From: 1979
To:
Date: April 2, 2025, 18:47 JST
Subject: Re: Satoru Mikami – Request for Story

Dear Aika Tsutsumi-san,

My name is Rimuru Tempest. I hope this message finds you well. I recently read your 2016 article titled "A Year Without Satoru Mikami: Grief, Rage, and the Legacy of a Quiet Hero." It moved me in ways I didn't quite expect.

I'm reaching out because I'm interested in working with you— perhaps on a belated ten-year anniversary piece, or something more reflective, more human, than what the original coverage allowed.

Satoru Mikami was important to me. More than I can explain in a single email.

If you're open to discussing this further, I'd appreciate the chance to talk. I know it's been years, and public interest has long since faded, but for some of us, time hasn't done much to soften the grief.

Regards,
Rimuru

From:
To: 1979
Date: April 2, 2025, 19:56 JST
Subject: Re: Satoru Mikami – Request for Story

Dear Mr. Tempest,

Thank you for your message.

I must admit, I had forgotten I even wrote that piece until your email forced me to dig up an old drive. It's surreal, reading my own words from nine years ago.

I'll be honest: when I first saw your message, I assumed it was either a troll or someone trying to bait me into a ghost story. That email address— 1979—stood out. I cross-referenced it just now against the metadata from the files Ken Mikami had sent during the digital restoration of Satoru's personal computer. It's the same one.

So tell me, Rimuru—what exactly is your connection to him?

Sincerely,
Aika Tsutsumi
Senior Staff Writer, Japan Herald Digital

From: 1979
To:
Date: April 2, 2025, 20:11 JST
Subject: Re: Satoru Mikami – Request for Story

Hi again,

Wait. Ken really found out what was on Satoru's computer? lol

I thought one of his buddies was supposed to dump the whole setup into a bathtub to keep the cops from going through his files.

Anyway… it's complicated. Let's just say I was his closest friend. Not many people knew about me. That's how Satoru liked it— low profile, no drama.

If I'm being honest, I didn't really care for how disrespected he was in your article. Did you really have to include that interview with Ken? I mean, come on. I get "honesty" and all, but airing out that kind of filth felt like a slap to the face.

Ozu and Chiyo's parts were beautiful. Honest. Real. That's the kind of legacy Satoru deserved. Just my two yen.

Regards,
Rimuru

From:
To: 1979
Date: April 2, 2025, 20:47 JST
Subject: Re: Satoru Mikami – Request for Story

Mr. Tempest,

I appreciate your honesty, and I'm sorry if my article came across as disrespectful. That was never the intent.

Ken Mikami's interview wasn't easy to publish. But it revealed a contrast—a raw, brutal glimpse into how different people grieve. His presence in the article also drastically boosted online traffic and visibility for the piece. Whether I like it or not, people read it because of him.

But I can see how much Satoru meant to you. I have to ask, though—why now? Why reach out nearly ten years after his death to air these feelings? Where were you when his memory was still fresh?

I say this not to hurt you, but to be transparent: public interest in Satoru has faded. My senior editor won't approve a ten-year retrospective. That window has closed.

My condolences, truly. But I have to be realistic about what we can do.

Sincerely,
Aika Tsutsumi
Senior Staff Writer, Japan Herald Digital

From: 1979
To:
Date: April 2, 2025, 21:07 JST
Subject: Re: Satoru Mikami – Request for Story

Aika-san,

I understand. If a ten-year anniversary story isn't possible, then maybe… could I propose something different?

What if the story was about me?

You asked why I never reached out until now. The truth is… I wasn't in Japan. I spent the last ten years in Afghanistan, working with a group of anti-terrorist fighters led by a rogue ex-U.S. Commander— his name's Veldanava, if that means anything to you.

Together we formed a peacekeeping initiative—unofficially, we called it the Tempest Coalition. We weren't government-backed, but we saved villages, brokered ceasefires, and created safe zones. When the group became self-sufficient, I left. Tokyo's been... overwhelming, to say the least.

I only learned about Satoru's death today.

I was devastated. Still am. And now I just… I'd really like to speak to Ozu or Chiyo. Even just a short message. I think it might help.

Please. I wouldn't ask if it didn't matter.

Thank you,
Rimuru Tempest

From:
To: 1979
Date: April 2, 2025, 22:47 JST
Subject: Re: Satoru Mikami – Request for Story

Mr. Tempest,

Apologies for the delay in my reply.

