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For hundreds, maybe thousands of years, Chouji’s lived his way. He does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, with whoever he wants.
His left hook alone, a challenge, as if anyone would stop him. The one person capable simply observes from his side. Slow and reliable, Kame-chan collects their thralls, maintains their Den, and Chouji gets to lead his family his way. Free. The perfect immortal life.
Apart from one, solitary smudge. Ume-chan.
Chouji’s legs dangle from the rooftop, eyes scanning the darkened skyline with a long, dramatic sigh. He’s been on his mind too much lately, especially tonight, pale moonlight casting frustrating blue shadows across his memory.
'The one that got away' doesn’t even start to cover it. A perfect man, perfect blood, but an imperfect lifespan; and mortality was a problem even Kame-chan couldn’t solve.
Instead, Chouji lives forever in a world full of disposable humans; they give their blood, steal his heart, then fuckin—
Still, three-hundred years later, Chouji’s sure: he’ll only be completely happy when Ume-chan belongs to him again. "Even necromancers have limits."
A nearby alley shudders.
The air thickens, and across the foggy concrete, a shadow forms. Chouji squints, leans, and when he blinks again, a figure emerges. Imposing, confident in their stride. Hair, shock-white, cloaked in an unmistakable teal aura.
Familiar—but impossible. Besides, corpses aren't usually this hot.
More Keel bait, maybe. Another blood-starved hallucination -or maybe he's just losing his mind . But something calls that he can’t ignore.
Chouji’s sneaker squeaks against the neon sign beneath his feet, and he jumps; from the roof, to the fence, landing face-to-face with the past.
“Long time, Chouji.”
His chest burns.
“...Ume-chan?”
He smiles, as bright as before, then presents his neck. Unscathed. Inviting.
Questions can wait.
Chouji lunges forward and sinks his teeth.