Kazuki sits on the edge of the porch, a worn chisel in one hand and a block of wood in the other. His movements are automatic, carving grooves into the surface without much thought. The wood curls fall to the ground, mingling with the dust and debris that seem to be a permanent part of life in District Thirty of Rukongai.

He glances out at the uneven street, the houses leaning at odd angles as if the very idea of standing upright is too much effort. The sound of someone arguing in the distance reaches his ears—a reminder that, even in the afterlife, nothing comes easy. He exhales sharply, resting the chisel against his thigh.

The afterlife. Kazuki scoffs quietly to himself. Some afterlife. Shouldn't death bring peace, some kind of rest? Instead, it's just another slog, full of hunger, work, and endless worry. Rukongai is no paradise; it's a place where you scrape and fight for every comfort, where even the basics—food, shelter, safety—aren't guaranteed.

The setting sun casts a warm glow over the modest house he built with his own hands. Every beam, every joint, and every floorboard is the fruit of his labor, dating back to the first time he unceremoniously dropped here after dying, almost a century ago.

He glances toward the roofline, noting a loose tile. I'll fix that tomorrow, he thinks, adding it to the mental list of works.

Twenty years. Has it really been that long?

He exhales sharply, brushing wood shavings from his lap. The memory of that day resurfaces unbidden, as it always does lately. Sayaka arrived unannounced, bringing two swaddled infants hidden in a basket, her expression frantic even if she tried to hide it. She'd stood right there on that porch, claiming they were hers.

"They're mine," she'd said simply.

Kazuki hadn't believed her then, and he doesn't believe it now. When he looked at the babies, they seemed as if they were just freshly born. He doesn't know if Sayaka was too out of it to lie properly, but she is not their biological mother, as she claimed to be. So, he assumed she had found them somewhere but hadn't had the heart to leave them to die.

The door slides open, pulling him from his thoughts. Shisane appears, his smile as bright as ever. "Kazu-oji! Sousuke says dinner's ready. Also, look—I fixed the chair! Well… mostly."

Kazuki raises an eyebrow. "Mostly?"

Shisane scratches the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. "It's standing!" Then he runs back to the house.

Kazuki snorts, setting the chisel down and standing with a groan. His muscles protest, stiff from a day spent working. People are dying every day, so there are always new people coming to the district, and thus new houses to be built. "We'll see how long that lasts," he mutters, but his tone lacks bite.

When he enters the house, the twins are already on the seat. "You're so slow, Kazu-oji!" Shisane chirps, ladling stew into his bowl with enthusiasm.

Kazuki grunts, lowering himself onto the dubious-looking chair Shisane claimed to have fixed. It creaks under his weight but doesn't collapse. Well, he didn't completely botch it this time.

"Some of us actually work during the day," Kazuki says, reaching for the bread loaf in the center of the table. He tears off a chunk and gestures vaguely toward Shisane with it. "Unlike you, running around causing trouble."

"Hey! I fixed the stool!" Shisane protests, grinning as he slurps a spoonful of stew. "That's productive!"

"If you call fixing a stool productive, maybe you should try fixing that loose tile tomorrow," Kazuki counters, glancing at him.

Shisane pauses mid-bite, his eyes darting toward the ceiling. "Loose tile? Uh… I think I hear Sousuke volunteering!"

Sousuke's eyes flick up from his bowl, his expression unamused. "I didn't say anything," he says flatly, continuing to eat without missing a beat.

"That's because you're a scaredy-cat!" Shisane says, leaning over to steal food from his brother.

Sousuke doesn't respond, but there's the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—a sign that, despite his usual composure, Shisane's antics still ignite his temper. In the end, he slaps the hand that's about to steal his food and focuses on his meal, ignoring his brother's jabs.

"Fine, I'll do it," Shisane announces dramatically, throwing his arms up as if he's sacrificing himself. "But only because I'm clearly the most useful one here."

