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The first thing Gundham Tanaka noticed was the way Kazuichi Souda never seemed to leave.
Not physically, of course, because the mechanic had always been loud and obvious in his presence, pacing about with grease on his hands and nerves in his voice, but rather in a quieter, more insidious way that lingered long after their arguments ended. Even in the stillness of the night, when the island fell silent and the Four Dark Devas of Destruction rested curled in gentle slumber, Gundham would find his thoughts straying to the exasperating mortal who dared challenge him at every turn.
It was illogical.
Kazuichi Souda was, by all accounts, an irritant. A being of chaos and clumsy intellect, always shouting about machinery and panicking at the slightest disturbance. Their conversations, if they could even be called that, were more akin to clashes of opposing forces, Gundham’s dramatic proclamations meeting Souda’s frantic protests in a storm of mutual annoyance.
And yet.
And yet there was something else.
It revealed itself in the smallest of moments, the kind Gundham would never willingly acknowledge aloud. Like the way Souda’s hands moved with surprising care when fixing something broken, fingers steady despite his usual jittery demeanor. Or how his voice, when not raised in panic, carried a warmth that felt almost… inviting.
Gundham scowled at the thought, pulling his scarf tighter around himself as though it could shield him from such weakness.
“Foolishness,” he muttered into the night. “I, Gundham Tanaka, Supreme Overlord of Ice, shall not be swayed by the trivialities of mortal charm.”
One of the Devas squeaked softly, as if in disagreement.
The next day, the inevitable happened.
“Hey, Tanaka!” Souda’s voice cut through the air like an unrefined blade, loud and unmistakable. “Quit hogging the good tools, man, I need that wrench!”
Gundham turned slowly, crimson eye gleaming with theatrical disdain. “Silence, wretched artisan. You stand before a being whose dominion transcends your petty creations.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever that means,” Souda shot back, though there was less bite in his voice than usual. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of grease behind. “Just hand it over already.”
Gundham should have refused. It would have been the natural order of things. They would argue, voices rising, perhaps attracting the attention of others, and then part ways with mutual irritation.
Instead, after a brief and entirely inexplicable pause, he stepped forward and placed the wrench into Souda’s outstretched hand.
Their fingers brushed.
It was fleeting. Barely a moment.
But something unfamiliar sparked beneath Gundham’s skin, sharp and electric, leaving him uncharacteristically still.
Souda blinked, equally caught off guard. “Uh… thanks?”
Gundham recoiled as if burned, cloak swirling dramatically as he turned away. “Do not mistake my actions for kindness, mortal. Consider it a fleeting mercy granted by one far beyond your comprehension.”
“Right,” Souda said, though his voice had softened. “Still… thanks.”
Gundham did not respond. He could not.
That strange feeling followed him again, lingering in his chest like an unanswered question.
Days passed, and the pattern repeated in subtle ways.
Souda began seeking him out more often, though he disguised it poorly, pretending it was always about something practical. A broken device. A missing tool. An excuse, thinly veiled and entirely transparent.
Gundham, despite himself, never turned him away.
Their conversations remained sharp at the edges, filled with bickering and dramatic insults, but something beneath them had shifted. There were pauses now, moments where neither spoke, where the air between them felt heavier, charged with something neither fully understood.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of gold and violet, Gundham found Souda sitting alone by the beach, absentmindedly turning a small piece of metal in his hands.
“You appear uncharacteristically subdued,” Gundham observed, approaching with measured steps.
Souda glanced up, startled, before letting out a small laugh. “What, I’m not allowed to chill for once?”
“Your usual state of being suggests otherwise.”
“Yeah, well…” Souda hesitated, then shrugged. “Just thinking, I guess.”
Gundham crossed his arms, gaze fixed on the horizon. “A dangerous pastime for one such as you.”
“Hey, rude,” Souda muttered, though there was no real offense in his tone.
Silence settled between them, but it was not uncomfortable.
After a moment, Souda spoke again, quieter this time. “You ever feel like… something’s different, but you don’t know why?”
Gundham stiffened.
The words struck too close to the truth, echoing the very thoughts he had tried to suppress.
“I am not bound by such trivial uncertainties,” he replied, though the conviction in his voice wavered just slightly.
Souda hummed, unconvinced. “Yeah… figured you’d say something like that.”
Another pause.
Then, without thinking, Gundham spoke.
“And yet… there are forces beyond even my understanding. Shifts in the unseen currents of fate that defy explanation.”
Souda blinked, surprised. “Whoa, that’s… kinda deep.”
Gundham turned away, as if the admission itself was a vulnerability he could not afford.
The ocean breeze carried a quiet warmth, and for reasons he could not name, Gundham did not leave.
Souda leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. “You’re weird, you know that?”
“And you are insufferable.”
Souda grinned. “Guess we’re stuck with each other then, huh?”
Gundham should have objected.
He should have rejected the notion entirely.
Instead, he allowed the faintest pause before responding, voice softer than before.
“…Perhaps.”
The word lingered between them, fragile and uncertain, yet filled with something undeniably real.
And for once, Gundham Tanaka did not attempt to understand it.