I've read your message carefully, and while I have to say your story reads more like a war novel than a personal account, I won't judge the truthfulness of what you've written. Whether your tale is real or embellished, I have a reputation to maintain. I cannot publish something that might make my readers—or my editors—question my credibility.

As for contacting Satoru's parents: I won't. They're elderly. They've earned the right to spend their remaining years in peace, not answering questions from strangers who claim to know their deceased son.

However, I'm including below a business contact email for Ken Mikami. It's public record, so I'm not violating any laws by doing so. If anyone might humor you, it would be him.

That's all I can do. I genuinely wish you the best, and I'm sorry if I failed to give Satoru the dignity you believe he deserved. I won't be responding to any further messages from this address. Please do not contact me again. If you do, I will have no choice but to notify the authorities.

Sincerely,
Aika Tsutsumi
Senior Staff Writer, Japan Herald Digital

The fire cracked in low, uneven bursts— soft embers breathing in and out like something half-asleep, clinging faintly to its own warmth.

Rimuru sat hunched on a weather-worn stone— its surface rounded from age and smoothed by time. His posture slouched under a weight that felt older than his body, as if gravity had quietly thickened in the last few hours, pinning him in place.

The soft orange flicker from the fire spilled up the front of his face in uneven pulses, tracing over the delicate curves of silver-blue strands that drifted loose across his cheek.

His hands were coiled in his lap, rigid, with fingers lightly gripping the edge of the iPad balanced against his thighs. The screen glared up at him in sterile silence— still frozen on Tsutsumi's last email, the text stark and black against an indifferent white. The words stared back, cold and motionless.

A breath left his artificial, gelatinous lungs— long and drawn out, steam curling into the still park air, only to vanish like it hadn't been there at all.

"… Of course she sent me his fucking business email," he muttered, something half-shaped like a joke.

The timing was wrong, though— his voice offbeat, the humor landing sideways.

The corner of his mouth twitched like muscle memory trying to remember how to smile, but the rest of his face stayed inert. His eyes didn't blink. They just stayed locked— sharp and sunken— as if he could burn the screen away by willing it hard enough.

It didn't budge.

Eventually, he reached up and tapped the power button. The device dimmed to black, leaving behind only a ghosted reflection— blurred and muddled by grime, fractured by the faint ripple of firelight. He then proceeded to place the iPad beside him, a few inches off— close enough to remind himself it still existed, far enough to avoid knocking it over.

He then turned his gaze back to the fire, but the heat no longer reached him.

A faint hiss punctured the quiet— pressure slipping out from somewhere low to the ground. His eyes flicked to the side.

Across the grass, Goblin Slayer was knelt beside the final corner of the tent, with one hand pressing down on a peg while the other drove it into the earth with a single, methodical strike of his shoulder.

The movement was clean— no flourish, no effort wasted. His hair, silver-gray and shaggy, shifted forward across his face as he leaned into the motion. The muted thump of steel against ground settled quickly into the hush again.

No words. No dramatics. Just done.

The slime kept watching him. Something brittle in his chest softened at the sight, the heat of frustration dulling beneath the quietness of it all. His fingers pushed through his own hair— drawing a few strands into the firelight, before they slipped between his knuckles like threads cut loose from the spool.

Above them, the sky stretched out like a washed canvas, cloud-worn and colorless. No stars. No moon. Just a gray haze pushing softly against the edges of vision.

Rimuru squinted toward it, trying to make out shapes in the gaps between clouds. 'Were the stars always this hard to see?'

The thought drifted across his mind without anchoring itself.

His eyes fell again— toward the pond past the fire. A soft rim of city light clung to the water's surface, its reflections broken and restless, skimming like nervous thoughts. The low arc of a fountain spilled in metronomic rhythm— scattering concentric ripples across the glassy top, where mandarin ducks drifted, barely stirred.

The whole thing felt like a set piece.

He blinked, slowly. Once. Then again.

He'd forgotten about light pollution. A useless thought. But it lingered.

Then— footsteps. He didn't turn. Not at first.

He just listened as they approached: even, deliberate, heavier than his own but not imposing. When Goblin Slayer came into view, the firelight caught the planes of his face— softly defined, ivory-pale, his red eyes reflecting the glow like still water.

"I finished setting up the tent," he said. "Sleeping bags are in place. It should be warm enough."

His voice, stripped of metal, settled differently in the air.

It wasn't softer. Just clearer. More real.

Rimuru let the silence sit— let it stretch long enough to feel off, like the wrong beat in a song— then gave a crooked smile, dry and shapeless.

"… Look at you," he said, but the words came out thinned— watered down. "Keep this up and I'm gonna start calling you 'Housewife Slayer.'"