Kazuki snorts, shaking his head as he tears into another piece of bread. "Useful? You're about as useful as a warped plank. Maybe if you spent half as much time working as you do talking, this place would be spotless."

Shisane gasps in mock offense, placing a hand over his chest. "Kazu-oji, you wound me! You know I'm the heart of this family."

Kazuki raises an eyebrow. "You're something, all right."

The banter continues as the meal goes on, Shisane's exaggerated retelling of his day and dramatic gestures filling the room with life. Sousuke stays quiet for the most part, and only occasionally responds with a nod.

By the time the meal is finished, Kazuki leans back in his chair, letting the warmth of the meal settle, his eyes drift to Sousuke, who methodically wipes the table. The boy's expression is calm, almost distant, as if Shisane's antics a few moments ago were nothing more than a passing breeze. Shisane, meanwhile, chatters on as he washes the bowls, as if unwilling to be forgotten.

Kazuki's brow furrows slightly as he watches Sousuke move with quiet diligence. The boy's reiatsu, once a constant weight pressing down on anyone near him, is now a steady, controlled presence. A few years ago, even mild irritation or excitement would have made the air feel suffocating, sending Kazuki stumbling to the door to breathe.

Now, Sousuke's control is remarkable—almost too remarkable for someone his age. Though, to be fair, the boy never really gets angry or feels strongly about much of anything. Whether it's due to his natural disposition or his adaptation over time, Kazuki doesn't know.

He remembers those days when Sousuke could make the air in the house heavy, almost unbearable in a fit of temper. The way the boy would retreat into himself afterward, ashamed and afraid. Sousuke doesn't let that happen anymore, but Kazuki can see the toll it takes.

Sousuke isn't just controlling his reiatsu—he's controlling the things he feels. Every flicker of emotion, every reaction, buried beneath that composed exterior. The kid is only twenty, really still a baby. The fact that he can restrain himself so much speaks volumes about his self-discipline.

Shisane's relentless energy might earn an eye roll or a clipped word, but nothing more. No real annoyance, no exasperation—though, remembering the occasional twitch at his brother's jabs, perhaps there is some exasperation, but it's always shallow.

Kazuki watches Sousuke now, as the boy arranges the freshly wiped bowls on the shelf with quiet efficiency. He doesn't say anything, doesn't complain, never complain. He won't utter a word unless Shisane stirs up some trouble.

"Sousuke," Kazuki says suddenly.

Sousuke pauses, glancing over his shoulder. "Yes, Uncle?"

Kazuki doesn't have the words really, and for a moment, he just stares at the boy's calm, placid face. Finally, he waves a hand. "Nothing. Just… don't put up a wall between yourself and your brother." Because he knows Sousuke will do it for everyone else sooner or later.

Sousuke blinks, a faint crease forming between his brows, but he nods. "I know." Not that he will let me, anyway, the words go unsaid, but they still linger.

Shisane bounds back into the room, a towel slung over his shoulder, and immediately drags Sousuke into a one-sided conversation about his next "big project."

The forest is alive with their laughter and shouting, mixing with the rustling leaves and the chirping of birds. Sota tries to keep up, his legs burning as he pushes through the underbrush. Shisane is way ahead, like always, the ball tucked under his arm like it's some big treasure he's guarding.

"Come on, Akio!" Shisane yells, dodging around a big tree. "You're slower than a turtle!"

"I'm not slow!" Akio yells back, his voice cracking as he leaps over a log. "You're just cheating!"

Shisane laughs and keeps running, his bare feet somehow not tripping on all the roots and rocks. Sota's pretty sure he'd have fallen by now if he tried to move that fast.

"Shisane, pass it!" Ichiro shouts from behind them. He's bigger than the rest of them, and his voice always sounds like he's about to give orders. "You can't just hog the ball!"

Shisane stops suddenly, spinning on his heels and tossing the ball high in the air. "Fine, Captain Bossy! Catch!"

