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Chapter Text

He finds the king in his room in the tower, watching the storm. The king must have just woken, as he is dressed only in the pants of his standard white gi. He is half sitting up, one leg dangling over the edge of the bed, his pose languid, his back to the door and his gaze directed towards the window. Long white curtains billow, wraith-like, dancing with the force of the gales outside. The fabric and the light cast a mix of flickering shadows throughout the room, wandering, indecisive ghosts.

It's hardly the most ferocious tempest they've ever seen, but the display is spectacular even by Makai standards. Brilliant energy crackles in the air, raking the sky like claws and breaking it open a hundred times over.

He remembers the king commented once that he wasn't a big fan of thunderstorms. Not scared, just not a big fan. If it had been anyone else, it would have sounded like an excuse.

He stops in the doorway and bows, even though the king doesn't like it and can't see it.

"My Lord," he says, making his presence formal. He knows the term irritates the king, but it is tolerated. He, on the other hand, prefers the proper protocol. And he'll be damned if the king gets his way all the time.

And sometimes, anyways, he's humoured for it.

"Hey," the king replies, not telling him off for the formality, not turning around, only nodding his head slightly. He must be in a contemplative mood.

He enters the king's chamber, crossing the distance to the bed. He walks around it to stand at his lord's side, facing the window. He glances down and sees the king is still watching the storm intently. His dark hair is mussed, black bangs falling into his eyes. It is a fairly short hairstyle; the king insists on it. I feel like I don't recognize myself otherwise, the king said once.

He makes a mental note that it is getting a bit longer in the back again, a bit of a tail at the nape of his neck. Another trim will need to be scheduled soon.

Every few seconds the king's features are bathed in blinding light. His eyes are nearly as intense as the storm. He barely blinks, and when he does it is calm and slow, disassociated from the flashes of lightning or the rolling thunder. His face is very young.

The king is still very young, not even several hundred years old. He can see the scars across his lord's upper body, most from long ago when the king possessed only a fraction of the power he has today.

The most prominent of the scars are on his shoulders, one on either side. On his right, deep ridges of a sharp fanged bite, a legacy of the old king. On his left, ragged skin near the collarbone traces the path of a supernatural arrow, a mark that goes all the way through to the other side. And on the king's chest there are also a pair of small white stars, a memento of where he had once been pierced through to his very old, very human heart.

There are few new scars. Like all of the demon kings, he is near untouchable now.

Though technically none of them are kings - anymore, at least. They have not been for over a century. They are, rather, administrators of their territories. The legitimate leader of the realm, the emperor crowned every three years and recognized also by Reikai and Ningenkai, is the winner of the Unification Tournament.

But in truth, the Makai is too vast for any one person to hold absolute power. The emperor's influence and desired laws are enforced - some would say propped up - by the three most powerful kings who supported the Tournament from its earliest incarnation.

It is every winner's right to plunge the Makai back into chaos if they wish, but thus far the Tournament holds strong. Largely because most emperors to date agree with its sentiment - and likely because, if not, they would eventually have to answer to the three kings in some fashion. And as a few have discovered, waging a war is very different from a refereed one-on-one match.

In any case, three years is a blink of an eye for demons whose potential lifespans number in the thousands. It is a tantalizing, constantly dangling carrot. The agreement between the kings has provided continuity and stability conducive to a relative peace, a thing unthinkable only two centuries ago. This peace has opened doors to the human world, conversations with the spirit world, gradual migrations and blending - fulfilling the dream of a king no longer there to see it.

His old king.

"I had a dream," the king says, bringing him back to this storm and this room. He sounds as if he were just waking up.

"Yes," he replies. It is nothing more and nothing less than an acknowledgement of the statement.

They stand there, wordless, the silence punctuated only by the raging storm. It is always up to the king if he wishes to discuss something further.

He hears a shift and a creak as the king slowly sits up completely, bringing the other leg over the edge of the bed.

"Some things I haven't thought about in a long time," the king finally says.

He looks down at the king, and sees the fingers of his lord's right hand twist subtly at his side into the bedsheets, the absent-minded motion of putting out a ghost of a cigarette. It is a subconscious action that resurfaces every so often, uselessly; the king hasn't smoked in over a hundred years. His eyes, dim gold in the light, are focused on somewhere far away, lost in nostalgia.

"When I was working for Reikai ..." A faint smile crosses the king's lips. "Man, I was a dumbass back then."

He thinks of a bag full of precious stones that started it all, their echoes as they scatter to the ground in a waterfall of pebbles.

"You're still a dumbass sometimes, my Lord," he replies. "But I believe people appreciate that about you."

The king looks up at him sharply, then laughs. The laugh is quiet and amused.

"Yeah, well, give me credit for consistency," he says. "I never liked thinking."

The king's expression grows distant again. "Back then I thought I'd be dead -" he chuckles, "permanently - before I hit 20." He turns his head to look out at the storm once more, its wild light reflecting in - or perhaps simply reflecting - his eyes. "Not 200."

The king lifts one leg, bends it to rest his foot on the bed. He leans an arm against his knee and cups his chin in his palm, chews a little at his lower lip. "You know it's stupid but … the stuff around you, they seem like they'll be there forever. Like they couldn't be any other way. You don't notice 'till one day you wake up and realize, damn … so much time has gone by."

The king closes his eyes. "I can't believe all the things I'd forgotten." The storm continues to flicker across his face, across the room, enveloping them in flashes of brightness and shadow. "So many things have come and gone. So many people."

The king names no names. There is no need to; they've all been said before, once. And he remembers them.

"I will never go away," he says. The words are gentle and resolute. "Things will change, but that will not. I will accompany you to the ends of the earth."

He'd made a similar promise to the old king centuries ago. It had not been quite as dauntless. But the old king had never been human, and he never knew the old king this young.

The king lifts his head, peering up at him from under the long bangs. His arm slowly comes down to rest in his lap. His eyes are a soft amber. He doesn't blink.

A pause, and then the corner of the king's mouth curves up in a partial smile, a half-smirk. "Coming from anyone else, that would sound cheesy as hell. Or creepy."

He shrugs mildly, folds his arms behind his back. "I will consider that a compliment, my Lord," he says.

The king snorts. "Yeah, whatever. You should."

"I suppose it is a perk of serving you," he replies, dryly.

The king rolls his eyes, scratches his lower back with one hand. "Royal nag."

"No one else will remind you about your hair."

"Shut up."

The storm continues, unabated. The winds kick up, howling around the tower.

Chapter Text

He heard the scrabbling up the rocks behind him before the king's voice, boisterous as always, reached his ears.

"Yo, Hokushin!"

"Mm?" He started to turn before a "Stop!" halted him mid-motion.

"Close your eyes. I got something for ya."

Dutifully he closed his eyes. Dealing with the king was sometimes like dealing with a small, easily excited child. Not that he always minded. He put out his hand.

Something small, cool, and round dropped into his palm. He dipped his hand slightly, catching and rolling a pearl-like item between his fingers. It was smooth, but not quite; as he rubbed its surface, his skin caught slightly in tiny rough crevices.

"Pebble?" he guessed.

"Come on. Would I give you a pebble? Well, you're no Yomi. You can look now!"

He opened his eyes. The first thing he registered was the wide-eyed expression on his king's face, equal parts eager anticipation and mild mischievousness looking up at him. The hair, slightly messy (as usual, probably from running around and climbing on things), only added to the general impression of child, small, easily excited. The intricate battle god tattoos on his face, chest and exposed arms were about the only obvious reminders that this was one of the most powerful demons in all of Makai.

He smiled pleasantly at his king, and lifted the not-a-pebble to his face for inspection.

And blinked.

And laughed, shaking his head.

It was a marble.

A vandalised Rurimaru, to be exact, worth a thousand times its weight in gold. The chiselled characters of his own name stared back at him, a very square and blocky "North" followed by a remarkably precise "God".

He turned his hand, holding up the precious stone towards the other man. The stone shimmered from pale gold to pink to aqua as it caught the light.

"My lord," he said, emphasizing the tiny distance between his forefinger and thumb, "I was this close to wringing your neck that day."

"I know," his king said, grinning widely. "Good thing you didn't, 'cause my neck doesn't stretch like yours. And now you can remember that day forever. Gimme."

