Chapter Text
CHAPTER 10
I get back home exhausted but, strangely, feeling lighter.
My emotional battery is completely drained, but despite everything, I feel like I’ve taken another important step toward my future in this world. It’s still afternoon. The sun feels nice. I think it’s time to officially inaugurate my grill.
Right after a quick shower, I grab my knife, pull some meats from the cooler, and mentally prepare myself for what’s to come. With a sleek, dramatic flourish, I throw my spotless white apron over my tank top and white shorts. I position my knife right next to the cutting board and flash a crooked smirk at my audience.
It’s cats. A horde of hungry cats.
"Hello and good afternoon, everyone! Welcome to another episode of *Cooking in the Landfill: New Year's BBQ Special!*"
I pause for a beat of pure dramatic effect.
"And no barbecue worth its salt starts on the grill. Prep work is everything." I point my knife at the cutting board like a professional TV host. "Let’s start with the poultry. Today, we’re working with chicken wings and drumettes. The marinade is simple: mustard, lemon juice, minced garlic, lemon pepper, and salt to taste. Mix it all up, toss the chicken in, and let it rest until it's time to cook."
I start sorting the ingredients while continuing my culinary schizophrenia routine.
"For the red meat, good old rock salt is still king. Today, we’re serving up beef ribs and picanha." I lift the cut of picanha like I’m hoisting a championship trophy. "Now, for the ribs, I’d normally use cachaça. But since I’m a minor and quite fond of not being arrested, we’ll use non-alcoholic beer instead just to help the salt stick better." I gesture grandiosely to the cats. "And for the picanha, just a light, elegant layer of rock salt. Simple. Elegant. Brazilian."
The cats keep staring blankly at me. None of them look even remotely impressed. A bunch of ungrateful culinary critics, the lot of them.
"And now, a quick word from our sponsors."
I point theatrically at Polaris. The cat just blinks.
"Exactly."
I grab my tools and head out to the clearing. The sun is already beginning to set as I activate **[Lantern]** and walk over to the fire pit. I spend the next few minutes battling physics, humidity, the firewood, and possibly a few supernatural entities until I finally manage to spark a fire. Then, I use one of the hot coals to light up the charcoal grill.
The cats watch my every move like city inspectors auditing a construction site.
"And we are back from commercials!" I throw my arms open dramatically. "As you can see, the grill is hot and the meats are prepped."
I place the ribs down. "Ribs go first. High heat at the start, then patience." I place the picanha. "Fat cap down. We want that beautiful, golden sear." Next, I arrange the wings on the grate. "And the chicken goes on medium heat. Golden on the outside, juicy on the inside. No food crimes allowed on my watch."
While the meats sizzle, I start working on the sides.
"Tonight’s menu features tropical salad, vinaigrette, and chimichurri." I chop the ingredients, narrating as I go. "Lettuce, tomatoes, mango, red onion, olive oil, and lemon juice for the salad." I mix the chimichurri. "Parsley, garlic, oregano, olive oil, and vinegar. Simple and perfect." I grab a hot ember from the fire. "And here’s a master-griller tip: drop a hot ember straight into the chimichurri container, seal it shut for a few minutes, and boom—amazing, smoky chimichurri."
The cats keep staring.
"Yes, I know, I’m a genius."
No reaction. Ungrateful freeloaders.
I spend the next few hours putting everything together for the feast. It’s not much, but I’m happy. I have my cats. I have food. I have a roof over my head. And for the first time in a long while, that feels like more than enough.
It’s 11:59 PM.
I can hear the distant, echoing excitement of the people in the city counting down the seconds.
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
Fireworks explode in the distance. The night sky lights up in brilliant colors. Cheers echo through the air. A new year begins.
And then, the system interface flashes before my eyes.
[Congratulations on surviving your first year in a new world.]
[As a reward, you have received a unique Bronze 10+1 Special Ticket.]
[Would you like to roll now?]
I smile. Well, how about that? A late Christmas present and a New Year's gift wrapped into one.
"Do it. Surprise me."
[Rolling...]
[Rolling...]
[Vial of Eternal Blood]
[Beginner Fine Arts]
[Sensor]
[Cooling]
[Intermediate Polearm Mastery]
[Malorian 3516]
[Combat Mode]
[Junimo]
[King of Hugs]
[Cat's Feet]
[Sadist]
Before I can even process half of the rewards, a cold shiver shoots straight down my spine. My attention completely snaps away from the gacha results.
Something is watching me. Or rather, someone.
I slowly turn my head. The cats notice it at the exact same moment I do. Fur standing on end. Fangs bared. Low, aggressive hissing echoing through the clearing.
Between the trees, illuminated only by the dying fire and the distant fireworks, I see a pair of golden eyes. Eyes I know. Eyes I’ve spent the last month looking for.
Himiko.
My relief lasts for less than a second. Because something is wrong. Horribly wrong.
There’s no warmth in her gaze. No curiosity. None of that playful, mischievous glint I remembered. All I see is fear. Hunger. Self-loathing. It’s almost animalistic.
The cats keep hissing. Some of the older ones are already herding the kittens back toward the shipping container. My instincts scream at me to stay alert. My worry screams louder.
"Himiko? Is that you?"
She doesn't answer. She just stands there. Watching.
"Himiko, you can come out. Come eat with me." I point to the table. "I made Brazilian barbecue. The meat is perfectly cooked. I’ll carve you the best cuts."