Goblin Slayer blinked once, brows ticking upward. "Housewife?"

"It's a joke," Rimuru muttered, with his fingers lifting to rub the back of his neck. "Means you're surprisingly good at this domestic crap."

The armored man tilted his head slightly, considering his explanation. "I've always known how to camp," he said. "Just… Not in places like this."

The slime exhaled through his nose, with the sound half sounding like a laugh. "You mean places that aren't in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere?"

"That's… One way of putting it," Goblin Slayer replied, with a faint upward quirk pulling at his lips. "There were times I had to sleep in caves. Trees. Sometimes not even that. Having a tent this insulated, in a place this safe and quiet… It feels like cheating."

Rimuru leaned forward, elbows dropping onto his knees. The firelight painted moving lines across his sleeves, as he mused half-jokingly, "The more you talk, the more I think I had it easy."

Goblin Slayer didn't disagree.

He instead watched the androgynous slime for a breath longer, before crossing the fire and sitting down on a low tree stump, with his posture reserved but steady— like someone still learning how to be seen.

The silence returned. Neither of them filled it just yet. The flames danced between them in loose, flickering gestures, until finally Goblin Slayer broke the silence by asking, "… Are you going to write him?"

Rimuru didn't look at him. But his body shifted— shoulders tensing slightly, with his fingers twitching toward the iPad by his leg before pausing. He then leaned back instead, before staring up at the obscured sky.

"… Sort of have to now, don't I?" He murmured. "I want to, but I kind of don't at the same time… Not sure what that says about me though."

Goblin Slayer said nothing to that. He didn't need to.

"In that interview Ken gave," Rimuru went on, quieter, "the one I told you about? He said a lot of shit. Most of it hurt. But none of it was wrong."

The gray-haired man's crimson eyes didn't move. But the attention in them deepened— like he was giving the words more room to live.

"I don't even know what I'd write to him," Rimuru admitted. "'Hey, sorry I vanished for twenty years, and then died. Sorry I was a huge disappointment to you and the rest of the family. Wanna get lunch sometime? I'll let you pay, cause on top of being a deadbeat brother, I'm broke.'"

The slime's voice cracked at the edges— too tired to laugh, too aware to stop. He then looked down, before uttering out with a somber expression finding its way to his face, "I… I don't even remember the last time I told him I loved him… Or even my own parents, for that matter…"

The fire hissed softly, a coal collapsing into itself.

"… Then start from there," Goblin Slayer suddenly suggested. "Write him what you're sorry for. Mention things that only you two would remember."

Though he couldn't argue against it, Rimuru still couldn't help but to let out a quiet and bitter laugh. "… You really think that's how I should open?"

"I don't know," the man admitted. "But he'll have to find out one way or another, won't he?"

"… What, and drop that truth bomb, all in an email?" Rimuru retorted, with an exasperated, yet humorless, tired grin across his lips. "'Hey bro, it's Satoru. Sorry about the weird porn addiction and being a neglectful sibling— too busy being reincarnated as slime, and becoming the leader of a nation in some other universe to reach out sooner. I'd ask for a second chance, but technically I'd be asking for a third chance at this point. But hey, third time's the charm, right?'"

"No, not like that," Goblin Slayer argued factually. "Tell him how you feel, and what you've gone through. And don't use humor to mask your feelings— just use the truth."

Rimuru's reaction was delayed— his face still, jaw tight. Then, he murmured, "…The truth, huh…?" His voice dropped. "And what the hell would you know about that…?"

It wasn't cruel. Just hollow. A question asked because it had nowhere else to go.

Goblin Slayer didn't flinch. But the tension that crossed his face— quiet, barely visible— was undeniable.

The slime's expression shifted the moment the words left him, as his shoulders sagged. "…Yeah," he muttered. "That was pretty shitty of me… Sorry, man."

The fire popped. A low gust tugged at the smoke.

Goblin Slayer let out a slow breath, eyes lowering. "… Don't worry about it," he said eventually. "I know I keep things close. I'm still… Figuring it out. But some distance is safer. I don't want you carrying my weight, too."

Rimuru lifted his head, just enough to glance at him through the edge of his vision. "… What does that mean?" he then asked in a low spoken tone.

Goblin Slayer didn't look away.

"My life… Hasn't been gentle," he replied. "And I don't want to be remembered for what it turned me into. I'd rather be remembered as the man who you taught anime to. Who learned what sweet and sour sauce was. Who's trying— finally— to live an ordinary life."