Before he could reply with I hardly think I could forget it, deft hands had snatched the stone back, out of his fingers. The king rummaged in his robes and after a while pulled something else out, grabbed his still-outstretched hand and turned it over, dropping a bundle into it.

There was a series of gentle clinks as fine chains settled in on themselves, nestling in his cupped palm.

He looked more closely at it. The chain was relatively short, so perhaps a bracelet. It looped around a tiny spherical cage, metal wrapping around a second rurimaru. This one was engraved with the king's name, the carvings confident, yet hasty and careless.

The king patted him on the chest. "The next time I do something crazy," he said, "and you're like, 'Fucking Yusuke, gonna kill him for real this time', you can look at that and remember everything turned out great."

He smiled. "I will look at it every day, my lord," he answered. The king laughed heartily, and turned to go.

Something gave him pause. "What are you doing with the other rurimaru?" he asked.

The king was already dashing off to the edge of the rocky hillside he had scrambled up moments earlier. The question didn't slow him down in any way, only made him half-glance over his shoulder. "I'm keepin' it," he replied, and waved flippantly without turning. "See ya later!" he called as he jumped off.

Chapter Text

The day is gorgeous, and the king has been griping for hours.

"Screw this," the king complains. He has already deemed this screwed for about the fifth time in as many minutes. He wipes his brow and tugs on the edge of his loose collar in a fanning motion as we walk. "It's freaking hotter than Big Sight in August with a bajillion sweaty people," he declares.

The blue phoenix keeping pace just a step behind us coos in sympathy. The king reaches over and scratches under his spirit beast's chin. Its eyes close into happy slits at the pleasurable sensation.

"You too, right?" the king says. He glances over at me. "Hokushin's the only one who doesn't look like he's being baked in a microwave. Even if he's wearing more layers than the two of us combined."

Baked in an oven, I correct him in my head, and the king would be far less heated than I if he did not constantly dash about everywhere. But I say neither of these things out loud. Not that I am concerned about talking back to the king. (That was never a fear with him, nor with his predecessor, unlike with many other rulers one could name.)

In truth, it really is quite hot, and I do not particularly fancy enduring a back and forth that would likely result in a headache.

"I believe there is a freshwater spring nearby," I say instead, and watch with quiet amusement as the king perks up.

It is my belief that the king possibly exemplifies the phrase more accurately and consistently than anyone else I have ever known. (And I have known, and continue to know, a great deal of people. Not a boast, but a simple matter of fact as I served as Raizen's right hand for several centuries even before serving his heir.) The king's back instantly straightens, his shoulders jerk down, his eyes light up - literally, his eyebrows shoot up, his irises glow a brighter hue - and I can easily visualize a pair of pointed ears standing, alert, then flicking excitedly. When the king is in full battle god state with a long, thick mane of hair, the top of his head is particularly unruly, resulting in animal ear-like tufts, so that perhaps helps my imagination.

"Where!" the king demands. Behind him, his spirit beast cocks its head, wide-eyed, long ears arched and pointed outward in opposite directions like a pair of antennae. I stifle a chuckle at the sight of the two of them.

When we arrive at the spring, the king is even more delighted. "Hey, it's bigger than I expected!" he exclaims.

I nod. "Yes, one could bathe in it."

"Don't mind if I do," he replies. "Here!" A blur, and then my vision is completely obscured by fabric, the king having removed and flung articles of clothing at a speed too great for most to process. There is an exuberant whoop, followed by a loud, graceless splash (probably from a demon cannonball, as he likes to call them), cursing (mostly in relation to the chilled temperature of the water), weighted stomping and flapping, a scream of "PUU, NO!", and then noisy squawking accompanied by more splashing.

I sigh and pull the king's pants off of my head. "If the water were any shallower, you would be lying there with a broken neck," I call after him.

"Whatever, mom," I hear the king cheerfully call back with his usual brand of humour. "Keep an eye out for assassins and pervs and stuff!" There are more insistent cooing sounds. "Puu, you dumbass, knock it off! You won't fit!"

I smile and shake my head. I stand guard at the side of the spring, the king's clothing draped over my arms, taking a moment to enjoy the crisp breezes over the cool water whenever they happen to make themselves known. After a while of this peace (the calm interrupted only periodically by splashing water, bird cries and idle swearing), I make my way slightly downstream. There I proceed to wash the king's robes in the water, wringing them out and hanging them on a taut vine, letting the bright Makai sun do its work.

I am tugging the vine, making sure nothing will snap or fly off and back into the stream, when I sense a new presence. It is a very mild one, and further downstream from me, but one must never lower their guard. I lift my head, scanning the area to locate the intruder, then move closer to assess.

It is a human boy - young, no more than a teenager. He is wandering around and clearly taking in the sights of an alien landscape, examining the lush Makai vegetation. He is making no attempt to hide himself, and has most certainly not noticed me. Tall for his age (taller than the king, who is not short per se, but is also hardly the most vertically gifted individual), lanky, and slightly awkward.

And - well, I am not entirely sure, having only met and come to know the man when he was much older, and it has been a long time, but-

I clear my throat when I am near. "Ahem," I say, not wishing to startle the human.

The boy jumps, then turns.

"Ah, s-sorry, mister," he says sheepishly. "I was just lookin' around. I've never been in the Makai before, so-"

"That is fine and well," I interrupt him. "These are public lands, human-friendly, and you are not in any sort of trouble. I simply wish to warn you that there is a buck-naked demon flailing in the water." I point over my shoulder in the general direction.

"Oh," says the boy, looking confused, then concerned mixed with bewilderment. His voice rises in both volume and pitch as he speaks. "Thank you? Wait, do they need help?"

"Yo, this tub is taken!" I hear the king holler. Vigorous splashing follows.

"We are fully aware," I call back, over my shoulder.

"There's not enough room for two people to cannonball!"

"No one is going to cannonball," I shout back again, growing exasperated in record time thanks to the heat.

Raucous squawking fills the air. "Gimme a sec and then you can jump!" the king is still yelling, clearly not hearing (or not listening) to a word I said.

I give up, and turn back to the boy to answer his original question. "No," I say.

"Uh, okay," replies the boy, uncertainly.

"'kay, I'm done!" the king yells at the same volume as before. "I'm comin' out!"

"Thank goodness," I mutter. The boy turns politely to face the opposite direction.

I see the spirit beast first, blocking the sight of the king behind it. It stops abruptly before puffing itself up, then shaking in a violent spiral like a giant feathered dog, waterdrops flying everywhere. There are howls of surprise and mock-rage, and then one blue wing is pushed up, the king emerging from behind the curtain of feathers, lightly smacking the side of his avian other half as he walks past. "You're a little shit sometimes, you know that?" the king grumbles good-naturedly. The phoenix chirps back happily.

I hold out the king's clothing, and find myself also holding my breath.

"Sorry," the boy is saying, still staring into the distance, "It's my family's first time in the Makai, so I kinda snuck off because I was just pretty excited to take a look around ..."

The king looks up and sees the human intruder for the first time.

He freezes.

It is only for a split second before his motion continues, nearly unbroken. The shift is too subtle and quick for most to detect, even for many in his service to notice, much less the human, if he had been facing us. I, of course, do notice, having accompanied the king for all these years.

The king takes the clothing I offer him, no further sign that anything is amiss. "Thanks," he says, briefly toweling off his hair with the robe, and begins to dress. "First time in the Makai, eh? You guys on a guided tour? Or did you 'splurge' on an all-inclusive?"

The boy partially turns, laughing, embarrassed, one hand behind his head. "Yeah, all-inclusive, there was a special and it was a lot cheaper. The resort was nice, but I got bored and- ah -uh," he breaks off, sputtering, gawking, doing a comedic double take as he sizes up the distinct appearance of the king and the unmistakable spirit beast. "Your tattoos!" His eyes lit up, and he jabs a finger at the spirit beast, and then at me. "And this is a blue phoenix! And you're a bald monk!"

The king, in the midst of slipping on his shoes, looks over his shoulder and throws me a look, an exaggerated are-you-kidding-me expression with one eyebrow raised.

The boy clutches the sides of his head excitedly, his eyes growing comically wide. "Are you King Urameshi?"

"No, I'm just a stunt double," says the king without missing a beat, his delivery completely deadpan.

"Oh," says the boy, arms dropping, immediately crestfallen. Every inch of him reads immense disappointment. "Darn. It woulda been a cool story to tell my family."

