Them (I)

(I) Him

Imagination really did harden and shrink once it met reality. Plans were no different.

Suguru Geto tucked the knife into the back of his waistband and stared at the child, a little dazed.

Not just a little girl, but a crying child with an immobilization buff.

He had met plenty of children. Back home in Kanagawa, distant relatives of his parents would occasionally bring their children over to visit.

Children aged two to five, all flailing limbs and wild antics, whom even cats and dogs disliked.

Children aged six to ten, who considered themselves mature and used cutting remarks to prove they were no longer little kids.

What they all had in common was that they used the same weapon to threaten him.

Tears.

Cries so loud they left him helpless, and snot and tears flowing like a faucet that would not shut properly.

Suguru Geto was a veteran of countless such battles. He never surrendered over something like that.

The boy seemed to have a natural knack for handling children. He had plenty of ways to make them stop crying.

But hugs and comfort were certainly not among them.

Because he felt neither tenderness nor sympathy for any child who tried to "blackmail" him.

So he had intended to stand there with his arms folded and quietly wait for the girl to finish crying.

But what had moved him enough to temporarily put aside his prejudice against an enemy and comfort her with the most harmless kindness he could offer?

It seemed it was still tears.

Only these were tears he could not see.

The child covered her face, her shoulders trembling as she sobbed silently.

There was no wailing loud enough to tear a hole in the sky, nor tears dripping, drip, drip, like a faucet that would not shut properly.

Her tears were playing hide-and-seek, while her sadness hid in a cupboard like something shameful.

Suguru Geto had always been good at reading the room. Without even knowing it himself, he possessed an ability to perceive other people's distress far too keenly.

For him, at this point, that perception was a switch with a broken button.

And he had not yet realized that it was a bad thing, something that would push him step by step into the abyss in the future.

Suguru Geto followed his heart.

The sensitive boy, with his soft spot for children who held their feelings in, had inadvertently empathized with her pain.

And so he imagined a version of events colored by that bias.

He imagined that she had no control over herself, that the "person" was manipulating her into doing things she did not want to do.

He imagined the horrifying fear in a five-year-old's heart. After all, even he had been tormented by the act of killing for a long time.

It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps she was crying because her conscience had awakened, and her sorrow was telling him she needed her parents to save her.

Just imagine: when a five-year-old child was controlled by an evil force, what would be the first word out of her mouth?

Would she call for the police? Or scream for mercy?

Neither. It would be "Mommy."

Though he was not her "mommy"-he was even someone who wanted to kill her.

He still could not suppress the heartfelt urge to comfort her.

Suguru Geto took off his jacket and draped it over the girl's head, creating a little space where she could feel uniquely safe.

Then he moved closer, hugged her, rocked her gently as his mother would to soothe her, and finally carried her away.

-I'll kill it. But not here, and not now.

-I'll wait until it reveals its true form, somewhere the child inside that body won't be afraid. Then I'll put an end to everything with my own hands.

As he warned himself of this, he had no idea that the person in his arms had already stopped crying.

(II) Her

By the time he comforted me, I had already escaped that painful, itching sadness.

Once reason returned, I pulled the jacket off my head and tried to figure out what the boy was thinking by studying his jawline.

Was this his usual boundless compassion? Or a sugar-coated trap?

He carried me forward with a destination in mind.

To the passersby, we were a loving brother and sister.

But only I knew that we were a killer and his victim.

He stopped at the roadside and set me down. When he lowered his eyes to look at me, his body went still.

His stiffness baffled me.

It felt like drawing a "better luck next time" in a prize draw, or like knowing what was coming but still making one last desperate struggle, only to find the inevitable failure impossible to accept.

His emotions were a mess. I could not sense any plausible explanation.

But the one thing I could be sure of was that he wanted to kill me.

He actually wanted to kill me?

Was I the source of his evil?

Or had seeing me awakened some vicious desire to torment others?

Before he raised his hand to hail a taxi, I had been planning to leave.

After all, my plan had failed. I needed to go back, reflect on it, take stock, and regroup.

But that murderous intent made me decide to stay and see what he planned to do next.

If he wanted to kill me, I believed the vicious look on his face when he did it would leave me no room to consider his reasons.

Then I would surely be able to act, blowing his head apart with a single gunshot.

Without a word, I got into the taxi with him, and we rode to the Scenic Area.

When we got out, he reached out to pick me up, but I dodged him.

I was perfectly clearheaded now.

I did not need pity now.

Right now, I just wanted him to kill me.

The boy, whose arms had caught nothing, silently withdrew his hands.

When he looked at me again, his eyes were no longer gentle.

-That's right! Suguru Geto, that's how you should be!

While he was carrying me, I had already noticed the knife tucked into the back of his waistband.

I hoped my coldness and compliance would further provoke his murderous nature, making him draw his knife and slash at me.

"It's a long walk," Suguru Geto told me helplessly.

"I can walk on my own."

Believe me, boy. If I really put my mind to walking, I'm faster than you can run.