Rimuru blinked slowly. Behind his tired eyes, something shifted— some aching recognition that left a raw sting behind. "… That's not fair," he then murmured.

Caught off guard by the response, Goblin Slayer's brows pulled inward as he asked, "…What isn't?"

"You've been pushing me to reconnect— to fix what I broke," Rimuru said, tension rising. "But then now you're talking about forgetting yours, like none of it ever mattered."

Goblin Slayer stilled. His silence stretched— calm, but unreadable. Like water too dark to see through.

"… I didn't mean to be a hypocrite," he said, his voice low. "Your mistakes still have roads back. Mine-"

"-Bullshit," Rimuru snapped. "Our roads are one in the same at this point, and you know it."

The slime then sat forward, resting his elbows loosely on his knees, and the fire caught in his eyes— burned gold in the dark like something distant and already fading.

"Let's just get this aired out right now, so there's no misconceptions," Rimuru stated, with an unhappy resolve rising from his chest. "Our friends? Everyone who we knew of our past lives? We're probably never gonna see them again— so whatever memories we have of them, are all we'll ever have left of them."

The words didn't fall with weight— they just landed, with that same cold finality as the frost settling on the grass. Rimuru didn't look at him when he said it, didn't need to. He just stared into the flames, like if he watched long enough, someone familiar might blink back.

They didn't.

Rimuru then let the silence stretch, brittle and taut. And as his hand twitched, he then turned palm-up in a loose gesture toward Goblin Slayer.

"Look, I've only known you a day," Rimuru said. "Maybe not even that. But I will say this: you already know more about me than anyone back in Tempest ever did."

Still no movement from the armored man across the fire, but the way his fingers curled slightly at the edge of his pant leg said enough.

Rimuru's voice didn't rise. Didn't shift. It stayed where it was— low, spent, fragile in the way dried paper is fragile.

"… I told them about my old world. About Earth. About who I was before. Shion listened. So did Benimaru. Veldora wouldn't shut up about it once he figured out what anime was. But… None of them ever really saw me."

A long pause.

"… They saw the 'Demon Lord.'Their leader. The clever strategist who always had an answer. The one who could laugh off death like a joke. The one who fixed wars and just made everything work."

Rimuru's mouth twisted, but there was no smile in it.

"… They saw 'Rimuru Tempest.' They saw the version of me I got used to playing."

His voice then cracked, just for a second. He didn't recover from it— just let it hang in the air.

"… But you," he said quietly, "today, you've seen what's left. The guy behind all of that."

There was nothing else for a while— just firewood cracking in the pit, and the faraway hush of traffic bleeding in from beyond the treeline.

City sounds, dulled by distance. Somewhere out there, people were still living lives.

Rimuru didn't blink. Just continued to stare at Goblin Slayer's enigmatic crimson eyes.

"… Well, anyway," he finally said, while pushing himself upright on the stone beneath him, "we've only got each other now—" he continued, while pointing across the fire at the armored man, "— And since you're not allowed to wander off, guess what? You're stuck with me now— so get used to seeing this pretty little face of mine."

Goblin Slayer's brow then lifted slightly. Not disagreement. Not quite amusement. Just listening.

"… And that means," Rimuru continued, "you're gonna have to cut the quiet-suffering-loner thing. If I'm airing out all my internal rot, you're gonna start doing it too— this isn't going to be a one-sided trauma bond."

A long pause then ensued, followed by the gray-haired man tilting his head a fraction.

"… I don't talk much though."

"Yeah, no shit," Rimuru sarcastically retorted, before leaning forward— voice firming. "But you wanna live in this world? Not just survive it? Then you can't keep dragging the old one behind you like a corpse on a chain. Bottling all that shit up isn't going to end well, buddy— believe me, I know."

Goblin Slayer's posture softened upon hearing the raw honesty in the slime's voice— causing his armored shoulders to loosen, as he let out a soft, quiet exhaled breath through his nose.

Rimuru let his voice drop again, as he continued to speak. "I'm still trying to let go, too. Like honestly, when I wake up tomorrow, chances are that I'll be expecting to hear Shuna humming, or see Soei standing guard."

The slime's hands then opened slightly in his lap. "That's why I'm talking to you about it. Because I'm trying to make peace with it, but also because I don't want to pretend like none of them mattered to me. Maybe I can have a chance of keeping them alive in my memory, while allowing myself to move on— just like how I should have done for my family."

The words settled heavy in the air, but something between them shifted— like a string finally giving under the weight it'd been holding too long.