The king starts to snicker. I roll my eyes. Politely. (It's a skill I've mastered.)

"What?" says the human, confused. He looks from me to the blank-faced spirit beast to the amused king. His face turns slightly red. "Why're you laughin'? You makin' fun of me?"

The king laughs again, the open, friendly one that puts everyone at ease. He shakes his head. "Naw, I just thought your question was funny."

The boy considers. "Oh, yeah," the boy says, scratching the side of his face and chuckling self-effacingly. "Yeah, I guess it was a pretty dumb question. I mean, obviously the real king would be a lot taller."

The innocent statement combined with the expression on the king's face is too much. I burst out laughing.

The human is thoroughly confused at this point, and the king is glaring daggers at me now, but I am not particularly perturbed. He clearly brought this upon himself, and as beloved as the king is amongst his subjects, it is fairly safe to say seeing the king's pranks backfire on him every once in a while brings great entertainment to many, if not all, of us.

Of course, that said, it is unseemly to be laughing at the king. I cough, pat my chest, and compose myself.

"I beg your forgiveness for not making proper introductions," I say, bowing and reaching out to the boy, hand palm side up. Typically one should always introduce the other party to the king first, but seeing as we have already caused no end of confusion and embarrassment to the poor boy, I decide it is only appropriate to flip this around. "My name is Hokushin. I am accompanying the administrator of Territory 1, King Urameshi Yusuke."

The boy is slack jawed. He covers his mouth. "Oh shi- oh my god- I'm a moron- I'm so sorry- please don't blast me into a mountain-"

"Hey, don't worry," says the king. "You're not in trouble." He pointedly emphasizes the word "you're" and glowers at me at the same time. I smile pleasantly at the human and pretend not to notice.

"We are honoured to make your acquaintance," I continue. "May we be equally honoured to know your name?"

He introduces himself, still flustered and falling all over himself in his apologies, and we spend several more moments assuring him everything is okay. We - mostly the king - converse with him for a while, and he tells us about his family, his home, his interests, while the king answers a couple of questions about his escapades.

"Oh, crap," says the boy suddenly, remembering something. "I should really be gettin' back before everyone freaks out." He bows awkwardly, both arms straight at his sides. "It was so cool getting to meet you guys!" He dips his head again at the king apologetically. "Uh, sorry again about that. I really am a moron."

"It's all good," says the king. "Say hi to your folks for us." He looks thoughtful for a moment, then raises a finger. "Hold on one sec."

The boy pauses, and the king runs a hand over the spirit beast's side, stopping near its rump, and tugs. The phoenix screeches inelegantly.

"Oh, sorry, Puu," says the king. "Thought that one was already loose." The bird squints its eyes, shaking its head huffily in negation.

The king flicks the impressive plucked feather, deep blue streaked with gold, towards the human. The boy reaches out and grasps it bemusedly.

"If you're ever in the capital," says the king, "Drop by. If I'm around, I can give you a tour. If not, show that thing and one of the monks'll do it."

"Awesome!" the boy says enthusiastically, both fists raised in excitement. "Wow, a real feather from King Urameshi's spirit beast! Thanks a million! This is the best thing ever!"

The king waves a hand. "Eh, it's nothing. Plenty more butt feathers where that one came from." The phoenix makes a short, high noise that is a cross between a pitched whine and an indignant squeal.

We watch the human boy leave. He turns several times, waving the feather vigorously at us with a huge grin stretching across his face. The king wears a smile on his face as well, and waves a few times to match.

Once the human is out of sight, the king turns abruptly in the opposite direction.

"Whatever," the king says, more brusquely than necessary, a response to no one. "Let's go." His face has become quite expressionless, as if it has suddenly turned off. Unlike happiness or anger, other extremes never seem to project themselves as apparently, but this sudden change makes it obvious the king is extremely upset.

We walk in silence. Several minutes pass before it starts.

"He didn't have any scars," the king mumbles, distractedly. One hand scratches absently at his neck near the collarbone, the side of his palm hovering just above the ancient twin puncture scars on his own chest. "Well, why would he," the king continues, answering his own non-question. His voice is quiet, though rising and quickening with each syllable spilling from his lips, sounding increasingly agitated. "I never beat him up. He never fought Saint Beasts or rescued Yukina. He was never in the Dark Tournament. He ..."

I say nothing, letting the king vent. The king only trails off into silence. After a while, he stops walking.

I come to a stop beside him, standing there quietly. He stares into the distance, his expression still blank. Or, perhaps, bleak.

When the king finally speaks again, his words are nearly inaudible. I only know exactly what they are because it is neither the first nor the second time the king has asked them.

"Are humans always reborn as humans?"

I remember the little girl, her thick braided hair coloured like pale coral, who seemed utterly unimpressed by anything, and how her unflappable reactions drew great laughter from the king. And the lost brown-eyed child, whom the king spoke engagingly with for what seemed like hours before her parents were found and she returned to their delighted arms.

I remember how at first the king had been in wonder, giddy and excited. The years passed: ten, then twenty, then fifty, then a century.

And they continue to pass.

Worse than the certain misidentifications were the uncertain, distanced ones: the distances in the state of lives that make further interaction unfeasible or unfair to the new life that is being lived. No one can function with an active memory of all their lives, and each life is rich, distinct, independent. It is true that in the cycle of rebirth, paths intersect all the time, but far less often and rarely as deeply or intimately as one might think, even for the strongest of connections. There are so many lives, after all.

And so many souls.

I remember how at first I had wondered - perhaps even fretted over - how the king would handle the disappointments. Over the years, I learned the answer. Most of the time, they were handled with silence, and simply never raised again. As is my own nature, I remember all of them. I am sure, though the king never mentions any disappointment again, that I am not the only one.

It is a testament to the king's stubborn personality that the initial wonder has never fully disappeared, though it has become tempered, and a testament to his character that he has not yet become jaded or bitter.

And perhaps that only makes the burden of memory ache more deeply. A demon's span of life is long, of course, but the king is young for a demon, and his humanity lingers. I was never human, but I served his ancestral father and now I serve him. And I imagine that time must seem to pass agonizingly, maddeningly, heartbreakingly slow.

"You know the answer as well as I," I reply, with as much empathy as I can.

The king does not reply immediately. A long, immeasurable demon heartbeat passes. One marked hand reaches out and down to where the phoenix's head hangs low to the ground. Fingers scratch, gently, behind one long ear.

"I dunno how Raizen did it for seven hundred years," is all the king says.

The spirit beast is silent, its eyes dark and wet.

Chapter Text

AN OVERVIEW OF THE MAKAI (DEMON WORLD)

Centuries after the first Makai Unification Tournament, the Demon World is a thriving dimension fairly well integrated with its sibling Spirit and Human Worlds. Its unique continuity of history, diversity of life and exciting scenery make it a popular travel destination, as once predicted by a long-dead demon king (whose grave, not at all by coincidence, happens to be one of the most visited sites). The Spirit World remains exceedingly difficult for the average human traveller to get to, which is understandable as not everyone wishes nor is able to easily separate their souls from their bodies, and complications are still not covered by many insurance companies. Fortunately for travel agencies and tourists everywhere, the Makai has no such limitations.

The Demon World government is a mostly benevolent autocracy ruled by one Emperor (a gender-neutral title), the victor of the most recent Unification Tournament, who holds the position for three years. The Makai is vast, however, and impossible for any one individual or party to hold absolute power over. It is therefore divided into three primary regions known as the Unified Territories. Each Territory is governed by a King (also a gender-neutral title) who reports directly to the emperor, providing counsel and executing his or her wishes. The role of the kings is technically more that of administrators, but the formal title remains a holdover from pre-unification days when the Demon World was a much more lawless place.

The kings are unelected and unchallenged positions (for the most part - all challengers to date have failed spectacularly), and have each held their office for over a century at minimum. Continuity in the administration across the territory level of government is what keeps the Makai running smoothly between tournaments. Additionally, positive relations between the three territory administrations encourages good behaviour in the emperors. While the emperor rules the Makai in name and their word is generally abided by during their term, they are highly liable to get their asses handed to them after their term expires by one or more of the kings if they attempt to implement an extremely unwelcome policy (or, in at least one rare but particularly memorable instance, before the three years were up, thanks to creative but still technically correct interpretation of the emperor's commands. This was reflected by a spike in legal fees across all three worlds soon after).