For a fraction of a second, I see a shift in her eyes—a tiny spark of rationality. But then it vanishes, swallowed by the darkness.
"Himiko..." I take a step forward. "What happened to you?"
Silence.
"Please, talk to me."
She finally steps out of the shadows. And my heart sinks.
Her clothes are filthy, tattered, and completely neglected. Her face is pale and hollow, with dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes. Her hair has lost its luster. And that smile...
That goddamn smile. It’s not the same.
The last smile she gave me held sadness, but it also held hope. It promised we’d meet again. Not this one. This smile is empty. Broken. Wrong.
We lock eyes for a few agonizing seconds. Only then do I notice it. She’s holding her hands behind her back. My stomach does a flip. She’s hiding something.
The cats remain on high alert. Even they understand that something is deeply, fundamentally wrong. And for the first time since she appeared, I feel fear. Not of her, but of whatever hell she went through to end up like this.
She finally speaks. And her voice only makes it worse. It’s low. Strange. Fragmented.
"Hello again, Con-stan-tine-kun..."
A heavy knot forms in my chest.
"You look so handsome dressed in white today."
Her tone is light, almost playful. But there’s a hollow, shattered quality to it. Like someone desperately trying to mimic an old version of themselves.
"Thanks, Himiko." I try to smile. "But you still haven’t answered my question."
She tilts her head slightly, remaining silent. Then, she flashes that empty smile again. And she begins to speak.
"The day we said goodbye, I went to spend the night at one of my friends' houses. Her parents called mine, and they sent their employees and security guards to drag me back. When I said I didn’t want to go, they dragged me by force and threatened my friend’s family. They told them that if they breathed a word about the incident, they’d ruin their lives. And just like that, I was back at my parents' house."
"It was a mistake."
The silence that follows is heavy. Suffocating.
"The moment I stepped through the gates, my mother slapped me across the face." She says it casually, like she’s commenting on the weather. Which makes it ten times worse. "She said I was an embarrassment to the Toga name." She lets out a dry chuckle. "She told me I had to be normal. And if I couldn't be normal... she said the least I could do was not be seen running around with trash."
"She locked me in the punishment room."
"No food."
"No going out."
"No talking to anyone."
"And she kept hitting me."
Each sentence comes out quieter than the last. More distant. More dead. I want to run over, hug her, and tell her everything is going to be okay, but I know better than to interrupt her now.
Her voice falters for a moment. For a split second, she looks smaller. Fragile. Like she's just a little kid again.
"She left me locked in that tiny punishment room and starved me for days. All the while, she’d beat me every other day, screaming insults at me."
I feel my hands clenching into tight fists. I keep listening.
"After two weeks of that, when the bruises finally faded, she forced me to go back to school. She said if I stepped out of line even once, she’d make me regret it by destroying the lives of the few girls who were still my friends." She lowers her eyes. "So, I obeyed. And after two weeks of pretending everything was fine, I was approached by one of the few boys who still talked to me. His name was Saito."
A tiny, bittersweet smile touches her lips. "He was so pretty..."
"He asked if I was okay. Said he was worried about me." Her smile grows. And I absolutely hate it. "I wanted so badly to drink his blood. To be popular. To be loved. I wanted to be him. I wanted his life. I wanted to be loved the way he was."
The smile vanishes.
"But I lied. I told him I was fine. He kept trying to talk to me for the rest of the week, and I kept dodging him. Until a group of girls cornered me in the hallway, telling me I shouldn’t hog his time, that I needed to wipe that fake smile off my face and leave Saito alone." Her voice drops even lower. Tears finally begin to spill. "Then some girls started spreading rumors about me. They said I was an easy slut. And then more rumors followed."
My blood runs cold.
"Then a group of boys from another class cornered me. They tried to force themselves on me." She closes her eyes. "But Saito showed up. Saito saved me."
A smile creeps back onto her face. This time, it’s worse.
"He fought them. Knocked every single one of them down. He was covered in dirt. Nose bleeding. Knuckles bruised." She swallows hard. The smile returns—small, fragile, agonizing. "He looked so beautiful..."
A heavy silence hangs in the air.
"I wanted to drink him. I was going to drink him. But then he asked me how I was doing." The tears start falling faster. "He asked why I looked even worse than I did at the start of the year. And then he told me about his Quirk." She looks up at me. "It was a sort of empathetic visualization. He could see people's emotional states. He said I had been getting better. That I seemed happier. But after I vanished for a while... he said I looked worse than ever."
She laughs. A horrible, hollow laugh.
"He was worried about me. And all I could think about was seeing him bleed. What his blood would taste like. Painting him in that beautiful red. Drinking his blood. Being him. I wanted to be him. I wanted his life. I wanted his friends. I wanted his parents. I wanted to be loved just like him."
She hangs her head, tears streaming freely now.
"So I attacked him. I pulled out my utility knife." My chest tightens. "I stabbed him in the shoulder." She trembles. "But he didn't pull away. He didn't fight back. He didn't scream. He didn't hit me. He didn’t run." Her voice drops to a whisper. "He just hugged me. And told me everything was going to be okay."
Her golden eyes lock onto mine, completely shattered.
"I panicked. I bit him. I drank some of his blood. I transformed into him... and I ran away as fast as I could." She looks down. "I’ve been living on the streets ever since. Wearing whatever clothes I managed to salvage from my gym bag. Eating whatever I can find. Sleeping wherever I can. Running. Always running."