Goblin Slayer the. lowered his gaze. His voice, when it came, was quieter than usual. "… You make it sound easy."

Rimuru's lip twitched into a faintly amused grin, as he half-jokingly rebutted, "It's not— it just sounds easy, because I never shut up."

That got him— just a little. Goblin Slayer's mouth moved like it wanted to smile, but forgot how halfway through.

"… I'll try," he then said. "Can't promise I'll be good at it."

"Don't care if you're good," Rimuru said. "I just want you to try. Stop treating your past like it's all just one big burden for you to shoulder alone."

They then proceeded to sit there for a while. Nothing else said for what seemed like half an hour, as the fire crackled— ash rising like tired ghosts.

Rimuru's yellow eyes then eventually shifted up from where his iPad was still resting near his leg, before then nodding at the armored man—slow and measured, something finally easing in his shoulders.

"Alright," he said. "Let's start with something simple."

Goblin Slayer glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Your name," Rimuru replied sharply, "You should've told me your name when I asked for it."

The armored man barely reacted to the question— his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. "… But I did tell you it?"

"Nah, I'm not talking about your made-up name you gave yourself," Rimuru argued, while waving vaguely with one hand. "I'm talking about your actual name. The one your parents gave you."

Goblin Slayer's eyes dropped. His mouth parted, closed again.

Rimuru's brows knit, slowly. "… You do remember it, right?"

Silence.

Then quietly, "… No."

The fire cracked again, while the slime stared at him with a perplexed look in his yellow eyes. "… What do you mean 'no'?"

Goblin Slayer then lifted his gaze. His voice was dry now. Not brittle— just empty. "I haven't heard it in ten years. I forgot it."

"Forgot it?" Rimuru echoed, as he blinked at the armored man with a mixture of pity and disbelief on his face. "Since when? Since you joined the Guild, or—?"

"Since I was ten."

There was a pause.

Then Rimuru squinted. "… Wait, how old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

Upon hearing that revelation, the slime reeled back in his seat, like he'd just found a spider in his shoe.

"Y-You're twenty-two?! Are you kidding me?!"

Goblin Slayer didn't respond. His silence confirmed it.

Rimuru then groaned in existential pain, before musing, "Oh my God— I'm old enough to be your dad, dude…!"

Goblin Slayer tilted his head, completely deadpan. "I hope not— you're not a good father, from what you've told me."

Silence followed suit afterwards, with Rimuru's wide eyes staring back at him— gawking in shock, before finally the slime barked out a sharp laugh. It scraped his throat raw, as he pressed his palms to his face— muffling the rest.

"Fuck man, you don't pull punches, do you?!"

"You told me to open up."

"Yeah, well, next time, warn me first before you say some out-of-pocket shit like that!"

Rimuru shook his head, rubbed his face again, and let the laughter taper off with a sigh. When he looked back at Goblin Slayer, his expression had softened.

"Alright," the slime said at last, shifting his weight with the exhale of someone steeling themselves for something bigger than it looked. "You don't remember your name? Fine. Then I'm giving you one."

Across the fire, Goblin Slayer's brow creased— not deeply, but enough. A beat of silence passed before he answered.

"… You're serious?"

"Yeah, like for real," Rimuru replied with genuine intent in his voice. "I can't introduce you to my family as 'Goblin Slayer,' man."

"… You're introducing me to your family?"

"Hopefully, I will!" Rimuru exclaimed, as he threw his arms wide. "Maybe! I don't know at this point if! Look, the point is— 'Goblin Slayer' sounds like you belong in an MMO lobby, not a living room."

Goblin Slayer continued to stare at the slime, before asking him, "And you've done this before? Give people names?"

"Are you kidding?" Rimuru grinned. "Back in Tempest, I named monsters. Gave them real names. Names that changed them— physically, magically, emotionally. Naming someone could make them evolve."

Goblin Slayer's brow twitched.

"Will this… Change me?"

Rimuru tilted his head.

"Probably won't, in terms of power boosts. But maybe it gives you something to hold onto," Rimuru answered with a hint of wisdom in his voice. "So. What do you say… 'Kaito?'"

A moment passed, as the sudden name lingered in the cold night air.

"… Kaito," Goblin Slayer finally repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth like a stone.

"It means 'ocean person,'" Rimuru explained. "Kinda poetic, right? You're deep. Stormy. Mysterious."

Goblin Slayer blinked once, slow. "I don't like water."