It is generally accepted that the kings will choose their own successors, at some point. As all current kings are pro-unification, and the system relies heavily on the cooperation of the territories, the question does arise as to what would happen if one of the kings were to be replaced with a dissident. However, due to the exceedingly long lifespan of demons, the relative peace currently enjoyed across all three worlds, and the particular hard-bitten nature of each king, none of the administrations are expected to change significantly any time soon. It is business as usual for the forseeable future.

The odd arrangement, as well as it appears to work for the demons, may make some outsiders wonder whether the Makai actually has a true ruler, but it is not so different from asking if Ningenkai countries actually have power situated in a single role like a president or prime minister. The lines of power in the Demon World are in many ways much clearer than Human World political systems.

That said, such inquirers may be surprised to learn that yes, in a way, there is a singular guiding hand - based in the Human World. Unknown to the general population of all three worlds, each territory frequently (and independently) seeks private consulting services from Minamino Enterprises, an international Ningenkai conglomerate based out of Japan with holdings in all three worlds. Its CEO, known publicly only as The Director, has remained unchanged for several hundred years, and is shockingly good at flying under the radar. (Editor's note: Not for publication. Remove this text and destroy all drafts.)

REGIONS OF THE MAKAI

Territory 1 (colloquially/sometimes known as Toranin or Tourin) is the largest and oldest territory. In contrast to its status and long-running history, T1 is overseen by the youngest ruler: King Urameshi, a popular public figure. His chief of staff is the warrior monk Hokushin, who also served the same role in the prior administration, which lasted over 700 years. Historically, T1 was primarily desert lands. Due to a rigorous terraforming program beginning in the 21st century, utilizing techniques developed by human engineer and noted psychic Kuwabara Kazuma with implementation by Minamino Enterprises, it has significant pockets of arable land. It is notable in the areas of power generation and entrepreneurial activity, thanks to a loose regulation policy and the lowest amount of bureaucratic red tape in all three worlds. Other claims to fame: frequent spectacular thunderstorms, largest number of holidays, greatest concentration of ramen establishments per capita. It is the number one tourist destination in the Makai (except during the political season) due to its consistently human-friendly policies and its great cultural similarity to the Human World.

In supporting the imperial forces, T1's role concentrates on offence.

Territory 2 (colloquially/sometimes known as Alaric), is the second oldest territory and is overseen by the most experienced of the three administrators, King Mukuro. Her chief of staff is the Jagan master Hiei. T2 is especially popular amongst adventure seekers who consider it the most "authentic" Makai experience, the closest to what the Demon World was centuries ago. It is also quite renowned for its medical facilities, which boast significant investments in regeneration technology, and its industrial robotics sector.

In supporting the imperial forces, T2's area of specialty is intelligence.

Fun fact: In the late 20th/early 21st century, prior to formal recognition of the Demon World, there were many documented encounters with T2's chief of staff in the Human World.

Territory 3 (formerly Gandara) is administered by King Yomi. The chief of staff is his son, Prince Shura. T3 is the intellectual powerhouse of the Demon World, leading in research, scientific discoveries and technological breakthroughs, with genetics being the largest field of study. T3 frequently collaborates with the most innovative Human World institutions and think tanks. This academic focus creates an intriguing contrast with the fact that the territory is also the host of the Unification Tournament.

In supporting the imperial forces, T3's area of expertise is defence.

Neutral Territory (NT) designates areas outside of the jurisdiction of any of the Unified Territories. The most prominent is the Imperial Palace, covering the emperor and the imperial forces and staff. The current emperor-in-power is Natsume. Her chiefs of staff, largely ceremonial positions, are her twin brother Kujou and the Drunken Fist master Chuu. When separate delegations are called for, Chief of Staff Kujou serves as official ambassador to T3, Chief of Staff Chuu serves as official ambassador to T1, and the emperor liaises directly with T2.

Another notable NT site is the floating country of Hyouga, the isolationist home of the Koorime. It has only been relatively recently (in Demon World time) that the island has made formal contact with the outside world and opened communications to the Imperial Palace via T2. Though external relations have improved and emigration has increased in the past few decades (with individuals and some tiny populations of koorime living off-island in both Demon and Human Worlds), interaction between the island and foreigners of any background remains extremely rare. Tourists are not permitted, and would-be diplomatic or business visitors must apply years in advance for temporary visas and follow extremely tight restrictions. The restrictions vary based on visitor gender, with the list being twice as long for males.

Officially, Hyouga representatives are invited to sit on council alongside the three territories in all discussions with the emperor. Actual attendance has been spotty, particularly in matters not of immediate or direct concern to the island. Hyouga currently maintains the most consistent communications with T2, which is generally recognized as a substitute power when Hyouga representatives are not present.

WHEN TO VISIT

With so much to see and do, nearly any time is an excellent time to visit the Makai. However, visitors should be aware of the unique nature of the Unification Tournament season. The tournament is the most anticipated and followed political/sporting event, televised or streamed, in all three worlds. Tourism levels and advertising dollars pumped into the Makai explode during this time period. Everything will be much more expensive, and much more packed, and the local population can also be quite rowdy.

WHERE TO GO / POPULAR TOURIST SITES

Imperial Palace (NT)

The home of the current emperor-in-power sits at a point where all three Territories' borders touch, and serves as a key meeting place for politicians and emissaries from all three worlds. Needless to say, it is an impressive and large complex, but also extremely crowded when open to the public, and generally difficult to get into, with many high security areas for visiting dignitaries.

IMN Head Offices (NT)

IMN (the Immortal Makai Network) is the Demon World's pre-eminent media company. Its bustling, expansive hallways feature promotional posters, screens and projections showcasing its properties and celebrities. Its political programming is especially popular, with the Tournament Preliminary Lottery live broadcast being a guaranteed ratings boom on all media channels. IMN also produces purely entertainment content as well, including sitcoms, soaps, and variety/game/reality shows, some of which have literally been running for hundreds of years.

Fun fact: The most well-known IMN idol group is 3ccult, who enjoy a large fanbase in all three worlds. Their popularity is only bolstered by the fact that performer Koto is also the perennial host of the Makai Unification Tournament.

Raizen's Grave (T1)

The final resting place of battle god, visionary and former king of T1. It is a massive black headstone polished to an impressive mirrored shine, and covered year-round with flowers, incense and alcohol.

Acorn in the Sky (T1)

The former throne room of the former palace, currently King Urameshi's main quarters. It is visible from almost anywhere in the capital. Its nickname, dubbed by the king, comes from the fact that it looks like an acorn jutting out of the tower making up the central administration building. Because of its visibility and distinct shape, it is featured in many professional and amateur travel photos, often juxtaposed against the magnificent thunderstorms common in the capital. The rare times in the last couple of centuries when it is seen shaking and then exploding, there have been staff changes in government.

Blue Gardens (T1)

A very beautiful public garden featuring only blue flowers of both Human and Demon World origins. Wandering through it gives the calming feeling of floating through a profusion of blossoms. The gardens also boast a large population of ordinary Human World cats. These animals have free reign of the grounds and are exceedingly friendly and well-fed.

Please note: this site is closed to the public on particular days throughout the year, including January 31.

Urameshi Ramen (multiple locations, T1/T2/T3)

The same no-frills restaurant franchise that exists in the Human World, originally founded X centuries ago by King Urameshi. Some feel the Human World recipe is more authentic, while the Demon World version is spicier. Debates rage online.

?! (T2)

WARNING: Not for the weak-stomached.

A plant in the shape of an obese man. Visitors are encouraged to throw things, poke at it, etc. Any damage is self-repaired, though its reactions seem to indicate great physical pain. On the king's birthday, creative torture implements are provided. All that is known about ?! is that it was in the private possession of King Mukuro before she apparently grew bored with it and made it available to the public. One rumour is that it used to be someone who seriously pissed the king off. Another rumour has it that it was a birthday gift from the chief of staff. Both are probably true.

Mobile Fortress Mukade (variable, T2-based)

A massive centipede-like organic/inorganic structure with a near-impenetrable carapace that usually roams T2. It typically carries a core staff of 77, but can comfortably house well over XXX people and serves as King Mukuro's official quarters. Due to its impressive appearance, solid defense and ability to cover significant ground, the highly recognizable unit is frequently employed in missions by the emperor-in-power. Its fanbase, known as Mukade Chasers or Hunters, avidly follow reports of its deployment around the Worlds and document its appearances in photos and videos with great dedication.

