled over to the drawers. "We lived in the same tent. Want to see a photo?"
One soldier was eating from a metal can, while the demon, cigarette jabbed between his teeth, was disassembling a gun. He was only in his undershirt and pants, and Kyojuro could tell out the familiar tattoos on the swollen biceps.
"Whenever he wasn't fighting, he was sleeping. With headphones, by the way."
Kyojuro had gotten so used to the center's aesthetic, that when he encountered an artifact from the recent era, he nearly had cognitive dissonance.
Oiling a dismantled flyer, the female veteran laughed at the hashira's question. "Oh, he didn't go by anything except Cap." She straightened up and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "Apparently, he was demoted for health problems, something about his bones. Problem or no problem, fought like an absolute beast."
"They said he ate his comrades while he was out on the battlefield."
The pungent smell of medicine wafted over Kyojuro when the small, anxious veteran reached up to him from the bed. Miyazaki gasped and covered her mouth.
"Yeah." The man nodded in worry. "Some people said he would roam around after the attacks ceased and scavenge the dead."
And that's how he fulfilled his nutrient dosage for the day.
"Aren't they rumors, though?" Kyojuro tried carefully. The veteran looked seriously at him.
"I don't think so."
The frogs shrilled in the lotus pads when the hashira and the receptionist made their way back across the bridge. Kyojuro gazed thoughtfully at the ongoing recording on his watch.
Out of the seventeen veterans he had talked with, five were familiar with the demon. Apart from the strange fragility of bones, however, the creature did not seem to have any glaring weaknesses. Passing his finger back and forth against the edge of the watch, Kyojuro tried to remember how it was during their fight. Hazy images floated in his mind, and the young man winced involuntarily. That fight was still bitter to remember.
"Rengoku-san?" The receptionist called quizzingly. The hashira let go of his hands and smiled at the woman.
"Yes, Miyazaki-san?"
"I just wanted to let you know a little about the next veteran we're going to. Kitamura-san is… well…" Miyazaki paused, searching for the right words. "He's been on life support for the past ten years."
Kyojuro furrowed his eyebrows. "Can he still communicate, though?"
"Oh yes, yes, his brain is perfectly functional," the woman shook her head vigorously. "It just may be a strange experience, that's all."
Kyojuro nodded in understanding. "Well, after visiting your center, I don't think there's anything stranger."
Miyazaki laughed. "That is true, this place is more unusual than most."
She turned into one of the trails leading into the forest. It was completely dark now, and the small shrines illuminated the path. Kyojuro looked up. An unnatural amount of stars was scattered across the sky.
They approached a small pagoda. As the glass doors opened, Kyojuro's eyes flicked around. Illuminated from the interior, heavy shadows rippled down the tiles.
The hallways were empty, and the silence made the echo of Miyazaki's heels haunting.
The receptionist stopped next to a white fusawa door and fished out a badge from her breast pocket. The lock blinked green, and Miyazaki pulled the door to the side. She gestured for the hashira to enter, and Kyojuro, bowing slightly from the low frame, stepped inside.
The beeping of monitors and buzz of the machines filled the air in the room. A single bed surrounded by heavy equipment was beside the window. A man was lying still on the bed. Sensors were taped to his wrists and neck, and a headset-like apparatus covered his face until the mouth.
Kyojuro gazed wordlessly at the man lying in front of him. His skin was shriveled to the point of seeming to crumble apart at the first touch. His wrists were barely wider than the bottom of a cup.
Miyazaki walked around the silent hashira and stopped next to the bed.
"Kitamura-san," she called gently. "Are you awake?"
The hum increased, and a synthetic voice erupted from what it seemed everywhere in the room.
"Now I am. Good evening, Miyazaki-san."
"Good evening, Kitamura-san," Miyazaki bowed. The air trembled as the voice broke it again.
"Good evening, young man. What is your name?"
The monitors, combined with the headset, must have worked like scanners that sent images to the veteran's brain. Kyojuro bowed deeply.