I am completely at a loss for words. I want to pull her close and tell her it’s all going to be fine. But I know I’m a complete trainwreck myself. I don't have the mental stability to guide someone carrying a trauma as massive as my own. I’m barely keeping my own shit together through sheer willpower, spite, imaginary caffeine, and enough anger to make a pre-workout-fueled gym bro proud.
There is nothing I can say to fix this. No grand speech. No magic solution. Just a broken girl standing in front of me, waiting for an answer. And I am probably the worst possible person to give her one. Because I am a mess.
Even so... I take a step forward. Slowly.
"Himiko... I’m no therapist." A bitter laugh escapes me. "Honestly, I can barely keep my own brain functioning."
She remains silent.
"I don't have the answers to your problems, and I definitely don't have a map to put your life back on track when I can barely navigate my own. I can't fix your life. I can't erase what happened." I take a deep breath. "All I can offer is a shoulder to cry on. An ear to listen to your thoughts, the good and the bad."
I point to the table.
"A hot plate of food."
Then, I point to the container.
"A roof over your head, and absolutely zero judgment." I smile. "So, do you want to eat with me and talk about it? Your fears, your hopes, your problems... whatever you want." I place a hand over my chest. "All I have to offer is my presence and my friendship. And all I ask for in return is yours." I tilt my head. "After all, a burden shared is a burden halved."
For a fleeting second—just one—I see the Himiko I met back in November. The real her. That curious, sharp, needy, desperately lonely girl.
But then, something shifts.
Her eyes widen. Her body goes rigid. Her fingers twitch.
My "Talk-no-Jutsu" is violently cut short as she lunges forward. And I realize it too late.
Too late that she was still clutching something behind her back. Too late to notice that the cats had never stopped hissing. Too late to heed my **[Sensor]** screaming bloody murder in my mind.
I catch a metallic gleam. A knife. Old, worn, improvised.
And before I can react—Himiko charges.
The cats scatter, their hissing reaching a deafening pitch. The knife slices through the air, aiming straight for my face. I dodge out of the way on pure reflex. I can see the firing of her muscle fibers before the movements even register. Under normal circumstances, this fight would already be over. I was stronger. Faster. Experienced.
But these were not normal circumstances. My body was still screaming from the weight of my morning training and emotional breakdown session. Every muscle protested. Every joint burned.
And above all... I didn't want to hurt her.
I duck under the second slash. Then the third. Then the fourth. The blade grazes past my neck, my stomach, my arm. She has no technique, no stance, no formal training. Just raw desperation. Hunger. Pain.
The way she keeps coming at me, relentless and fast. It doesn't feel like a fight. It feels like a desperate plea for help wrapped in violence.
The flames of the fire pit seem to dance in slow motion. Sparks drift lazily through the air. I can see every muscular contraction in her arms before the strikes land, as if she’s begging for something she doesn't even fully comprehend. Tears stream down her face, yet that twisted, broken smile remains plastered on her lips. It’s a heartbreaking sight.
"Himiko..."
She doesn't answer.
"Just a little... just a little blood..." The knife cleaves the air again.
I step back. Once. Twice.
"Just a little..." Her voice is quiet, fragile, almost childlike. "Just a little of your blood..."
My chest aches. Dammit. She is hurting so bad.
The knife swings again. I dodge. Retrack. Another slash. And another. Her movements are becoming wilder, completely unhinged, frantic. Tears keep flooding down her face, but that crooked, wrong smile won't go away.
"Himiko, please..."
She lunges again. This time, I manage to catch her wrist. For a split second, everything freezes.
It would be so easy to apply pressure. A sweep. A joint lock. A simple wrist-lock throw. A move any martial artist would execute without thinking. But I can't bring myself to do it. Not to her.
So I let go. I push her back. Her golden eyes widen in a mix of confusion, frustration, and agony.
"Why...?"
The question hits me harder than any blade could. Because I didn't have an answer. Because I was exhausted. Because I was broken. Because I cared. Because she was my friend. And because seeing Himiko like this hurt infinitely more than any cut she could ever carve into my flesh.
She lowers her head, her shoulders trembling. For a second, I think she’s going to collapse, that she’s going to accept help. Then, she grips the knife tighter.
And charges again.
Frantic, I scroll through the rewards of the 10+1 ticket, scanning each item as fast as humanly possible.
[Sadist]
A cold dread settles in my soul. A sick, twisted wave of pleasure washes over me at the sight of my friend’s deplorable state, accompanied by a slight physical boost. It makes me sick. I absolutely loathe how this trait operates.
[Cat's Feet]
Useless right now. Himiko keeps advancing, begging and crying as she white-knuckles the knife.
[Junimo]
Nope.
[Beginner Fine Arts]
Hell no.
[Sensor]
Handy, but not what I need.
[Cooling]
No.
[Intermediate Polearm Mastery]
No.
[Malorian Arms 3516]
My heart nearly stops. Johnny Silverhand's literal hand-cannon. One of the coolest guns in video game history. An absolute masterpiece of engineering.
NO. NO. ABSOLUTELY NO.
I love *Cyberpunk*. I love that gun. But I would never point it at her. I don't care how backed into a corner I am. Never. I would never point that thing at her.
[Combat Mode]
...Maybe.