Fun fact: The Makai Transit System (MTS) utilizes miniature mukade young to provide highly fuel-efficient and safe public transportation throughout the Unified Territories.

Museum of Political History (T3)

Difficult to guess from its name alone, this museum is a must-visit and a favourite among human children. The exhibits change frequently, with special features for the current emperor-in-power. Highly recommended permanent exhibits include:

The Teahouse. This elegant, tranquil building complete with a zen garden and pond is the site of the historical first meeting between King Yomi and King Urameshi, and the birthplace of the Makai Unification Tournament. The central room has been preserved with the exact configuration and placement of all furniture, including the actual pot of tea and cup present at the proposal. Kids love hiding behind the sliding Assassin Wall and writing notes to each other! Enjoy tea and cakes in the attached cafe.

Defaced Rurimaru. See the actual hand-engraved rurimaru from King Urameshi's gift to King Yomi. Fun activity: try to find specific names! Replica marbles can be purchased in the gift shop. Get the full set for only 8999999 MKD (Makai Dollars)!

Round 3 Viewing Room. A massive room featuring five synchronized projections of the infamous 60-hour Round 3 fight at the inaugural Tournament. Each wall streams a different camera, with the floor streaming the aerial view while the ceiling displays a clock/timer and highlights specific points of action caught by the various feeds. The viewing room is packed during the museum's regular operating hours, making it very difficult to see the aerial projection. Those with valid Tournament registration or researcher paperwork can apply for off-hours access. The value of this for training purposes is dubious as the footage features the combatants in action several centuries ago, but the waiting list is extremely long with a backlog currently running several years.

Gandara Library and Energy Antenna (T3)

A beautifully furnished, state of the art facility with stunning contemporary architecture, the Gandara Library is the largest in all of Makai and a dream pilgrimage for writers and researchers in all fields, including science and medicine. It is an immensely accessible facility, with a wealth of resources for the visually-impaired.

At the top of the library is the Energy Antenna, which tracks and measures demon energy being manifested across the Makai. A several-story screen on the exterior wall displays a real-time feed and interactive infographic of all energy readings mapped to its database of individuals. Not surprisingly, the display is most active during the Tournament, and traffic to this tourist site peaks.

The antenna always goes down at some point, becoming dysfunctional and requiring replacement after the end of the event. A popular game amongst locals and visitors alike: predicting which round will break the antenna. It is improved with the latest technology right before the battles begin, and so is able to hold on longer each Tournament. That said, this is of course subject to the matchups. Once, the antenna went down in under ten seconds during the opening preliminaries due to a qualifier that included King Urameshi, Windmaster Jin and Drunken Fist master Chuu in the same grouping, and the display was dead for the remainder of the Tournament.

HOLIDAYS OF THE MAKAI

The following are listed roughly in order of occurrence relative to the Human World calendar. This is not a comprehensive list, as many other regional festivities exist.

King Yomi's birthday

Koorime Day (Anniversary of opening of communications from the country of Hyouga, raising awareness of Hyouga and Koorime culture)

Barrier Day (Anniversary of the raising of the Makai Barrier by the Spirit World)

Spirit Beast Puu's birthday (T1-only holiday)

Gate Opening Day (Anniversary of the cutting of the Makai Barrier by the human psychic Kuwabara Kazuma, and King Urameshi's first visit to the Demon World)

King Urameshi's third birthday, also known as King Urameshi's demon birthday (T1-only)

King Urameshi's birthday

Toushin Raizen Day (Anniversary of Raizen's death)

Unification Day (Anniversary of the birth of the Makai Unification Tournament)

Prince Shura's incubation release day (T2-only)

Emperor's Day (Follows the announcement of the new emperor, once every three years)

Worlds Opening Day (Anniversary of the lowering of the Makai Barrier by the Spirit World)

King Mukuro's birthday

King Urameshi's second birthday (T1-only)

Chapter Text

"Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between and beyond, welcome back to our live coverage of the xxth Demon World Unification Tournament, exclusively on IMN. I'm your lovely, daring, experienced and eternal host, Koto from 3ccult. Don't forget, our new single 3ever 3ccult is out on your streaming service of choice right now! Less than three 3ccult! But we're not here for that, we're here for something even bigger. Much bigger. We're live at the stadium in Territory 3, and only minutes away from the official lottery drawing for the preliminaries. I know all you viewers out there are waiting with bated breath to see the results. Oh, there's the man I'm looking for! Mister Contestant Number One himself, the founder of the Tournament, His Royal Majesty and administrator of Territory 1, King Urameshi. Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"

"Hey! Congrats on the new single!"

"Oh! Thank you so much, Your Majesty! How are you doing today?"

"Fantastic."

"That's wonderful to hear! You look terrific, if I may say so myself."

"Thanks! You look great too. Is that a new haircut?"

"Why yes it is! How kind of you to notice, Your Majesty! As our avid viewers - and devoted 3ccult fans, of course - may know, His Majesty and I go waaaay back in terms of following each others' careers. Now onto the business at hand and the reason I'm harassing you, Your Majesty. What's your verdict going into this year's lottery?"

"It's awesome! We've got a huge turnout this year, the best ever. I feel bad for all the guys processing the entrants. It's gonna be one hell of a bleeping party!"

"Your Majesty, we're live."

"Oh bleep, sorry."

"Oh well, you lasted 30 seconds this time, so that's probably some sort of personal record. On behalf of all the staff at IMN, we're very proud of you."

"Hah, thanks. They're probably bleeping at me themselves. Well, I'm sure we pay our live bleepers well."

"We sure do whenever you're expected to hit the air, Your Majesty! And predictive bleeping technology has made great advances thanks to you. Anyways, moving on- spill the beans, Your Majesty: what're the numbers like?"

"Well, this year we've got, ah, twenty nine thousand- No, wait, eight ... Eh, twenty eight thousand and four? Six ...?"

"Your Majesty, are you trying to read smudged notes on your hand?"

"... Yeah, Hokushin was briefing me earlier. You know I hate details and bleep. I mean stuff. Basically this year we've got buttloads of entrants, whoo hoo!"

"Uh huh, and that thunking noise is probably the sound of your industrious Chief of Staff smacking against the stadium pillars right now. So to save his handsome forehead and our precious airtime, lemme check in with the control centre. ... So we have twenty eight thousand, one hundred and sixty entrants into the lottery this year. Wow! What an impressive turnout, Your Majesty! Is that correct?"

"Beats me. Thanks, control centre, let's do cue cards or something next time, 'kay? My handwriting's pretty bad. See?"

"Your Majesty!"

"Right, right. Twenty eight thousand and something. 'Course, we always get a ton of dropouts after the lottery results are actually announced, but it's still huge."

"No kidding! I understand the withdrawal rate over the course of the Tournament's history has generally ranged from fifty to seventy percent. So even if we lose the high end of that, it's still around 8,448 participants in the preliminaries!"

"Yeah, and that'd still be, what ... 128 packed blocks of 66 fighters each. Plenty of good times to go around!"

"..."

"What?"

"Your Majesty, that wasn't in your briefing notes. Did you just do that calculation in your head?!"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, like probably everyone in the Unified Territories and the three Worlds, I wasn't even aware you could do arithmetic in general, much less in your head."

"What the bleep, I ran a ramen stand for over fifty years! It wasn't like the register worked perfectly every bleeping day!"

"Incredible! Well, you heard it here first, folks! While we're on the subject of math, Your Majesty, we know you've never made it past the semis, but you're always a fan favourite. As of right now MKBookie has you pegged as an odds-on-favourite for the finals at 4/1-"

"Whoa! Really!"

"-What do you think of that? Is what I was going to ask, but I guess you answered my question already."

"I'm flattered! Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys! Hope I make a few people a few bucks! And if not, sucks to be them. And me. Except I didn't bet anything. Then again, I'd be wiping the floor with my face, so I guess we'd be even."

"I guess we would be a little more than even. So what do you think of your own odds this year, Your Majesty?"

"Ahhhh, I feel pretty good every Tournament, but you know how it is. There's so many factors. It only takes one matchup or one little thing to throw even the best fighter off."