Ichiro catches it easily, but Akio jumps at him, trying to grab it. The two start wrestling over the ball, stumbling into a bush. Sota laughs as he plops down on a mossy rock, his chest heaving from running so much.

"You're too fast," Sota says, looking up at him.

Shisane flops down next to him, kicking his legs out in front of him. "Nah, you're just slow," he says with a cheeky grin.

Sota sticks his tongue out, then glances toward the village behind them. "How come your brother never comes out with us?" he asks, not really thinking much about it.

Shisane shrugs, leaning back on his hands. "Sousuke doesn't like running around and getting dirty. He'd rather stay home with his books or whatever."

The conversation comes to a halt when Sota feels it—a wave of something he can't explain, heavy and suffocating, like the whole world just shifted. He stops his movement, frozen in place.

"Sota?" Shisane calls from beside him, his voice light and unconcerned. "You're spacing out!"

But Sota can't answer. There's something wrong, something in the air. His chest feels tight, his legs like lead. Slowly, his gaze moves to the shadows between the trees, and that's when he sees it for the first time.

A hollow. He only ever heard one from gossip, saying they would eat naughty children.

It steps into view, its white mask glaring in the dim light. It's not huge, but it doesn't have to be. Sota's stomach churns as it lets out a low, rumbling sound, and he feels the weight pressing down on him even harder.

"Sota? What're you looking at?" Shisane says, sounding more curious than scared. He looks sideways and says, "Oh."

The others don't say a word. Akio looks like he's about to cry, Ichiro is pale and tense, and Sota—Sota can't even breathe. His chest feels like it's going to collapse, his vision swimming. The hollow moves closer, slow and deliberate, and his mind screams run, but his body won't listen.

The roar comes next, loud and bone-shaking. The hollow lunges, and everything blurs. Sota feels like someone is pushing him away, but in the chaos, he can't make sense of it. The world spins, his senses overwhelmed by the danger. The hollow's presence is suffocating, and he can hardly breathe under the weight of it.

Suddenly, the hollow stumbles, its growl cutting off sharply. The danger in Sota's mind vanishes, but the weight on his chest remains, and he struggles to gasp for air, still disoriented. After a few seconds, the weight disappears as well, leaving him gasping, but more in control of himself, though still confused.

When Sota's vision clears, the hollow is gone. He doesn't know how or why. One moment it was there, the next—it wasn't. He stumbles forward, gasping for more breaths, his heart pounding like crazy.

"Where… where is it?" he whispers, his voice shaking.

The others are just as stunned, except for Shisane, who stands there, poking at a bruise on his shin. "Uh, that thing was weird."

Sota blinks at him, his brain scrambling to make sense of it. "You… you're hurt?"

"Eh, just a little bump. No big deal." Shisane grins, brushing dirt off his knees. "But seriously, you look like you are about to faint. Is something wrong?"

Sota should have realized Shisane most likely had never seen a hollow before. Even though all of them live in the same district, Shisane has been sheltered. His uncle keeps him close, makes sure he's fed, and keeps a roof over his head. Sota doesn't blame him for it—it's just how things are.

Maybe that's why Shisane didn't react like the rest of them. Why he didn't freeze or panic. He doesn't get it, Sota thinks. He doesn't understand how dangerous that thing is.

Sota glances at Shisane, who's still walking like nothing happened, humming a little tune under his breath. The bruise on his shin stands out against his skin, but he doesn't even seem to care about it anymore.

"Hey, Shisane," Sota says, his voice quiet.

"Hm?" Shisane looks over, his grin easy and carefree.

"You're… okay, right?"

Shisane blinks, then laughs. "Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

I dream of an endless void where light dares not tread, I feel like I'm fading away.

The house is quiet, save for the soft scrape of wood against wood. Sousuke stands by the window, carefully fitting together the slats of a wooden frame Kazuki asked him to repair. It's simple work, but Sousuke appreciates the precision it requires. The angles have to be perfect, the edges smooth.

He shifts slightly, holding the frame up to the light to check his progress when it happens—a faint, unfamiliar tug in his chest. Sousuke's hands falter for a moment, the slats slipping slightly out of alignment.