"Good evening, Kitamura-san. My name is Rengoku Kyojuro. I'm the flame hashira from the demon slayer corps."
"A hashira?" A mimicry of amazement glimmered in the artificial timbre. "What is a hashira doing here?"
"Rengoku-san has a few questions about an individual he's chasing," Miyazaki explained. "The culprit has ties to the military, so Rengoku-san has been interviewing our veteran residents."
"I see." The lips of the man remained sealed. "I haven't been outside the LEC for around seventy years, Rengoku-san, so I can't promise I'll be of a lot of use."
"That is perfectly fine, Kitamura-san."
Kyojuro lifted his wrist and switched on his watch. For a thousandth time during the hour that he has been here, the hologram of the demon rolled off into the air.
"I am searching for this man," Kyojuro said evenly as he gazed at the veteran through the hologram. "Anything about him is invaluable information."
Kyojuro lowered his arm, waiting for the veteran to answer.
Several minutes passed by. The monitors churned steadily, and the room fell back into a natural silence. Uneasiness crept into the hashira's stomach. His eyes darted towards the receptionist, and he saw the same concern in her expression.
"Kitamura-san?" Miyazaki's hand tiptoed towards one of the sensors on the man's arm when the synthetic voice cut suddenly through the air.
"Miyazaki-san, please leave us."
The voice's abruptness startled Kyojuro. The receptionist removed her hand in fright.
"Y-yes, Kitamura-san."
She turned around and hurried out of the room. On her way out, she glanced for a split second nervously at Kyojuro. An anxious expression shimmered in her eyes. I'll be outside if you need anything, the hashira translated. He gave a barely perceptible nod, and the worry diminished slightly in her eyes. Without another word, the receptionist disappeared behind the door.
"I apologize for the rudeness."
Kyojuro transferred his gaze back to the veteran.
"Have a seat, Rengoku-san."
For a split second, the flame hashira thought that Kitamura would pat the bedside next to him - that's how amiable the voice was. Overcoming the impression, the young man walked up to the bed and sat carefully on the side. Up close, the veteran seemed even more fragile.
"I hope Miyazaki-san forgives me. However, I supposed that the information I have to share isn't for her ears."
The calmness in Kitamura's voice was unlike the excitement or surprise from the other veterans. Kyojuro watched him carefully. From underneath the black surface, he told apart the closed, wrinkled eyelids.
"Go on, Kitamura-san."
"The individual you're chasing is not actually human, right?"
The illusion of the demon walked noiselessly over to the window. He stopped, leaning against the window frame, and gazed outside.
"Do you say that because I'm a demon slayer, and it's logical for me to be chasing a demon?" Kyojuro examined the veteran, ignoring the illusion trembling at the edge of his vision. "Or is there something else to it?"
A sigh rumbled through the connection. The blankets ruffled slightly as the chest moved weakly with the breath.
"We served together."
The demon's eyes slid towards the veteran.
"It was during the civil war in Hokkaido. That was… almost two hundred years ago."
The recording light blinked on Kyojuro's watch at the voice's inflection. The flame hashira sat still. He could feel his body numbing from the lack of movement, but he didn't care.
This was probably the most information he had received so far.
"I was in the b-company of the twelfth battalion. Within the first month, half of my squad was killed. That's when the administration sent him." The voice smirked. "The thing, I guess would be more accurate to say."
"The administration?" Kyojuro repeated quietly, not paying attention to the veteran's sarcasm.
"Baffling, no? That's why I didn't want Miyazaki here. She hardly needs to know that the military consciously employed a demon for its service."
The loudspeaker outside buzzed, and a soothing melody flowed out, signaling the evening hour.
"How did you know it was a demon?" Kyojuro's voice was barely audible from the tune.
"There were rumors. The soldier who only took night shifts… the soldier who was never injured… folks claimed he cannibalized dying soldiers on the battlefield. I saw it once. He was eating a human arm on the battlefield."