Rimuru groaned. "Okay, fine. Fair. Moving on." He then tapped his chin— his yellow eyes narrowing with faux intensity. "Well… What about Haru? That one's nice. It means 'spring.' Y'know. Like rebirth, hope, new beginnings…"

Goblin Slayer stared at him with the same look he probably gave goblins right before stabbing them through the throat.

"Too soft?" Rimuru guessed.

"Too soft."

"Alright, Mr. Edgelord. No Haru."

Rimuru then slumped sideways dramatically, before sighing into his palm. Then after a moment of contemplation, the slime suddenly perked up again with a snap of his fingers.

"What about Kaede? It means 'maple.'"

Goblin Slayer said nothing.

"I like it!" Rimuru went on. "Strong tree imagery, y'know? Roots. Stability. Has kind of a quiet strength to it."

Goblin Slayer tilted his head.

"… Maple's a tree," Rimuru clarified.

"I know what a maple is."

A pause.

"… I don't feel like a tree."

"Okay, okay!" Rimuru threw his hands up. "Man of few words, and none of them helpful."

The breeze then shifted, stirring ash and smoke. Rimuru proceeded to lean back again, before reaching up with one hand to rub the bridge of his nose.

"Let me think some more," he murmured. "Something that fits…"

He paused, then turned slightly, eyes narrowing with something more thoughtful this time.

"Raikou."

Goblin Slayer blinked.

"Lightning. Fast. Unpredictable. Kind of intense. It'd suit you."

There was the faintest pause— something unreadable flickering his crimson gaze— but then it passed.

"… Too flashy."

"Tch… Of course you'd say that," Rimuru muttered, while tapping his fingers. "So no water, no seasons, no plants, no flashy lightning gods— are you sure you even want a name?"

Goblin Slayer shrugged, unhelpfully.

Rimuru puffed out his cheeks, then released the breath with a tired laugh.

"God, this is harder than naming demons," the slime exhaled— his breath visible in the cool night air. He then glanced back at the gray-haired man, who sat silently across the fire, his expression unreadable.

"Alright," Rimuru began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's try something different." He mused, while leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"… How about 'Ren'?" The slime suggested.

Goblin Slayer tilted his head slightly, considering the name.

"Ren," Rimuru repeated. "It's a Japanese name. Short, simple, but it carries a lot of meaning."

He paused, searching for the right words.

"In Japanese, 'Ren' can mean 'lotus.' The lotus flower grows in muddy water but rises above the surface to bloom with remarkable beauty. It's a symbol of purity and resilience."

Goblin Slayer's gaze remained steady, his red eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

"It also can mean 'love' or 'romantic love,' depending on the kanji used," Rimuru added, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. "B-But I think the 'lotus' meaning suits you!"

He chuckled softly.

"Plus, both our names would start with an 'R.' Rimuru and Ren. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Goblin Slayer's lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile Rimuru had seen from him.

"How do you pronounce it in Japanese?" He asked.

Rimuru's eyes lit up. "It's pronounced 'ren,' like 'rehn.' Just one syllable."

The gray-haired man nodded slowly, repeating the pronunciation under his breath.

"… Ren."

Rimuru watched him, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. "You like it," the slime said, more as a statement than a question.

Goblin Slayer didn't respond immediately, but the shift in his posture— just the smallest loosening in his shoulders, the way his jaw unclenched— said enough.

"…It's fitting," he said after a moment— quiet, like the thought had surprised him even as he said it aloud.

The slime's grin widened faintly— something warm flickering in his expression, not unlike the last embers of the fire.

"Then it's settled," Rimuru murmured, like it was something sacred. "From now on, you're Ren."

He then tested the name he had given again, softer this time, drawing it out just a little longer than necessary— like he was savoring it.

"Ren," the slime repeated under his breath, before then letting out a long yawn that hijacked the end of the syllable. He stretched both arms over his head, his back arching slightly before sagging with the motion— the gesture more sluggish than celebratory.

"God, that took more outta me than I thought," Rimuru mused, as his arms dropped heavily to his sides, before rubbing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Naming someone's a whole mental workout. I forgot how draining it is when you actually give a damn."

There was no answer from the gray-haired man across from him— just the crackle of the fire, and the way the new name seemed to settle in the silence like dust after a long-held breath.

Rimuru stood slowly, then casually extended his arm. His hand then melted— flesh gone soft and translucent cyan, like gel dappled in bioluminescence. He reached out with the formless appendage, nudged down into the center of the flames, and snuffed them one by one.

The last of the firelight guttered out, leaving only the low amber glow of the park lamps behind.

The slime shifted the gelatinous limb back into a human hand with a brief shimmer, then bent down and plucked the iPad from where it rested beside the boulder he'd been sitting on.

