Chapter Text
April 30th, 2012
Lowtown, Kitaibaraki, Japan
All Kobayashi Mio had ever wanted was to be a teacher.
It had started when she was just a child; growing up the daughter of a poor fisherman, with no mother and five brothers who were less than stellar examples of upstanding siblings, she’d seen dozens of children in situations similar to her own. Broke, unable to afford a proper education. They’d resorted to self-teaching, scrounging books from the bins in the heart of Kitaibaraki, and spending their days on the docks near the Otsu Port. But Mio’s brothers had been heartless, scoffers, telling her it was a wasted venture. They’d passed whispers of their urusai imouto to the men they fished with, and soon the word spread of Kobayashi Mio and her love of learning.
It had the opposite effect her brothers had intended.
Fishwives began to bring their children around to the docks. It was an innocent affair at first, tossing stones into the water while their round-eyed, curious offspring crowded around Mio, petting her silky dark hair and eliciting laughter from her. Laughter was Mio’s greatest strength, a deep, rich sound that rolled like the waves. Gradually, some mothers came less, and sent their children with their neighbors.
And then, all of a sudden, it was just Mio and a dozen children, all younger than her. Fresh ears who had never heard the books.
She taught them, every day, as they grew up. And kept it a secret, from her father with his tired eyes, withdrawn forever to the sadness of his wife dying in childbirth with Mio, and from her brothers, scornful mockers who saw more of a use in cigarettes and ogling women in the street than they did in any education at all.
When she was twenty, Mio announced that she was leaving the small seaside shack that had been her family’s home for decades. She would not marry a poor fisherman and resign herself to the lifestyle; she was going to become a teacher.
It was the first time her family ever acted out in violence against her.
It started with her older brother, Kabuto; he caught her on her way to the docks the following morning, before the fishermen cast off for sea. Grabbed her by her beautiful hair, and dragged her behind the house, where her other brothers and a group of deckhands were waiting.
They gave her a beating, both inside and out, that was so brutal she vomited. And then they mashed her face into the dirt and called her a baita and a fishwife and said she would never leave these docks, not ever. She wasn’t smart enough, was a poor-man’s wench and always would be.
They left her there, in her tattered clothes and her tears. But she dragged herself to her feet, and cleaned herself up, and walked five miles into the heart of Kitaibaraki. And she never looked back.
Until now.
The street was dark, but bright lights above and behind her reflected off of cobblestones and iridescent puddles. Mio walked with her head down, her long hair framing her face in a sheltering curtain. Her arms hugged her peacoat tightly around her, and she fought back the tears.
Everything. After everything, she’d thought perhaps she’d be able to catch a break. But it had just come down to this. She was a whole new animal now, a special breed of monster. Her mother would’ve disowned her; her father, if he was even still alive, would’ve been stricken to his grave.
By what she’d become.
“Mio, love.” Beside her, a gangly man with dark hair and glasses. He tried to tug her arms from around her body. “What’s bothering you?”
“Leave me alone, Shiro!” She snapped, twisting away. “I’m all right!”
“You don’t look all right!” Shiro’s retort was harsh and immediate, but he didn’t reach for her again. He’d learned years ago, when they’d first started dating, just how much Mio feared being touched in any sort of anger. Just one more lesson her brothers had taught her, with a vengeance.
They splashed through deep puddles at a crossroads, and Mio glanced down the adjacent street. Her heart skipped and plunked into her ankles when she saw the dark-suited man on the sidewalk at the far end, striding along with his hat brim angled down. His shoulders were hunched; and here in the derelict part of town it was difficult to see, but Mio could feel his eyes on her. Hot and hungry and impatient.
She rubbed her hand almost subconsciously along the side of her neck.
“Mio, please.” Shiro said, his tone placating. “What’s going on?”
“Not now, Shiro.” Mio looked down the next road as they passed it, and the man was still there, keeping perfect time with them. Matching them almost stride-for stride.
Mio could feel her heartbeat in her wrists, her eyes moving up to Shiro. They’d been together for a long time, and she always waited through the monthly business trips that took him away, and missed him while he was gone; but did she love Yoshido Shiro? Would she be willing to trade him for—?