"Mm-hm, mm-hm. As our viewers well know, the Tournament is a drawn-out and risky affair. It's not just about strength, stamina and skill for our contenders! Strategy is certainly a big part of it - and luck, too. For example, you're not particularly known for considering your rounds strategically, Your Majesty."

"Where's the fun in that? The best fights are the ones that just take it all out of you."

"You know I'm with you on that, Your Majesty. Why have a Tournament if it's going to be ho-hum?"

"Yeah, exactly! You gotta live a little! Like, you remember that time with Hiei and the dragon?"

"Oh gosh yes! Folks, I believe His Majesty is referring to the xxth Unification Tournament quarterfinals with Territory 2's Chief of Staff-"

"That's what I'm talking about! That was an epic one!"

"Dear viewers, let me tell you, you had to be there. That was definitely a once-in-a-century pair up, a real earth-shattering, heaven-shaking scorcher of a match! Jagan Master versus Battle God! Black Dragon Wave versus Spirit Wave! IMN ratings were through the roof! All our live streams were completely overloaded! I wish we could show a few seconds of highlights on that, but we're running out of time. You can check out the complete footage - or at least, what the 3D cameras were able to capture before everything in the energy radius vapourized or disintegrated into absolute nothingness - on our Tournament archives online. Hoo boy, I still remember the cleanup on that. In any case, too bad you ended up wiping out, Your Majesty."

"Oh well, kinda expected. But bleep if it wasn't bleeping awesome! I'm looking forward to more bleep like that. -I see you giving me the finger over there, Hiei! I'll bleeping whup your ass again!"

"And with that, the Tournament trash-talking officially begins, just as our censors have probably expired. Well, that's all the time we have - thank you very much for speaking with us and giving our team a good workout, Your Majesty!"

"My pleasure. And thanks to everyone at IMN for their hard work! And your hard work hosting this thing!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty! Best of luck this year!"

"Thanks! Good luck to all the contestants! However many there are of them."

"And before we part, Your Majesty, let me just take a quick moment to say that I'm awed and delighted to see your math skills have greatly improved since the first Unification Tournament."

"Give me a bleeping break. It's been almost two hundred years!"

"Hahaha, take care, Your Majesty. And now, a brief message from our sponsors. When we return, the live lottery takes place, right here on IMN!"

Chapter Text

The tiny drones flitted across the vast, diverse terrain. Like shadow insects, they followed their assigned targets singlemindedly, beaming every gesture and word back to the Control Centre. The audio and visuals they captured were filtered through to the stadium screens, presenting every feasible angle of the experience for the captivated audience.

The round had yet to start, but it was deep into the Tournament now. Both fighters were already quite the worse for wear: battered, bruised, beaten half dead from their staircased journey towards the centre of the results screen.

But the minute the screen had updated with the latest victories, they seemed completely refreshed, and - judging from the expressions on their faces - barely aware of their condition.

They had, individually, been waiting a long time - a very long time - for this moment. And today the stars had finally aligned.

Well, almost.

Contestant 0067 sighed. It was a sigh of mild irritation. His katana was long gone, a victim of the trials of round 2, as was most of his shirt, but neither was hardly a thing to be bothered about.

He lifted one heavily bandaged hand - something he had taken great pains to keep unused as soon as the remaining distribution of fighters in their block had become clear - and pulled off the shreds of his black scarf. He wiped his bloody mouth with it and flung it nonchalantly behind him, letting the fabric float and fall by the wayside.

He smiled at the man facing him, mere metres away. It was actually one of his rare friendly smiles, but by nature one that, combined with a near-perpetual glower, easily made much lesser adversaries quake and turn tail.

"What a pity it's not the finals," he said, not entirely dismayed.

His opponent, 0001, stretched in a leisurely movement. Blood ran down the side of his face, a striking colour against the intricate tattoos etched all over his skin. The remains of his white gi were so heavily stained that the redness was now mostly umber and rust, and the green bands he wore around his wrists had turned black. He too had, as usual, already lost his shirt early on in the Tournament. He cocked his head and flexed his fingers, cracking his neck and the knuckles of one hand.

"Too bad," he replied, not sounding at all disappointed. He grinned, fangs showing. "But we'll make 'em wish it was."

Stadium-wide, the speakers blared. The voice emanating from it was enthusiastic, female, and highly familiar: the voice of 3ccult member Koto.

"Ladies and gentlemen and more, the highly anticipated quarterfinal match determining the victor of Block D is now beginning! Contestant Six-Seven, Jagan master Hiei, Chief of Staff for Territory 2, faces off against Contestant One, His Royal Majesty King Urameshi Yusuke, Administrator of Territory 1. This is gonna be one for the history books, folks! Once again, for those in areas situated closer to the arena platforms, a reminder to please, please, PLEASE ensure you stay within the secure barrier zone. Perimeters are clearly highlighted in yellow! It may look far away but we cannot, repeat, we can NOT guarantee the active radius of destruction being contained past the marked areas! Your ticket purchase and attendance absolves the venue, all organizing entities, Territory 3, and the entire government of Makai of any and all responsibility to injury, death, dismemberment, vapourization, disintegration, absorption, soul devouring, et cetera. And don't forget, for those of more delicate energy levels, we offer energy signature exposure and time-delay screens in all sectors of the stadium for your viewing pleasure. I guarantee you're going to want them for this match! Or you'll basically see nothing until everything is obliterated."

Above them, the referee sphere began counting down to match start. Ten. Nine. Eight.

The stadium filled to deafening with chants of "Urameshi!" and "Hiei!"

Seven. Six. The Jagan master turned his head and spat at the ground, splattering a glob of red on the soil.

Five. Four. "Didya lose a tooth or somethin'?" the king called jovially. "Need me to put it back in for you? Maybe with my foot?"

Three. Two. "Don't worry yourself over it," the Jagan master replied, his tone a perfectly bland monotone. "I know a noisy place to find plenty more."

One.

Even on the time delay monitor, they blurred.

The two fighters crashed into each other. Fists smashed into demon-hard teeth, flesh, bones. Their movements were too fast, too sharp, too rough to be choreographed - yet they were somehow still a perfectly coordinated, acrobatic dance of fire and energy across the wide, varied topography of the arena.

In the stadium, one of the screens shifted to a new view: Tournament host Koto, seated alongside two other figures well-known to all members of the audience and all viewers watching on the streams.

"Control Centre battlefield intelligence estimates a few minutes while both contestants are deeply engaged in fisticuffs. This is shaping up to be an exciting fast paced fight, so this is probably the closest thing we'll have to a breather. We'll take this opportunity for a moment of commentary from two experts very close to the contestants."

The host turned to her guests. "With me are Her Royal Majesty King Mukuro, Administrator of Territory 2, formerly Contestant 0066 in Block A, and Territory 1's Chief of Staff, the warrior monk Hokushin, formerly Contestant 0002 in Block C. Thank you both for joining us! I'm very sorry you two are out of the running this year, but both of you have been amazing to watch!"

"Thanks."

"Thank you. It's an honour to be here."

Both guests' gazes were trained on the screens facing them as they spoke, though the monk fleetingly turned his attention to the host and nodded politely.

"So what's your take on this round? Your Majesty? Thoughts on Contestant Hiei's performance so far?"

The king smiled pleasantly. The smile still somehow simultaneously promised a fate worse than death to anyone who dared consider crossing her. "Hiei likes to put on a cool, disaffected exterior, but I guarantee you he's a kid in a candy store right now. They're just goofing off."

"Fascinating. I'm sure, for most of our viewers, this looks more like mortal combat. So do you think they'll get serious? Will we see the Black Dragon in this round?"

The king raised an eyebrow and fixed a calm, unblinking, unnerving gaze on the host.

"Err. Indeed, a no-brainer. Your Majesty, you're one of the few to have faced off against the legendary Black Dragon Wave and not only lived, but thrived - literally tearing it apart with your bare hands. What would your advice to Contestant Urameshi be?"

The king shrugged, turning her attention back to the screen. "Don't get eaten."

"Uh … very insightful. Any particular approach he should take?"

"I'm sure he'll come up with something entertaining. I look forward to seeing what it is."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Hokushin, what do you think Contestant Urameshi's move will be against Contestant Hiei's most formidable attack?"

