"Pant! Pant! It hurts so much… damn it, what the hell was going through my head?"
With the adrenaline gone, every self-inflicted injury had moved into a register that made the originals feel mild by comparison. The body was making its objections known from every direction at once, and the hospital bed was the only thing keeping any of it together.
Toji was in the bed beside mine, still unconscious.
More than three hours had passed inside the pit before anyone came to retrieve them. The shock on their faces upon entering had been visible—a room that had been packed wall to wall with cursed spirits, now completely empty, two children in questionable condition as the only available explanation.
They had moved through the doorway cautiously, taking their time. The brief, poorly concealed satisfaction that flickered across several of their faces when the injuries became apparent was noted.
Transfer to the Kukuru infirmary followed shortly after—without a single doctor assigned to provide actual treatment, naturally.
The one stroke of luck was an infirmary inexplicably stocked with milk. With Roronoa Zoro's constitution working in the background, drinking it alone was enough to begin knitting the fractures back together. A small mercy, and a strange one.
The ribs were another matter. Internal injuries as well.
Meat was the obvious answer for faster recovery. Alcohol potentially worth testing too—not a personal preference, but this body had a relationship with it that seemed worth exploring as a recovery tool. The physical constitution that came with being Roronoa Zoro wasn't purely cosmetic.
Before any of that could be put into practice, a Kukuru member came through the door.
"Get up, mon—Zoro. You've received a mission."
'He was going to say monkey. More importantly—a mission in this condition. They're trying to finish the job.'
No real surprise there. This had been anticipated. In some ways, hoped for.
'They'll falsify the level. That's fine. It was always part of the plan.'
Harder missions meant faster growth. The logic was sound.
One thing still gave pause, though.
'Just hope they're not reckless enough to go Grade 1 or Semi-Grade 1.'
At full strength, a Grade 2 was manageable—difficult, but manageable. A Semi-Grade 1 was theoretically possible with a willingness to lose limbs.
Current state was not full strength.
'Right now, even a Semi-Grade 2 would be a serious problem.'
Still—a Grade 1 or Semi-Grade 1 wasn't the likely call. Nobody in the clan would pass up the influence that came from exorcising something that powerful. They'd want that credit for themselves.
The member kept talking.
"Eliminate a cursed spirit. Mission takes place tomorrow. A document with the details will be sent."
He left without further acknowledgment. His muttering on the way out carried easily through the quiet room.
"Tch… why do I have to talk to these monkeys?"
The comment didn't land anywhere important. The information just received was more interesting.
'Not sending me today. They think a day or two won't change anything.'
A smile formed on its own.
"They've made a grave mistake."
Getting out of bed was a production. Both feet on the floor nearly produced an immediate collapse.
"Alright. Time to restock on meat."
---
The next day
Narator
Rear passenger seat of a black car. Up front: a disheveled man, messy hair, flushed cheeks.
7 a.m. Already drunk.
That question came up every single time his driving made it feel urgent. Observation Haki had become a standard precaution for these rides—not for whatever lay ahead, but simply to guarantee enough warning to get out of the vehicle before impact.
The document in hand required attention regardless.
---
Case No. 29994082 — March 14, 1985
Two young children found hanged from the railing of their daycare.
More than fourteen similar incidents recorded within a 2 km radius.
High probability of repeat incident at the daycare located at XX Street XX.
Assessment by the windows: Grade 3.
Low risk. Mission to be carried out urgently.
---
The rest of the report existed, but those were the parts worth keeping. Memorized, then set aside.
The two katanas on the seat beside were picked up and examined briefly. Standard issue. No cursed energy imbued into either of them.
'Ordinary katanas to fight a cursed spirit. The trap couldn't announce itself more clearly if it tried.'
Several minutes of quiet mockery followed, cut short when the car stopped.
No waiting for the driver. Door open, out, door closed.
He floored it before the latch had fully clicked—the look of a man who had been counting down the seconds, finally released. The scene earned nothing more than a whistle.
Attention forward.
A large building. A sign with its name, surrounded by hand-painted flowers. Walls covered in children's drawings of every shape and color. A wide open gate, parents and small children moving through it in the morning light.
The front wasn't worth lingering on. A circuit around the building, reaching the back quickly.
No observers. A few paces back, dropping into a sprinting stance.
'Here we go.'
Full speed at the wall. One foot planted against the base, using the momentum to push upward. Both hands caught the top edge, spikes avoided. A clean pull up and over.
Landing in a garden. Empty—morning, nobody outside yet.
A careful scan of the surroundings. A discreet spot located, katanas tucked away out of sight.
The clothes were civilian, which helped considerably. Passable as a final-year daycare child without much effort.
A dagger kept close, just in case.
Then: into the crowd.
End of the school year. Excitement thick in the air, everyone absorbed in their own world, nobody paying attention to one more small face moving through the yard.
Not wandering aimlessly. Observation Haki swept every square meter of the daycare throughout the entire day, methodical and patient.
Nothing. Not a single trace of the cursed spirit.
The day moved quickly. The sun began to drop toward the horizon.
Refuge had been taken on the roof some time ago, the full yard visible from above. Children leaving one by one as parents arrived to collect them. Workers following after. The building emptying steadily.
Night drawing in.
Then—
Sniff!
Sniff!
A child crying.
'Why is she still here at this hour? Where are her parents?'
Ten minutes. Nobody came.
Down from the roof.
In the middle of the schoolyard: a little girl, barely four years old. Eyes swollen, voice trembling at the edges.
"Are you okay, little one?"
"Hik!"
She curled inward at the sound. Both hands raised slowly, deliberately open.
"Don't worry. Not here to hurt you."
She relaxed, marginally.
"Where are your mom and dad? Aren't they supposed to come pick you up?"
Her face darkened.
"Daddy isn't here anymore… and mommy is probably working. Aunt Miyuki was supposed to come, but she still hasn't. I've been here for hours… it's dark, it's cold… I'm all alone… I'm scared…"
Fresh tears were already forming. A slow step closer.
"Don't worry. They'll come. And until they do—I'll stay with you."
She looked up, visibly surprised. The crying stopped.
"You're not lying?"
"Of course not. All night if it takes that long."
A smile broke across her face like something had been switched on.
"Really?! That's great! Wait—does that mean you're my friend? YES!! Aunt Miyuki will be so happy when I tell her! And did you know spiders aren't insects? Oh oh and—"
The rambling began immediately Regret followed almost as fast.
Just as the words to slow her down were forming—
A wave of disgust.
The familiar, nauseating kind. The kind that only ever came from one source.
'Seriously. Of all the moments to show up.'