[Vial of Eternal Blood]
...Finally. Two useful things.
I dodge another slash. This time, she throws her entire body weight into the thrust, using both hands on the hilt in a desperate attempt to stab me head-on.
And then, it happens.
In her blind panic to hit me, she overextends. The blade slams hard against the side of the brick grill. The impact causes her grip to slip. I watch in horror as her hand slides straight down the edge of the blade. A deep, jagged gash splits open across her palm. The improvised hilt falls apart. My stomach drops.
"Himiko, please, listen to me! Let me help you!"
I try. I really try. But I already know what I have to do.
I look at her. I look at the blood. I look at the absolute terror written all over her face. And I make my choice.
I throw everything I’ve learned from **[Novice Acting]** into overdrive. I straighten my posture. I relax my shoulders. I lock away the panic, the fear, the sheer exhaustion. I do everything in my power to project absolute confidence and safety—as if I have a solid plan, as if everything is going to be perfectly fine, even if I have no clue if it actually will.
With a **[Charming Smile]**, I look at her gently. Softly. It's not a fake smile. It's not forced. It's just the best I have to offer her right now.
"Trust me." I take a step forward. "I'm going to help you."
Another step.
"And I'm going to stay by your side, no matter what."
I see a flicker of hesitation. A tiny crack in her emotional storm. Her eyes tremble. She looks shaken. Almost blushing. Almost.
I seize the opening. I swap my active skill to **[Combat Mode]**. In the exact same instant, I feel a second skill slot tear open in my mind.
...This is going to absolutely ruin me later. Future Constantine's problem.
I redline both **[slow down]** and **[Combat Mode]** to their absolute maximum. I feel something snap deep inside my body, like my physical form is being violently forced past its limits. The world slows down. Not as much as I’d like, but enough. I feel something warm and wet trickling out of my eyes, my nose, my ears. I ignore it.
ALL THAT MATTERS RIGHT NOW IS HER.
Himiko lunges again, using her bleeding hand to steady the knife. I slip to the side, striking her wrist. The knife clatters to the ground. Before she can recover, I grab her arms. I force **[slow down]** even harder.
The world drains of color. Everything turns a violent shade of red. All sound cuts out, as if someone ripped the audio track right out of reality.
I deactivate all active skills. But something is wrong. The red tint doesn't fade from my vision.
...A problem for later. Not now. Right now, there is only Himiko.
And so, I do the only thing I can think of.
I pull her into a tight embrace. With all the tenderness I have left and the power of **[Cuddle King]**, I just hold her.
She goes wild. Himiko thrashes violently in my arms.
"LET ME GO!"
She tries to claw at me. She scratches. She kicks. She bites. She writhes and screams.
I don't let go.
She tries to pull away. Screaming. Crying. Kicking.
And I just keep holding her.
"It's okay, Hime-chan... I'm here. It's not much, but it's what I can give you."
She gets even wilder. She keeps fighting. For minutes.
The cats draw closer. The fire pit dwindles. The moon creeps across the sky. And Himiko keeps trying to run. Trying to escape. Trying to push me away.
But I don't let go. Because I know that if I let her go now, I’ll lose her forever. So I keep holding on.
Minutes turn into hours. She keeps thrashing. Keeps screaming. Keeps crying until her voice cracks and goes hoarse. I lose all track of time.
When I finally look around, I see the cats scattered near the dying fire. I see the embers fading. I see the dawn slowly creeping in. And I feel Himiko growing weaker. Less aggressive. Exhausted.
Her screams dissolve into quiet, trembling sobs. Her scratches lose their sting. Her bites lose their force.
Until, in one final act of desperation, she sinks her teeth into my neck. And begins to drink my blood.
Fast. Incredibly fast.
Good luck trying to kill me via blood loss, sweetheart. I am practically a walking blood bank. Seventeen liters of blood. Five times more than a normal human being. Way more than you could ever drink, no matter how starved you are.
Little by little, she calms down. Her sobbing gets worse, the tears keep flowing, but the violence is entirely gone.
Then, I hear a raspy, broken whisper.
"Why...?"
Being the absolute genius that I am, I reply: "Why what, Himiko?"
It takes her a few seconds to answer.
"Why are you helping me...? Why are you being nice...? Why are you hugging the monster that just tried to kill you...?"
My heart aches. It aches so damn much.
"Himiko... you're not a monster."
She keeps crying. I look down at her, taking in the deplorable state she’s in. The dark circles. The blood. The tattered clothes. The girl who spent hours trying to stab me while desperately begging for help without even realizing it.
So I tell her the only truth I have left.
"You were just a starving kid trying not to die of hunger."
"And because you are my friend."
Tears fall in silence. The first light of dawn begins to paint the horizon. And for the first time since she arrived tonight, I can truly see her.
Faded hair. Deep, dark eye bags. Blood. Tears. Snot. Ruined clothes. Smelling like god knows what. Looking like someone who has been fighting a one-woman war against the entire world for the past month.
She freezes. For a second. Just a single second.
Then she starts thrashing again, harder than before.
"I AM NOT!"
"Yes, you are."
"I'M NOT!"
"You are."
"STOP LYING!"
She tries to scratch me. Tries to push me away. Tries to bite me again. I just keep holding her.
"Himiko..."
"I ATTACKED YOU!"
"I know."
"I TRIED TO STAB YOU!"
"I know."
"I WANTED YOUR BLOOD!"