The sensation isn't sharp or alarming. It feels vague, like a whisper of something he's supposed to notice but can't quite understand. Sousuke straightens, his brow furrowing, but the feeling fades almost as soon as it arrives.

Strange.

He glances out the window toward the woods in the distance. Shisane is probably out there somewhere, playing with his friends. Sousuke doesn't worry much about his brother—Shisane has a knack for slipping out of trouble unscathed. So everything should be fine.

Sousuke exhales, setting the frame aside.

He moves toward the small shelf by the wall, running his fingers lightly over the jars and tools stored there. There's always something that needs fixing in this house, something to occupy his hands and his mind—especially when his brother is away and not around to make a nuisance of himself.

The door creaks open abruptly, and Shisane bursts in, a whirlwind of dirt and energy.

"Sousuke!" Shisane calls, his voice cutting through the calm like a hammer on stone.

Sousuke looks up, his gaze narrowing slightly. "Do you have to yell every time you come home?"

His eyes shift downward, catching sight of the dark, fresh bruise blooming across Shisane's shin. They linger for a moment before rising back to his brother's face.

"You are hurt."

"Oh, this?" Shisane brushes it off with a careless grin, waving his hand like it's nothing. "No big deal! I just kicked something. Anyway, you won't believe what I saw in the forest!"

Sousuke tilts his head slightly, the faint unease from earlier stirring again. "What did you see?"

"Just some stupid-looking glob," Shisane says with a shrug, casually snatching an apple from the table and taking a bite. "It's gone now, so who cares?"

"Was it… a hollow?" Sousuke's tone sharpens ever so slightly, his arms crossing as he studies his brother.

"A what?" Shisane pauses mid-chew, blinking in confusion.

"A hollow," Sousuke repeats, his gaze steady.

Shisane tilts his head, his brow furrowing as he clearly struggles to remember. "Uh… maybe? I don't know. How do they look like again?"

Sousuke's jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as he meets Shisane's eyes. "We've been told about them before. You should know what they are."

"Oh, come on, Sousuke," Shisane groans, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "That was ages ago. I don't remember every little thing Uncle says about monsters and stuff."

"You should," Sousuke snaps, his voice cutting through the air. "We've been told—repeatedly—that hollows are drawn to reiatsu, and we are their prime meals."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," Shisane says, waving a hand dismissively. "But it's not like I'm blasting mine all over the place. It's fine."

"You don't have to think about it because you can suppress yours naturally," Sousuke says sharply, the resentment in his voice cannot be masked. "I can't. I have to control mine every moment of every day, or I'll draw their attention. That's why we were told to pay attention—to stay aware."

Shisane hesitates, his carefree demeanor faltering for the first time. "I mean, it's not like I was trying to be reckless. It just… happened."

Sousuke doesn't answer. His chest feels tight, a simmering heat that edges on anger.

"Now, you're making me feel guilty," Shisane mutters, playing with his half-eaten apple.

"It's good that you feel guilty," Sousuke says coldly. "Perhaps that will teach you to behave. I'm not holding my breath, though, so don't feel pressured."

Shisane looks down at his bruised leg, mumbling, "Okay, okay, I get it."

Sousuke exhales slowly, reigning in his irritation. "Go wash that bruise," he says, his tone lightening, though still laced with annoyance. "And next time, try not to come home with another one."

Shisane hops up from his chair and heads off to clean his leg without another word.

Great, now his brother is sulking, but that's nothing new. It won't last long anyway.

A few moments later, Shisane pokes his head around the corner, his usual grin replaced with a quiet, almost sheepish expression. "Hey, don't worry, I'll be super careful next time—promise."

Sousuke doesn't respond, his gaze flickering toward Shisane for a moment before turning away. "And clean the floors. I don't want to see them dirty at dinner."

Shisane sighs heavily. "Fine," he mutters, his tone dripping with reluctance.