"I think," said the monk, "a possible strategy is to throw the dragon back to Master Hiei, force him to consume it, and then drag the rest of the fight on until Master Hiei falls asleep." He paused. "But I very much doubt my Lord will have the patience or desire for that type of approach. So I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest, aside from something … spectacular."

"Fair enough. How about your prediction on the results of this match?"

The monk smiled. "I would, naturally, prefer to see my Lord emerge the victor, and go on to become the next emperor. But Master Hiei is immensely powerful, and they have known each other far longer than I have been serving my Lord. I suspect it will just as likely be both of them in the infirmary at the end of the quarterfinals."

"Or in pieces," said King Mukuro.

"Thank you both for your enlightening commentary! We now return to the action in the arena!"

A stray blast from a spirit gun had blown wide, cleanly eliminating one of the larger mountains from the landscape. "Oh hell!" the drone audio caught as it flitted by Contestant 0001. "Fuck me and my dumb fucking ass!"

The bandages of Contestant 0067's arm were unravelling now, quickly. Seals and thin ribbons fell in loops to the ground, exposing a detailed dragon snaking around the flesh. A thin slit, like a cut, appeared on his forehead, then opened fully into the glowing violet-red fire of the Jagan.

The dragon tattoo shuddered and rippled into life. The atmosphere of the arena began to darken and heat, pulsing unnaturally.

"It's what we've all been waiting for!" the speakers blasted. "The infamous Black Dragon Wave, the immolating Dragon of the Darkness Flame! Forget about the finals, Contestant Hiei has obviously been saving it for this match!"

The heat surged, and the tiny dragon reared its head, launching itself from the Jagan master's arm, spiraling and growing at incredible speed into a gargantuan, writhing, serpentine mass of lightswallowing flames.

"This dragon's a beauty! Look at how quickly it's being pulled into this plane! Viewers, please check out at the amazing definition on that slavering jaw, ready to reduce any opponent to less than ashes!"

The insectcam zooming in for a clearer shot touched a wave of expanding energy and was instantly reduced to less-than-ashes, blown away in the wind.

Simultaneously, at the Gandara Library, the Energy Antenna broke. The energy readings display went white-blind, spitting static for several seconds before changing to a live feed of the Tournament. A handful of locals cheered and bought each other a round of Ogre Killer to celebrate their foresight and new winnings.

"Sorry folks, looks like we just lost drone 67 to the intense hellfire aura rolling off that ferocious dragon. No more closeups from Contestant Hiei's side! -And this just in, Control Centre advises me that the Energy Antenna has snapped. MKBookie would like to congratulate everyone who bet on the quarterfinals! Well done to the service technicians this year, it's a new record! -My gosh, this is the biggest Black Dragon I've ever seen! Now how will Contestant Urameshi respond? Based on experience and the wisdom of our expert commentators, I'm going to say his answer is something that will result in a lot more mutual mass destruction!""

The king's face was dripping with sweat, his eyes gleaming at the materialization before him. He licked his lips.

"Lemme think," the king drawled lazily. "Pushed back, eaten, ripped in half. What else can I do with you?"

The dragon turned sharply and angled to face the king head-on. Impossibly long jaws opened, a gaping black tunnel of endless inferno and thunderous, deafening roaring. In the Control Centre, out of sight and sound to contestants and viewers, there was cursing and frantic activity as the sheer emanating heat reduced several heavy duty prime cameras to mere vapour.

A wicked grin spread across the king's face. "Ohhh, I know."

The dragon charged, a battering ram of flame, every force behind its summoning driving it towards its target. The target in question ripped off both wristbands, revealing an electric, pulsing lightning chaining both arms.

An excited titter squeaked from the speakers. "Oh boy, Contestant Urameshi was holding back this time around too! That almost never happens! Looks like he's about to release his spirit shackles; who knows how long he's had those things on for!"

"Ante!" the king screamed, and light flared around him, exploding into a shrieking hurricane of power.

"And there goes the other drone, and cameras 7, 8 and 9. If the Antenna didn't snap already, it'd definitely be down now! Looks like it's gonna be a long distance affair on this match! But I've got a feeling the action isn't going to take long to reach our skycams!"

Indeed, the energy around the king swiftly condensed into a spiraling column miles high. The whirling supergyre deflected the direct course of the Black Dragon Wave, sending it flying past. Several spectacular shots of the vortex were transmitted to the stadium screens before the skycams capturing the view were taken out and disintegrated entirely.

The energy soon coalesced into the head and body of a glittering phoenix, its piercing cry echoing in the audio feed. Towering, expansive wings spread, seeming almost to cover the entire diameter of the arena. Just as quickly they folded, shuttering back into the figure at its core.

When a working camera finally got a good shot of the king, it was a view of a figure emerging from a dust storm, long dark mane flying wildly, eyes burning gold, and a slightly maniacal expression that spoke of hunger and glee. The intricate tattoos on his body seemed even more prominent now, almost alive.

"Whoa! Contestant Urameshi is in full Battle God state! This is probably the showdown, folks! Brace yourselves - it's gonna be a wild one!"

The energy vortex now gone, the dragon had orbited the diameter of the arena again, and was now on a return path towards the king. It bore down in full force, screaming, jaws spread wide.

Its small, bright target turned, facing the dragon - then jumped, launching into the sky, practically on a head-on collision with the Black Dragon Wave.

The upper length of the dragon recoiled and then lunged, body snapping forward with a second thrust at the king. Jaws engulfed the light in the sky, and teeth of black flame snapped shut around the fighter.

The audience gasped, and fell silent.

"Y-yikes! Completely contrary to King Mukuro's advice, which he couldn't have heard anyways, Contestant Urameshi has allowed himself to be consumed by the Black Dragon! What insanity is this?"

There was no audio from the arena aside from the thrum of heat, the reverberating of the darkness flame. Absent of any interruption, the sound of this heat was persistent, overwhelming, almost heady.

The dragon continued to sear a snaking path across the skies.

"... Surely this couldn't be the end of the match already? Wait- Control Centre says there's some interference from the darkness flame and the scanners are picking up something else. Please stand by as we boost the signal -"

The keen silence was broken by a mad cackling. The throat of the dragon lit up like a hot bulb under a dark mesh.

"Eat this, Hiei!" the king could be heard screaming, his voice faint and somewhat distorted due to the distance and energy interference.

A massive bolt of energy rocketed through the dragon's throat. It blazed like lightning down the long path of the darkness flames' body, pierced the tail end of the beast, knocked the tiny figure of its summoner a good distance away from any remaining cameras.

Then, bizarrely, the energy began to curve, rolling in a colossal wave back towards the dragon's head.

"What- what is he doing? The spirit wave has the dragon skewered like a shishkebob, but it's not stopping!"

High above the stadium, in a private box labelled "Reserved: Reikai", three occupants watched the screen intensely.

"Well, this looks familiar," said one, a man in a crisp white suit.

The second occupant, a woman in a bright, festive kimono, long blue hair pinned back elaborately, frowned. "Not to me," she said.

The third occupant was an elegantly attired ogre, busy stuffing his face with food. "You were busy," he said, his mouth half full.

Near the first box, in another private area identified only as "Reserved: Minamino Enterprises", melodious laughter filled an otherwise quiet space.

A hand lowered a glass to a table, avoiding spillage. "Oh, Yusuke," murmured the lone occupant in the box, shaking his head, eyes full of amusement. "You didn't. Hiei is going to be pissed."

The wave of energy reached the dragon's head and clasped it like a hook.

The voice from the speakers was incredulous. "It's a- a-a ... A black dragon doughnut?!"

Bound like a wheel, the king still trapped inside it somewhere, the dragon began to roll backwards across the sky like an ominous sun of black fire. It was an impressive sight that somehow managed to be both immensely fearsome and incomprehensibly ridiculous.

Another eerie hush descended upon the stadium crowd, and around the three Worlds, as breaths were held and eyes were fixated on the screens.

Something else was clearly happening to anyone with the faintest sense of visual proportions.

The dragon was getting bigger.

Or rather, more distorted, as if its fiery skin were growing too tight for its inner flames. Its surface area stretched with unbearable balloon-like tension, until it resembled more a blowfish of the darkness flames than anything else.

A ray of energy split out of one section of its neck, and then a second, third, fourth, riddling the stuffed beast with millions of spikes of light.

"Ah, now is a good time to remind all our audience members to please stay within the secure barrier zo-"

Then it exploded.