"I know."
She stops. Just for a moment. Her golden eyes tremble.
"Then why?!"
"Because you're still my friend."
She bursts into tears again. Harder. Louder. Uglier. Like someone completely shattering from the inside out.
"I'M NOT!"
"Yes, you are."
"I'M NOT!"
"You are."
"I'M NOT!"
"You are."
"I'M NOT!"
"You are."
"I'M NOT!"
"Hime-chan."
She stops.
"You’ve spent hours trying to convince me you're a monster. And I'm still here. That ought to tell you something."
The silence that follows is heavy. Incredibly heavy. And for the first time tonight, she has no comeback. Because no matter how many times she tries to push me away, I am not leaving.
And I think she’s finally starting to realize that.
I don't know how long we stay like that. Time gets weird when you're emotionally ruined. The fire pit is nothing but a few glowing ashes now. The New Year’s fireworks ended ages ago. The cats have slowly drifted back, some watching from a distance, others settling down near the remaining warmth.
And Himiko is still in my arms. The tears have slowed. The sobbing too. But she still shivers every now and then, like someone trying to piece their own shards back together. She smiles at me, a small, fragile smile...
And yet... if I had a little more blood flowing to my brain... or maybe a bit of a filter... I probably wouldn't have muttered:
"Beautiful."
...Shit.
She heard it. Of course she did. Her face flushes a deep, instant red. I would love to blame the blood loss. Or brain damage. Or the adrenaline. But unfortunately, the blame is entirely on me.
I can still feel the toll of **[Combat Mode]**. So I activate the skill again just to keep myself from blacking out right then and there. If it weren't for the sheer amount of adrenaline, testosterone, and god knows what else pumping through my veins, I’d already be unconscious.
Naturally, I see the perfect opportunity for one of my stupid jokes.
"You stink. But for some unholy reason, your breath doesn't. Your teeth are still as white and perfect as ever. What's your secret?"
The red tint in my vision doesn't fade. And Himiko blushes even harder.
"So, Hime-chan... that New Year's dinner invite is still open. And I’m seriously starting to cannibalize myself over here."
My statement is immediately accompanied by the highly vocal protests of my stomach.
She speaks again, her voice hoarse and quiet.
"I'm hungry..."
My heart nearly breaks. Because after everything. After the attacks. After the tears. After the hours of sheer desperation.
The first thing she can actually admit is that. Hunger. Not blood. Not violence. Not fear. Hunger.
"I figured." I smile weakly. "You're lucky I left the meats resting wrapped in foil. They should still be warm enough to eat. I really hate cold barbecue."
"So... shall we?"
She lets out a tiny, exhausted, pathetic laugh.
"You are such an idiot."
"I've heard that before."
"A massive one."
"Heard that one too."
I see a tiny smile. Followed by a small, hesitant nod. And honestly? It might be the most beautiful nod I’ve ever received. Fragile, but real.
Then she lowers her eyes.
"I still want to drink blood."
"You need blood to live."
"I still want it."
"I know."
"And it scares me."
"It's okay."
She remains quiet for a few seconds. Then, something changes. I feel her lean in closer, almost hesitantly—like someone waiting to be pushed away, rejected, or judged.
But none of that happens.
So, she does the only thing she can think of. She sinks her teeth into my neck. Not violently. Not like before. Not as an attack.
It feels like a request. A desperate, silent plea.
And I let her. I feel the pressure of her teeth.
Blood trickles down my neck.
I just keep holding her. Because honestly? After everything that's happened tonight, this doesn't even make it into the top ten weirdest things I’ve experienced.
She drinks. Slowly at first. Then faster, like someone who finally stumbled upon an oasis after dragging themselves across a desert.
Until she stops. And goes completely still. Rigid.
Then I realize it. She’s crying again. Only this time, she’s doing it in complete silence.
"I'm sorry..." her voice is barely a whisper.
"For what?"
"For everything."
I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You can apologize tomorrow. Today, you eat."
Her stomach growls. Loud. Obnoxiously loud.
For a second, we both just stare into the void. Then, I lose it and start laughing. She tries to hold it in, fails miserably, and ends up laughing too—a raspy, weak laugh, but infinitely healthier than any smile I've seen on her face today.
"Come on. The food is probably freezing."
"That sounds horrible."
"I know."
"You spent hours hugging me while the barbecue got cold."
"Your fault."
"Your fault."
With a monumental effort, I force myself to my feet and extend a hand. Himiko takes it, and I pull her up. She ends up stumbling straight into my chest. For a split second, I want to wrap my arms around her again, but that can wait until I stop metabolizing my own muscle tissue. I took way too long to build this mass; I am not losing it now.
Every single muscle in my body protests. Every joint seems to actively loathe my existence. But I manage to stand.
And for the first time since she stepped into this clearing, she doesn't look like a predator. She doesn't look like a fugitive. She just looks like a tired girl. A girl who desperately needed help and finally let someone close enough to give it to her.
We walk slowly toward the table. Way too slowly, mostly because my legs decided that working tonight was strictly optional. Himiko stays close—close enough for me to notice her watching me out of the corner of her eye, as if she’s terrified I might just vanish if she looks away.
I grab [Hero's Bandage] and properly dress her cut hand before going to retrieve the ribs, the picanha, and the chicken.
"Was the blood on your face my fault...?" she asks, her cheeks flushing.