He seemed worried about me-or, more precisely, worried that I might take the opportunity to escape.

"Then can I hold your hand?" He held his hand out to me.

I looked up at him for a long time, and his hand remained suspended in the air just as long.

In the end, I was the one who gave in to that pointless standoff.

I took his hand and let him lead me, his grip neither loose nor tight, but difficult to escape.

The boy's hand was nowhere near as broad as Toji's, nor did it have those thick calluses that scratched against my palm.

His hands were beautiful. I had realized that long ago, while watching him through binoculars.

Fair-skinned and slender, but not feminine.

Like hands one might see in a ring advertisement, or fists that might appear in an arena and stun you with a fleeting glimpse.

We walked along a path in the Scenic Area. The slope rose ahead, giving me the strange feeling of climbing a mountain on level ground.

He leaned forward, his steps steady, and tightened his hold on my hand slightly, practically pulling me along.

"What's your name?" he asked, abruptly tightening his grip on my hand.

Not every murderer went through this step. Those who did were either utterly twisted or had yet to cross that line.

I hoped he was the former, but the truth was that he belonged firmly to the latter.

"Don't ask meaningless questions."

For selfish reasons, I wanted him to be more ruthless. Cutting through the knot in one swift stroke applied not only to me, but to him as well.

"It means something. I need to know her name."

His grip hurt so much that I was a little stunned.

Her? Who was that?

Me?

Then why "her"? Some quirk? Had he mistaken me for someone else?

It did not matter. All I wanted was for him to kill me.

"Yuanli," I answered truthfully.

By then, we had reached a place thick with vegetation.

He stopped beneath the shade of a tree and suddenly asked me,

"Why did you choose to become Yuanli?"

For some inexplicable reason, the question struck a nerve. Before I could think, I instinctively answered,

"Did I have a choice?"

The boy looked stunned. He did not seem to have expected that answer. He was a little angry, though I had no idea what was upsetting him.

He demanded fiercely,

"Does it have to be Yuanli? There are so many people out there. Why couldn't you become someone else? Why her? Go torment someone else. Leave Yuanli alone."

I wanted to challenge him immediately, because the implications of his questions were plainly full of holes. I was one hundred percent sure he had mistaken me for someone else.

But taken literally, those questions gave me pause.

It was hard not to think of my own miserable life.

My anxiety disorder stemmed, in large part, from my refusal to give myself a break.

But I refused to give myself a break because I had no choice.

I could not choose whose child I was, so I had to keep pushing myself, trying to please her and prove that I was worth loving.

My therapist had told me more than once to distance myself from an unhealthy parent-child relationship.

But he did not know that Yuanyin and I were bound together, lifetime after lifetime.

When I died in this life, I would still be her daughter in the next.

And in the life after that, and the one after that. Through endless reincarnations, I would always be her daughter.

How could a bond as fated as that contain no love?

People could grow fond enough of a dog to call it their son. Surely two hundred years could foster at least some familial love.

So I stubbornly sought proof, stubbornly refused to let myself off the hook.

But now Yuanyin was gone. I no longer had anyone to seek that proof from, and my life had gained new people who loved me. Yet I remained trapped in "Yuanli's" suffering.

Looking at the self-righteous boy in front of me, I wanted badly to ask whether becoming "someone else" would mean I could let Yuanli go.

And, of course, I asked it aloud.

The boy's expression turned strange for a moment. He reached out and lifted my bangs, and his face instantly went blank. Then, looking rather miserable, he said, "Probably."

I knew he had realized he had mistaken me for someone else, but I was not prepared to let him off so easily.

I had been trapped in a burning maze for too long. Now that I had finally spotted an emergency exit glowing green, I did not want to give it up.

"Please give me a definite answer. If I become someone else, can I let Yuanli go?"

Suguru Geto put away his embarrassment and took my question seriously.

I did not know where the premonition came from, but it made me believe that this boy, not even eighteen yet, represented a green-lit passage to safety.

And he did not disappoint. He gave me an answer.

"I don't know. But if 'Yuanli' means misery, then I think becoming someone else would at least be better than becoming misery."

"Then who can I become?"

I gave up thinking for myself and wanted a definite answer.

Suguru Geto thought for a long time. I guessed he would say he did not know, or simply tell me to find the answer myself.

But strangely, I still held out hope for him. Just as I had tried to hear Yuanyin say, "Yuanli, you can become someone else. You don't have to be my daughter."

My eager hopes were soon doused with cold water.

He said, "I don't know."

Ah. Of course.

He was only a Demon King who had yet to awaken. How could he give me an answer?

I felt a little disheartened. I was no longer thinking about being killed; I only wanted to leave.

"I think you have to decide for yourself what kind of person you want to become. But I think I can try to give you one more option."

The boy gently stroked my head.

He had no idea just how selfless his words had been.

"What option?"

"You can use cursed energy, so I assume you can see cursed spirits too, right?" He summoned a cursed spirit in front of me.

I nodded, a bad feeling rising in my heart.

"So, little girl, would you like to become a jujutsu sorcerer someday?"