Rimuru then exhaled deeply through his nose. "Alright," he said. "Bedtime."

The armored man raised a brow. "Bedtime?"

"Yeah," Rimuru replied, while already half-turned, and trudging toward the tent like someone clocking out of a long shift. "But first— Ren," he added, unable to help the flicker of amusement in his voice when he said it again, "grab that toiletry bag we got from the Salvation Army."

There was a half-second pause— subtle— but Goblin Slayer noticed the beat, and his eye narrowed slightly at the inflection.

"…Ren," Rimuru said again, slower this time— almost bashfully. "Sorry, I just—" He gave an awkward, sheepish smile over his shoulder, "— it's weirdly cute. I like saying it. You like it too, right?"

The gray-haired man's expression didn't shift much—but the faint curve of his lips betrayed him. Just a little.

"I'll have to get used to it," he said after a moment, voice dry but not distant. "But I think… It'll grow on me."

Rimuru's grin tugged back into place, this time more crooked than clean. "Damn right it will! Ren and Rimuru— on a whirlwind adventure!"

Goblin Slayer didn't reply, but he gave a slow shake of his head— like someone putting up with a joke they didn't quite mind hearing.

The armored man stepped to the front of the neon-orange tent and crouched down, unzipping it with a low, metallic rasp.

The inside was still dim, but organized— two sleeping bags laid out, their supplies stacked in the corner, packs resting against the sides.

Goblin Slayer then crawled in, with the muted clink of his armor muffled by the nylon walls, and rummaged quietly through the duffel bag near the back. After a moment, he retrieved a smaller zip-up kit—the toiletries bag.

Rimuru tossed the iPad inside the tent without ceremony. It landed with a soft thump on what he figured was his sleeping bag.

After seeing that, Goblin Slayer turned his head slightly. "… You're just leaving it there?"

Rimuru blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The device. You're not worried someone will take it while we're gone?"

The slime chortled, running a hand back through his silver-blue hair. "Nah. This is Japan. People don't steal shit here."

Goblin Slayer glanced at him skeptically, while zipping the tent closed behind them as he straightened up.

"Why not?"

"It's a cultural thing," Rimuru said as he started walking, while the gray-haired man fell into step beside him. "Whole society's built around social harmony. There's this deep-rooted sense of collective responsibility— guilt by association, loss of face, shame from standing out. If someone steals, it reflects badly not just on them, but their family, their community, their workplace. So people don't. Or, at least, not often."

He then glanced sidelong at the armored man. "There's also, like, an unspoken rule that everyone's watching. Even if no one actually is."

Goblin Slayer absorbed that quietly, his eyes ahead. "So... Murder's off the table, too?"

Rimuru made a strangled laugh. "Goddamn, Ren…!" He chortled, before giving him a theatrical side-eye, grinning faintly. "Leave it to you to skip straight past 'petty theft' and go right to homicide."

"I was curious," Goblin Slayer replied, his tone maddeningly even. "You're saying there's a social contract. I'm assessing the terms."

Rimuru groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Well based on my own experiences, murder is also highly frowned upon— not taboo enough though, apparently. Point-in-case."

The armored man gave a faint, knowing hum.

And as they reached the small public restroom tucked between a cluster of pines and a gently humming vending machine, they were greeted by its fluorescent lights, buzzing faintly above the entrance. A short flight of stairs led down to the tiled structure clean, orderly, and distinctly Japanese in its quiet, practical utility.

Rimuru glanced toward the door, then back at the man beside him.

"C'mon," he said, nudging his shoulder lightly. "Time to experience the joy of fluoride."

Goblin Slayer raised a brow. "Do I get a tutorial?"

"Oh, don't worry." Rimuru assured, as he opened the door and gestured dramatically. "Tonight, you're getting the deluxe package. Toothpaste, floss, mouthwash— hell, if you're lucky, I might even show you how to gargle."

Goblin Slayer followed him in, unbothered— the toiletry bag slung loosely in his grip. "Flossing sounds strange."

"And yet your gums will thank you for doing it," Rimuru replied, with his voice trailing off as the door swung shut behind them.

The rest of the night waited in calm silence beyond the trees. The fire pit still smoked faintly, curling gray tendrils into the breeze.

Above, the stars flickered against the black canopy of sky like they were watching something sacred unfold— quiet, ordinary, human.

From: 1979
To: ken
Date: April 3, 2025, 00:47 JST
Subject: It's Me

Ken,

I'm not sure how to start this, or even what you'll feel when you read it. But if you haven't deleted this yet— if something in you made you open it, even if it's just morbid curiosity— then I guess I owe it to both of us to say it plainly.