"Nah. Probably just a side effect of redlining my skills."
She looks away. "You look handsome like that... I like it."
...My brain takes a solid three seconds to process that one.
"Glad you like the look, milady. Now, less talking, more eating. I didn't spend four hours sweating over a grill to let prime cuts go to waste."
I peel back the foil. An absolute miracle. "Praise be to aluminum foil."
Himiko blinks. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You say weird things."
"I'm Brazilian."
"That explains nothing."
"Exactly."
She stares at me for a few seconds, then gives up. A wise choice.
I start carving the ribs, then the picanha, and finally the wings and drumettes. The rich, smoky aroma immediately floods the air. Right on cue, Himiko's stomach lets out a rumble so thunderous I’m pretty sure a few cats jump in alarm.
I look at her. She looks at me.
"Don't say a word."
"I didn't say anything."
"But you thought it."
"I did."
"Idiot."
"Starving."
She crosses her arms, a defensive gesture that loses all credibility when her stomach protests yet again. I laugh, and she joins in. Just a little, but it’s enough.
I fix two plates. One for me, one for her. I don't skimp on anything. Ribs, picanha, chicken, tropical salad, vinaigrette, chimichurri. The works. After a night like this, we both earned it.
I attack my food immediately. No dignity. No manners. No shame. My body is practically screaming for calories; I can feel [Combat Mode] demanding its toll. Every bite seems to dissolve into energy the second it hits my tongue.
Himiko starts slower, almost shy, trying to keep up some semblance of manners. That lasts for about twenty seconds. Then, she starts eating like someone who has spent weeks surviving on sheer spite and willpower—which, to be fair, is probably exactly what happened.
For a few minutes, there is only silence. The sound of the waves, the crackle of the dying fire, and two emotionally wrecked survivors inhaling a barbecue.
Then, an idea hits me. I stop chewing, look at Himiko, look at my inventory, and look back at Himiko. She stares back.
"Why are you making that face?"
"I had an idea."
"That worries me."
"Fair."
I open my inventory and pull out the [Vial of Eternal Blood]. Himiko freezes, her golden eyes widening.
"Constantine..."
"Yeah?"
"Why do you have a highly suspicious-looking vial of blood?"
"Long story."
"I hate your life."
"Sometimes I do too."
I tip the vial. A perfectly steady stream of blood pours out. Himiko sits completely still. I grab her plate and drizzle a generous amount over the meat, then over the salad. Then I do the exact same thing to my own plate.
"There."
Silence.
"Constantine."
"Yeah?"
"That was the most deeply disturbing thing I've seen all year."
"Technically, the year just started."
"It still counts."
She stares at the plate. Then at the blood. Then at me. Then back at the plate.
"You're insane."
"Possibly."
"Definitely."
"Also an option."
For a few seconds, she seems to glitch, unsure of how to process the situation. Then, she takes a bite. Then another. And another.
Before I know it, she’s devouring her food. No hesitation, no shame, no pretending she doesn't love it. A genuine smile tugs at my lips. Because for the first time since she stepped into the clearing tonight... she looks alive. Not happy—not yet—but alive.
And honestly? For tonight, that is more than enough.
We keep eating, and eating, and eating. I honestly didn't know a human body could hold this much food without exploding, but then I remember I spent half the day abusing [Slow Down] and topped it off with [Combat Mode]. My metabolism is probably trying to digest my own internal organs right now, which explains why I'm tearing through a rack of ribs like a wild animal.
Himiko isn't doing much better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it. The only difference is she actually tries to maintain some dignity for about five seconds before giving up and attacking her plate with the ferocity of a stray.
"So..." She swallows a piece of picanha. "Does this always happen to you?"
"What?"
"Weird things."
I stop to think about it. I think of the gacha system, the magic sword, the giant shark, the thief cats, the landfill, my death, the reincarnation, the infinite blood vial.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
She glares at me. "Liar."
"Maybe."
"Huge liar."
"Guilty."
She shakes her head, but there's a shift in her eyes now. The hollow look is gone. It hasn't been replaced by joy—there’s still pain there, a lot of it, and plenty of fear—but now there's curiosity. And curiosity is good. Curiosity means she still wants to find out what comes next.
I finish my third plate. Or fourth. Honestly, I lost count. The fat on the meat has cooled a bit more than I’d like, but it’s still far from solidifying. I attack the salads, the chimichurri, and the vinaigrette like they’re about to sprout legs and run away. I clear everything. No mercy, no dignity, not even a single chicken bone left unbroken. I need the protein. I need the fat. I need the calories.
Using [Slow Down] for that long is absolutely destroying me. I can feel my bones aching, my joints protesting, my brain practically begging for a hard reset after the sensory overload. I'm probably going to need weeks of doing absolutely nothing just to recover. What a hell of a twenty-four hours.
My vision is starting to act up again, and that persistent red tint is not a good sign. It's never a good sign.
"Constantine."
"Hm?"
"Your nose is bleeding."
"Oh."
I wipe it with the back of my hand. Sure enough, it comes away smeared in red.
"That looks bad."
"It probably is."
"You should go to a hospital."
"I live in a landfill."
"Fair point."
"Plus, I don't have health insurance."
"You're a child."
"Exactly."
"That makes no sense."
"Welcome to my life."
She sighs. I sigh. We both keep eating.
