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At least tell me that some part of it was real.
Every bone in Kiriko’s body ached despite their long, unmoving stay on her bed. Crying is so exhausting. She’d been stuck like this for hours now: twitching with every tear that was shed, face down in her bed, struggling to keep her breathing steady. There was too much going on in her head for her to think clearly about anything. A soft breeze had drifted through her open window on occasion, rustling her curtains and bringing brief respite to her burning hot skin.
Her head throbbed so badly that even her usual trick of shoving her fingers into her eyes had done nothing, only made them water even more. She feared what she would be faced with when she gathered the strength to raise her heavy body and look into the mirror. She feared everything. It felt as though her entire reality was under attack. Horror, devastation, rage. They all rumbled inside her chest, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.
Mizuki.
It still didn’t feel real. The silence that had followed Ryōta revealing that he’d tailed Mizuki last night, right into a Hashimoto stronghold where he’d been accepted with seemingly open arms still seemed to hum in her ears. Everything had been a lie. Everything. Her heart pounded in her ears still, drowning out the regular sounds of the night.
There’d been suspicions. Of course there had, there had been with every new member. But Mizuki’s semi-frequent disappearances, his constant paranoia, his intimate knowledge of the Hashimoto. The rest of the Yōkai had been far more inclined to start to piece it together than she had. Because she trusted him. She had wanted so desperately to believe in him.
We were friends, right?
And it had all been a lie. He had looked point blank into her eyes and affirmed that she could trust him, that he was worthy. He had fought alongside her, throwing one-liners that made her laugh harder than any others. He had been in her home, he had clung frightened to her as she raced them along mountain roads on a motorbike. For that to all be a lie… Kiriko found she had no words. There was nothing she could do but cry.
The Hashimoto had tormented Kanezaka for years, handing out daily beatings, extortions and murder. Their drug trade had destroyed the lives of countless teenagers within her social reach. At least the Shimada had the decency to not advertise their illegal dealings to the young and impressionable populace. And he worked for them.
Stupid, idiotic, fuckboy Mizuki.
Kiriko pounded her fist into her mattress, feeling as the vibrations thrummed throughout. She could quite happily kill him, right now. And realistically, she knew that was the most likely outcome. One of them would meet their end at the other’s hand. A clock was now ticking, ringing in her head like a metronome. Slowly, she pulled her upper body off her bed, forcing her back to hold her. It felt like moving a building. The mirror across from her bed showed her face, true and clear. Bright red, covered with tears, eyes swollen and bloodshot. Just let the anger do its job
Could there be another way out of this for them? She was desperate for it. Maybe it was all just a misunderstanding… But she knew in her heart that it was just as she saw it: betrayal. He had willingly put all of the Yōkai in danger. To him, this would surely have just been another mission, another task, something to keep the Hashimoto elders from breathing down his neck. Mizuki never cared. Is Mizuki even his real name?
Tears leaked out of Kiriko’s eyes again, and she was unable to stop the loud sob that erupted from her mouth. They had her father, they blackmailed her mother. All she should be feeling now was hatred, so why was she so heartbroken? Staring at herself in the mirror, she slowly touched her arms. Arms that had wrapped around him and led to her knees going weak whenever he’d reciprocated her hugs. He was evil, she was sure of it. And he’d had her hook line and sinker. This couldn’t be her reality, could it? Wasn’t she just in the throes of a nightmare, and she’d soon wake up to a message on her phone asking if she’d like to go get coffee?
A long, weary sigh whistled through her lips, and she reached for the omamori laying on her bedside table. No matter how many times she’d told him that they were a scam, Mizuki had insisted on buying good luck amulets every week, and last week had finally gifted her with her own. It felt unusually heavy in her hands now, and she held the string taut. They were supposed to work for him.
The string snapped, tension releasing. With it, Kiriko's shoulders sagged dramatically and a loud sob escaped her.
She should really stop being such a baby, shouldn't she? This was a problem. Problems could be fixed. The Hashimoto were a problem that she was in the middle of fixing. Her eyes travelled along the wall, down to her dresser where three kunai lay in wait. Shiny, sharpened, silent.
Kiriko closed her eyes. She couldn't.
She wasn't a killer.
But isn't he?
Maybe not physically, but he had most definitely contributed to deaths. Her hands clenched painfully tight, her nails digging so hard into her palms that she could feel the skin tear.
“Mizuki…” She whispered. His name had left her lips in that way many times before. When she was lonely at night, wanting nothing more than a friendly face to talk to. When her face was buried in her pillow, hand underneath, and nothing else would come to her mind. When they would catch each other's eyes for the briefest of moments, and a spark would fly between them.
God… She loved him, didn’t she?
Hanzo had apparently been right, after all; love would only hurt. Her jaw clenched tightly. The tears that fell down her cheeks now were hot, burning with a rage she hadn’t felt since her father was taken. She paused briefly at the thought of him - could Mizuki be an in? The thought flickered in her head before she shut it down. Mizuki probably didn’t even know his name.
Hate hummed surprisingly soothingly in Kiriko’s chest, her nerves beginning to calm and steel into something far more formidable than she’d ever thought possible. Her feelings about Mizuki - the man, not the revelation - didn’t matter now. There was a problem to fix, and it’d be up to her, surely? She was the one that had welcomed him with open arms.
She scarcely allowed her hands to shake as she lifted the kunai, eyes narrowed. At least, she reasoned, they had some happy times together. She only hoped that they would not be spoiled by the action she was about to take.