"And no one complained?"
The hologram glowed brighter as the night settled in the room. Shadows fell on the veteran's face, and it became harder to tell individual features.
"Arinaga was…"
"Arinaga?" Kyojuro interrupted.
"Yes, Arinaga." For the first time during their conversation, Kitamura hesitated. "I don't know if that's his real name. That's what we called him, at least."
Arinaga - that was composed of two kanji. The first one stood for existence. The second for eternity.
"I understand." The flame hashira said out loud, trying to separate what he was saying from what he was thinking. "I apologize, Kitamura-san. Please continue."
"Arinaga was a good soldier. He avoided interactions, but he always helped out if matters pressed him to it. And after all, only a few people like me saw him for who he truly was. For the majority, his demonic nature remained a popular gossip."
The song ended, and the room lapsed back into a jittered quietude. The monitors rattled from the veteran's breath. The illusion turned away back to the window.
"Your colleagues told me that AB… Arinaga had weak bones," Kyojuro continued quietly. "Do you agree with them?"
"Yes," Kitamura replied after thinking for a moment. "He never accentuated it, but he was always in some form of sling or cast."
Kyojuro could feel the veteran's invisible gaze on his own broken arm. He couldn't deny it, there was some fated irony in the situation.
"Was there anyone he was close to?"
The veteran was silent for a long time.
"Not us," he said at last. "However, there was someone he called from the mainland. He would listen to those voice messages for weeks."
Kyojuro's throat went dry. The stained apartment and the demon's angry eyes flashed in his mind. Suddenly, the realization that that caller might be Kibutsuji Muzan hit him.
"Do you know anything about that person?" Kyojuro asked hastily. He had to narrow down the possibilities. "Was it someone important or…"
"No." From the darkness, the headset blended with the pillow, and with the small shifts of the blanket, Kyojuro could imagine that Kitamura shook his head.
"Not in a professional sense. I don't know for sure, of course, but Arinaga didn't act that way. He never replied to the voice messages, but he would fall asleep listening to them."
Kyojuro fell silent. That piece of detail puzzled him. The demon didn't come off as a sentimental creature. The flame hashira was so lost in thought that he almost missed the veteran's question.
"Could I ask you something, Rengoku-san?"
Kyojuro perked forward. "Yes, of course."
The static crumpled in the monitors.
"Did Arinaga do something that you're searching for him?" The timber-less voice had nothing but genuine curiosity in it. Kyojuro sighed and looked away. His gaze traveled upwards to the illusion standing next to the window. The demon was motionless, the lights outside the window reflecting in his pupils.
"He caused a lot of harm," Kyojuro stated quietly. "That's as much as I can share, I'm afraid."
"Systematic harm?" Kitamura specified.
"Yes."
The voice smirked pensively. Kyojuro looked over at him.
"Why do you ask, Kitamura-san?"
"He was never destructive on his own initiative." The veteran's voice became strained. "If he's performing consistent acts of violence, I'm almost certain that he's following someone's orders."
The veteran sigh echoed across the room. When he next spoke, his words were full of resignation.
"Demon or not, he's still a soldier."
Kyojuro lifted his gaze and met the demon's eyes.
The creature passed his claws through his hair, and water droplets, just like from those cursed fountains at the park, shimmered in the blue strands.
A/N: Hello, hello! I didn't expect this chapter to be so long. I'm not surprised, though, because it is an important chapter in revealing the basic points of a character's backstory.
Arinaga (I can finally use the name instead of bird demon/winged demon/AB-4527) is perhaps the most present original character in this story at this moment, followed by Rubikku. It was hard to create an antagonist on the same level as the canonical Moons, but I did grow attached to the character.
Next update, we're going to see bits of everyone! Kyojuro, Obanai, Shinobu, Sanemi, maybe some other characters, maybe less, depending on how the editing process goes ;)
Thank you for reading! Lots of author kudos to my readers :)) All the best!