After a few minutes, I realize I’m losing the battle against exhaustion. My eyelids feel like lead, my head throbs, and my entire body aches down to my teeth.
"Right." I set my plate down. "Time for the next boss fight."
"What boss fight?"
"A shower."
Himiko freezes instantly. "No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Himiko."
"No."
I cross my arms. She crosses hers. We lock eyes. A high-stakes diplomatic standoff.
"You're covered in blood."
"So are you."
"I have an excuse."
"So do I."
"Yours is worse."
"Still an excuse."
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open them again. "Himiko."
"No."
"Hime-chan."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"I'm literally begging you. I am too tired to argue."
"Your problem."
"Fair."
We sit in silence. Then, a horrible idea sparks in my head. An absolutely terrible, intrusive thought that should never, under any circumstances, be muttered aloud. Unfortunately, my filter evaporated about three hours ago.
"Then let's take a shower together."
...Silence. Absolute, deafening, complete silence.
Himiko’s face turns bright, atomic red.
"Y-YOU WHAT?!"
"Ah." I blink. "Did I say that out loud?"
"YOU IDIOT!"
She smacks my shoulder. Normally, I wouldn't even feel it, but in my current state, I’m pretty sure my soul briefly leaves my body.
"OW!"
"Pervert!"
"That's not what I meant!"
"That is exactly what you said!"
"Also fair!"
She stays red. I stay dying inside. The cats watch us, their eyes filled with pure, unadulterated judgment. And honestly? I can't even blame them.
"Go take a shower."
"Hmph."
"Please."
"Hmph."
"I'll get some clean clothes ready for you."
"Hmph."
"Is that a yes?"
"Maybe."
A victory. A tiny, pathetic victory, but I will take whatever I can get right now. It wasn't because my argument was better, but because Himiko finally realizes she is simply too exhausted to keep fighting.
"I hate you."
"I like you too."
"That wasn't even an answer."
"I know."
She rolls her eyes, which is honestly a fantastic sign. Emotionally destroyed people don't roll their eyes; they usually cry or stab someone. We've already checked both of those boxes today, so I’m calling this progress.
I put out the remaining embers of the grill, check the fire pit, and quickly tidy up the area on autopilot. My critical thinking capacity died somewhere during my attempt to stop a traumatized teenager from turning me into a human pincushion.
"Himiko."
"Hm?"
"When you get into the bathroom, there'll be clean clothes by the door."
"Yours?"
"Yeah."
"They're going to be huge on me."
"You're tiny."
"So are you."
"I am offensively tall for my age."
"Fair."
I take her hand. "Come on."
We walk toward my house. Or container. Or seaside palace, depending on how deluded you are. The cats head in first, strutting like they own the place. I just pay the rent.
I open the door, flick on the lights, and am instantly greeted by half a dozen felines demanding attention.
"Traitors."
None of them show a shred of remorse. Himiko watches them, a flicker of genuine amusement touches her face. Small, but real.
"They like me better."
"Lies."
"Truth."
"I feed them."
"I'm prettier."
"Valid argument."
She blushes. I grin. She tries to hide it and fails miserably.
I lead her to the bathroom. "You first." I grab a loose shirt, a fresh pair of boxers, and a compression top I accidentally bought in the wrong size months ago. "Here."
She takes the clothes, staring at them for a few seconds. "Thank you." Her voice is quiet, almost shy and insecure, like she’s still learning how to accept kindness. It hurts more than it should.
"Don't mention it."
She stands there, not moving.
"Himiko."
"Hm?"
"Shower."
"Oh."
"Shower."
"Right."
"Shower."
"I get it!" She finally slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I let out a long, heavy sigh. Then, I immediately point at a group of cats. "You guys."
They stare back at me.
"Sentry duty."
"Meow."
"Yes, I know she won't run."
"Meow."
"I hope so too."
"Meow."
"Don't give me that look."
"Meow."
"I hate all of you."
They completely ignore my opinion, as always.
As the sound of running water starts behind the door, I slide down and lean my back against the wall. For the first time tonight, I let the exhaustion fully catch up to me. My nose is still trickling blood, my head aches, and my entire body feels like it got run over by a semi-truck. Twice. Maybe three times.
While she showers, I keep a few cats on watch. I am not losing track of her again. No way in hell.
"Put your dirty clothes in the hamper by the sink!" I call out. "And don't ask why they'll magically show up clean tomorrow. For the sake of your own sanity, just trust me."
"When you're done, go to the bedroom at the end of the hall. I'll be in the living room."
A few minutes later, she steps out. She’s wearing the clothes I left, minus the compression shirt.
"If you want, you can cut that one up and turn it into a crop top," I offer with a weak smile. "Or not. Up to you."
I'm smiling because she’s alive. Because she ate. Because she accepted help. She’s still here.
I look up, and I almost don't recognize the person walking out of the bathroom. Her hair is clean—still messy, but clean. The blood is gone, the dirt is gone. The oversized clothes are obviously way too big, but they work. For a brief second, I can see what Himiko is supposed to look like. A normal girl. Not a fugitive, not a survivor, not someone on the brink of collapse. Just a girl.
She notices me staring and instantly looks uncomfortable. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"Maybe."
"Constantine."
"You look better."
She stops, freezing for a few seconds before looking away. "Oh."
Just "oh." But something in her expression softens, as if those words carried more weight than they should have. Like no one had said that to her in a very long time. Maybe ever.
"Go get some rest."