It's me.

I don't know if I should be calling myself that anymore, but for now, it still feels like it's mine.

I died. That part you already know. You probably saw the report. Saw the footage, maybe. Saw the blood. I'm sorry for that. Sorry for what you had to see, and for what I never got to say.

But what came after, no one could've predicted that. Not even you.

I remember bits of it. Not the kind of thing you can describe in a neat timeline— more like pieces of glass scattered across the floor. Shards of moments, too sharp to pick up. I remember the pain, and the cold. I remember lying there, cheek against the pavement, and thinking— not about my life, not about regrets— but about how stupid it was that it ended like that.

And then it didn't.

I woke up somewhere else. Not as a man. Not even as something human. I don't remember the exact moment, but I know I wasn't supposed to be alive. Not really.

What followed… I don't know how to describe it to you. Years passed, but they didn't feel like years. I wasn't in Japan. Not on Earth. I don't even think I was in the same reality.

I was a slime. Sounds stupid, right? It was. At first.

But I adapted. Learned how to move, how to survive, how to talk again— how to live. I met people. Goblins, first. Then others. Monsters, spirits, humans. I helped them. Named them. Fought for them. I built something out there. A home. A nation, even.

Doesn't matter if that sounds insane— Tempest was real to me. It was all real.

And for the first time in either of my lives, I didn't feel so alone.

But something went wrong. I still don't understand it. Maybe I broke some rule I didn't know existed. Maybe I grew too strong, too fast. Maybe I just stopped fitting into the world I was in.

It was like the universe woke up and realized I shouldn't be there.

I don't remember much about that moment either— just the sense of being seen. Like everything I was had been placed under a microscope by something too vast to comprehend. They didn't attack me. Didn't threaten me. Just judged.

They said I had to go.

And when I didn't agree, they tried to erase me. Not kill— erase. Like I was a mistake in a system they couldn't debug.

I don't know how I escaped. It wasn't strength. It wasn't power. I didn't even have a body left at that point. Just a will. I held on. To what, I'm not sure. Maybe to Tempest. Maybe to who I'd become.

And then I was back in Tokyo.

I woke up yesterday. I don't remember the exact time or place. Just cold rain, a mouth that couldn't form the right words, and a body that didn't move the way I remembered. I was soaked. Shaking. Every joint ached. I couldn't even think straight.

People passed me like I wasn't even there.

That part that was familiar.

I didn't recognize a single street. The language felt too fast. The light, too harsh. It was like the world had moved on without me, and I was something half-formed that got dragged in by mistake.

I wandered. I sat. I tried not to collapse again.

And I started to understand just how much I'd lost.

The body I have— it's not really mine. It moves like it's running on backup power. I can still feel something beneath it, something that doesn't quite belong in this world, but it's buried now. Distant. I can't reach it. I can't rely on it.

I get tired. I get cold. I get hungry. I can die.

That was the part that really hit me.

And even now, even knowing what I've survived, I still don't know if I'm supposed to be here.

But I'm not alone.

There's someone else— another person who doesn't belong. He's not from here, Ken. I don't know where he came from, or how. I haven't asked yet. He doesn't talk much. But he's grounded, in this way I can't explain. Like the world doesn't shake under him the way it does under me.

He didn't have a name when I found him. I gave him one.

Ren.

We're spending the night in Ueno Park. We have ourselves a tent Ren bought by selling his helmet. Not exactly what I imagined when I thought about returning home, but it's dry, and there's quiet. I think Ren likes the quiet.

Tomorrow, we're heading to Fujikawa. That's where I read our parents are.

I don't know what I'll say to them. I don't even know if they'll recognize me. I'm not the person they buried. I'm not even the person I was before I died.

But I want to see them. I want to see you. Want us to be a family again.

And Ken— this is the part I hate writing.

I need help.

I know you're successful. I know you've done well for yourself. I'm proud of you for that. Really. You're smarter than me. Always were.

But I'm asking— because I don't have anywhere else to turn.

I need papers. Something real. Something that says I exist. Not just for me— for Ren too.

We can't keep squatting in parks and pretending we don't need the world to see us. I need something stable. Legal. A place to sleep that isn't a tent and some sleeping bags.

You're the only one I can ask.

I'm sorry.

For everything. For what I put you through. For disappearing. For coming back like this.

But if you're willing— if you still have room in your life for someone like me— please.

Help me.

Your brother,

Satoru