Her mind rebelled instantly; but a smaller part of her, an insatiable, hungry part, was screaming yes. She’d give anything, would do anything.
“Is this about the job interview?” Shiro pulled gently on her wrist, and out of sheer guilt Mio let him, and let him take her hand. “Because I know you’ll be fine. You’re brilliant, they can’t refuse you.”
Who couldn’t refuse? Mio rubbed her neck again.
“I’m just not feeling well, Shiro.” Mio said, eyes darting down the next sidestreet. When she didn’t catch sight of the man again, the relief almost made her lightheaded. “I haven’t been sleeping well, and I—” Again, her hand flew to her neck, almost as though it had a will of his own. And Shiro reached carefully around her, making no sudden movements, covering her hand with his.
“May I see?” He asked, politely, and the panic started all over again.
Everything. Everything was falling apart. Maybe her brothers had been right; she wasn’t cut out for this. After all, she couldn’t secure a simple teaching position at a small school without offering favors to the Chairman of the Board. And now he was following her, and demanding that she leave Shiro, and become some sort of mistress to him.
And she hated herself for not being able to say an outright and vehement no.
Shiro’s stride faltered, suddenly, stopping them both ankles-deep in a puddle. Mio scrunched her nose, disgusted, and tried to step forward. But Shiro was still gripping both of her hands, too tightly; and his nose was up, like a dog scenting the wind.
“Shiro?” Mio tried to tug her hand free; and his fingers curled over hers, tighter than claws, making her jump, and shriek: “Shiro! You’re hurting me!”
“Quiet!” He hissed, and the panic bubbled in her chest; she looked down the street, at the apartment building a block away, shining its welcoming lights out toward them. If she broke free, could she outrun him there?
She tightened her arm to shove him off, but in that same second the spell of silence snapped; he grabbed her upper arm, across the front of her body, and spun her around. Keeping his vice-tight grip on her hand, he started to run.
It was a wild, headlong dash back down the soaking alley, their feet kicking up muddy sprays of water with every other strep. Mio’s lungs were burning in seconds from the wardrum, uneven cadence of her feet sleeping the ground.
“Shiro!” She gasped. “Shiro, wait, what’s going on?”
“It’s coming!” He howled back. “It’s coming!”
Mio looked wildly over her shoulder, but saw nothing. Her fear for herself turned to worry for Shiro; had he snapped? Had he been poisoned, had something been done to him? She wanted to plant her feet, anchor herself, force him to stop and explain this, but they were running too fast, she couldn’t stop without falling on her face.
Shiro fled around a corner in the alley, farther from civilization then they’d been before, the lights barely reaching them—and slammed to a stop, pulling her up short behind him.
There was a brick wall in front of them, several stories high, impossibly slippery, impossible to scale.
Shiro pulled Mio around, and pushed her gently behind him.
Nothing happened, other than the fall of a fine, misting rain. Mio blinked, eyes squinting, yanking her peacoat tight around her body again; she didn’t like this, being trapped in this narrow hall of a backstreet with Shiro acting so strangely.
Overhead, thunder groused through the clouds.
And Shiro let out an inhuman hiss, his eyes flashing bright, his immaculate teeth elongating, growing sharp like fine-tipped daggers. A vicious snarl cut loose from his throat and he hunched over, his shoulders rising into hackles.
Mio’s heartbeats stuttered in her chest. “Shiro?”
The growl dissolved into a whimper.
And he burst, showering blood across the alley, spraying gore and brainmatter and bright streaks of scarlet on Mio’s front. She screamed, a piercing, petrified sound, and turned to run.
She wasn’t sure if she hit something—something that couldn’t be, there, in front of her, because the mouth of the alley was still clear—or if she was shoved. But one way or another she was on her back, and then half-up, crab-crawling backwards until her shoulders hit the brick wall behind her.
And there was nothing there.
Nothing, but an icy feeling moving between her shoulder blades, and an unpleasant burning taste on the back of her tongue.
The last thought in her mind was that these things only happened in the city; and that she should have stayed at the docks after all.
Her last thought.
Before she exploded into nothingness.