"What about you?"
"My turn."
"You look horrible."
"I look amazing."
"You look like a corpse."
"An amazing corpse."
She rolls her eyes again. Perfect. Definitely progress.
I head into the bathroom, because if I don't wash up now, there is a very real chance I’ll just collapse on the floor and become a permanent hallway fixture. I've had enough excitement for one night.
The shower almost kills me. Not metaphorically—literally.
I get in, close the door, turn on the water, and just stare at it for a few seconds, trying to remember what I came in here to do. My brain feels like mush, probably because I pushed [Decelerate] to limits that are definitely not medically recommended. Assuming there even is a recommended limit, which I highly doubt.
I strip, step under the hot stream, and almost collapse.
"Fuck..."
I prop my hand against the wall. My nose starts bleeding again. My vision goes dark for a few seconds. [Combat Mode] is gone; there is no adrenaline left, no dopamine, no nothing. Just raw exhaustion, pain, and the feeling of my body forcefully cashing the check for that entire fight.
I wash away the blood, the sand, the dirt, the soot. I wash my neck, tracing the bite marks. And for some reason, I smile. I should probably be bothered by this, but I'm not. Maybe because she stayed. Maybe because I'm just an idiot.
I finish in record time, not out of efficiency, but because I’m terrified of passing out standing up. I change into some light sweatpants and a loose shirt and walk out.
The cats are all watching me. Every single one of them. At the exact same time.
"No."
"Meow."
"I'm not dying."
"Meow."
"I'm great."
"Meow."
"Stop judging me."
They keep judging me. Ungrateful freeloaders.
I trudge down the hallway, wrapped in a blanket of pure exhaustion, pain, and regret. Lots of regret. Even so, I manage to reach the bedroom. I open the door and freeze.
Himiko is sitting on the bed. Motionless. Staring into nothingness, like she completely shut down the second she was left alone. My chest tightens. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her eyes lost in some far-off distance.
I walk over slowly. "Himiko."
No response.
"Hime-chan."
She blinks, like she’s pulling herself back from a different universe. Her golden eyes find mine.
"You came back."
The words are simple, but they hit me like a physical blow. She sounds surprised, like she honestly expected me to leave her behind.
"I told you I would."
She stays quiet, lowering her head. "People lie."
...Damn. That hurts. It hurts a lot. Because there's no clever comeback for that. No motivational quote, no pretty speech.
So I do the only thing I can. I sit down right next to her.
"Yeah."
She looks up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Just 'yeah'?"
"Just 'yeah'."
She stares at me, confused.
"People lie," I continue quietly. "People abandon you. People let you down. I'm not going to pretend they don't."
Her fingers tighten against the fabric of her shirt. "Then why..."
"Because I'm not them."
A long, heavy silence fills the room. She keeps watching me, trying to decide if she can believe me. Trying to decide if it's worth the risk of believing again. And honestly? I can't blame her.
I gently peel back the bandage on her hand. I check the cut, clean it with alcohol, then some iodine, and re-dress it with quick, practiced efficiency. The [Hero's Bandage] does most of the heavy lifting anyway.
"Himiko..." I call softly.
She looks up, her eyes still distant but holding a faint spark of life.
I slide closer and open my arms. "Come here."
She freezes. "What?"
"You heard me."
"This is weird."
"Very."
"Extremely weird."
"Agreed."
"You ask for a lot of hugs."
"You tried to stab me."
"Fair."
She hesitates for several long seconds. Then, slowly, she inches closer. A few centimeters. Then a few more. Until she finally presses against me—and completely unravels.
It’s like a dam bursting. Her arms wrap around me with terrifying strength, holding onto me like I might fade into thin air, like she needs to physically prove to herself that I’m still here.
I hug her back, saying nothing. There's nothing to say. Not everything has to be solved tonight. Not every trauma vanishes with a single conversation. Not every wound heals at once. Some things take time, and that's okay.
After a few minutes, I feel her breathing slow. Her shoulders relax, the tension draining from her body. Exhaustion, finally.
I lean my head back against the pillow. She’s still clutching my shirt like a particularly possessive cat.
"Himiko."
"Hm..." Her voice is already thick with sleep.
"Sleep."
"Will you be here when I wake up?"
My heart breaks all over again. "I will."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
She falls silent. A few seconds later, a quiet "Okay" slips out.
Slowly, her eyes close. Her breathing evens out, turning soft and steady. She drifts off first.
Silent tears start tracking down her face. No screaming, no sobbing. Just tears—the kind that flow when a person has already cried out everything they had left inside.
With the last of my strength, I shimmy down the bed, pulling her along with me. I end up lying with my back to the wall, Himiko curled up right beside me. I keep my arm around her. Apparently, hugging has become my universal solution to every single crisis over the last twelve hours.
My voice is barely a low, slurred murmur. "Sleep, Himiko."
She doesn't answer.
"When you wake up, you'll still be here." I pull her slightly closer. "In this safe place."
I close my eyes.
"And I swear I'll still be right here beside you."
And then, my body simply gives up. The adrenaline runs out. My energy vanishes. My consciousness snaps.
After that, there is nothing. No pain, no thoughts, no worries. Just a deep, heavy dark, a full stomach, and the warmth of someone sleeping beside me.
And right before I slip entirely into the realm of Hypnos, I send one last silent prayer into the void.
Please...
When I wake up...
Let her still be here.