The effect was a hellish combination of earthquake, avalanche, tsunami, and atomic explosion all smashing into each other at once. A figure crashed into one of the remaining hovering cameras and the stadium screens went black, then white, then quickly refreshed, jumping to another feed, but not before the audio had caught the Jagan master's distinctive voice: a staccato burst of hysterical laughter that was more amused than insane, followed by a choked, ragged "Bastard- pulling a fucking Kuwabara-"

There was a horrible, brain-shearing screech, an unearthly roar, and a flickering, negative image of arena structures combusting. Then this visual went black as well, followed by a second and third screen repeating the same process, the audio nothing but howling of energy and debris.

"Nooooo! Our last camera!" wailed the stadium speakers at the loss of the sixth screen. The wail was abruptly cut off with an earsplitting bellow of audio interference. A collective groan echoed throughout the entire venue just as all the lights, and every other system, within the venue failed.

In the capital of Territory 3, the exterior display of the Gandara Library went white again. The throng gathered outside groaned in perfect, disappointed unison, wishing they were in the stadium where the action was, unaware that the stadium was simply a noisier, darker, messier more of the same.

36 hours later, after the storm had died down, basic systems had been brought back online, and inspectors had deemed it safe for search and medic teams to pass the barrier, Contestant 0067 was found floating in what were assumed to be the remnants of the lake area in one of the other arena platforms, fortunately face-up. After 60 hours, following a meticulous third sweep of the ruins, Contestant 0001 was finally located in what was presumably the former jungle basin, now fused with mountainous terrain.

Surprisingly, both fighters were (mostly) intact, albeit unconscious with very weak, but stable, vital signs. Unsurprisingly, neither was fit to move on to the semifinals, both were shuttled off to the infirmary, and the Block D quarterfinals was declared a double K/O.

Cleanup was, needless to say, a bloody nightmare.

Chapter Text

It was in the nth year of his rule when I first witnessed the king having an episode.

One moment I was speaking with him about something, and the next, his head was bowed, his eyes squeezed shut, still standing but reacting to nothing. I must have said his name several times, each time with greater urgency, and even grasped his shoulder. It was only a matter of seconds before he opened his eyes, looked up and continued answering my questions as if nothing had happened. I am sure I asked him at least twice if everything was alright, and he deflected my concerns with shrugs and a bland "Musta been somethin' I ate."

He must have sensed my skepticism (or rather, seen it written all over my face - Seizan once told me that I seem to have a terrible poker face when it comes to the king, but then again that is a bit like a boulder on the shore telling a rock in a churning river that it seems to have a hard time staying where it is), as he then laughed and patted me on the shoulder. He said if I were so worried he would check himself into the infirmary for the rest of the month and that it would be "awesome" because he hated doing paperwork.

I had rolled my eyes, and the rest of the conversation had derailed into how 90% of the paperwork is actually completed by me, so I had better not succumb to food poisoning or the entire territory would grind to a halt and then fall into utter shambles, and we had moved onto other things before I realized it.

Later I had checked the day's menu, but there had been nothing even remotely alarming about it. I observed him carefully for the remainder of the week, but nothing appeared to be amiss. I quickly forgot about the incident, as 1. the king had a stomach of iron and 2. I was soon rushing about, embroiled in delicately diffusing things following yet another one of the king's harebrained "solutions". (Yes, they always seem to turn out, even brilliantly sometimes, and you would think I should be used to it after all the centuries between him and his ancestral father, but the line connecting Point A and Point B is often such a, a, as the king might put it, "royal clusterfuck" that I would swear sometimes I never need to shave my head anymore.)

It was x years later when I actually realized the king had a chronic issue.

I had just left the king's chamber following a briefing when, seconds later, I heard a loud clatter coming from the room. I immediately went back in and found the king doubled over, the items he had been holding during our briefing having fallen to the ground by his desk. As before, his head was bowed and his eyes were shut, and this time he was hugging himself tightly. Furthermore, it was at least half a minute before he responded to me and got up, his movements more noticeably sluggish than during the previous incident. One hand even gripped the edge of the table before he finally grasped my outstretched arm and pulled himself up.

Once I had made sure he was alright, I bombarded him with questions. At first he was evasive, but when he saw he was not going to be rid of me until I had received a satisfactory explanation, or at least the beginning of a plausible one, he finally relented. (As a completely, embarrassingly self-indulgent and childish aside, I felt as though I deserved a medal for actually out-bullheading the master of bullheadedness.)

"It's just the Spirit Wave orb doing its thing. Cramps and shit, comes and goes." He laughed. "Kinda like a period, but not monthly. And no blood."

I ignored this, knowing well his habit of making light of situations, especially those involving himself. "How long has this been going on?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Pretty much since the energy transfer."

"Has it grown better or worse?"

Another shrug. "Ehh, nothing I can't handle."

I gave him my that-is-not-what-I-asked look, and he pursed his lips and looked away. "'bout the same," he finally said.

"Has it grown more or less frequent?"

"Same."

"How often does it happen?"

He raised both hands, palms up. "I dunno, it's not worth counting."

After much discussion - rather, after much argument and haranguing from me, he finally agreed to start keeping track of the episodes. His attitude and progressively more curt responses clearly indicated he felt the entire conversation and exercise was a big waste of time.

"You don't have to write any detail," I implored, hoping that minimizing the effort would make it a little - well, perhaps not more appealing, but at least less of a chore. "It doesn't have to look like a formal record. Just make a tick, somewhere, so I know."

"Fine," he snapped, the words dripping with rising irritation. He jerked a finger towards a corner of the room, and my brief glance followed its direction to the wall behind his bed. "I'll make a scratch there."

"Fine," I said, louder than I would have liked. I was equally irritated, ignoring the fact that he had basically proposed vandalizing the furnishings.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine," he repeated, childishly.

I bowed and exited, allowing the king the last word if he wished, and letting my silence and speed of departure speak for my own displeasure. Obviously, neither of us were happy with the encounter nor the outcome. But as long as he did something so that I could actually help him manage this, I was satisfied.

That did not mean I was going to sit back and wait for his reports to start flooding in. Just because he had said he would track it didn't mean I was going to blindly trust his recordkeeping skills (because to be frank, I would never). And while I accompanied him a great deal, I wasn't with him all the time; in some cases, necessity required me to serve as the substitute representative, so we couldn't be in the same place.

That said, a right hand man could not afford to not be trusted, either.

So I told one other person, someone who I could be absolutely sure would not say anything, nor likely to give anything away by accident. I only mentioned general episodes of discomfort related to the Spirit Wave technique, and said nothing of the scratches. Seizan promised to keep an eye out, but shook his head when I asked if he had noticed any such incidents.

"He seems quite open about what he is thinking, more so than King Raizen," Seizan said to me. "But that is deceptive. He actually reveals very little about how he is feeling, except perhaps to you." He paused. "Sometimes."

Time passed. I checked the wall behind the bed every time I was in the king's room; it remained unmarked. I wondered if he was even bothering, and took to conducting random spot checks on him, privacy be damned if he wasn't going to cooperate with me. I didn't notice anything, however, and neither did Seizan, and my checks grew less frequent. I figured the orb's cycle was a slow process and a relatively rare occurrence, perhaps once a year at the most.

It was x months later when I finally understood the extent of the king's problem.

As caretaker for all things of note regarding the king, I had quickly come to learn there were particular times of the year the king became more subtly moody or restless: around important anniversaries, memorials of milestones and people from his human life, that sort of thing.

During those periods, I kept his work calendar light; meanwhile, I handled more meetings and paperwork than usual. I didn't particularly mind as I much preferred seeing the king in good spirits. In place of banal administrative duties, I tried to schedule opportunities for him to see old friends, to visit the other territories, to explore uncharted areas, to train (or as Touou gracefully put it, let him run around and beat things up) - anything to help take his mind off of whatever was bothering him.

His moods never lasted long, fortunately. On very rare occasions, they did grow particularly melancholy, though few saw this outside of myself. The worst of it usually fell during what would be a winter in his home in the human world. For that period of time we had the gardens, which we closed to the public, and on some of his darkest days he would spend hours there, surrounded by blue flowers and fat, happy Ningenkai cats.

One late morning I had still neither seen nor heard a peep from the king, not even to complain that he was hungry. I canceled all his appointments for the day, which was easy seeing as I had only booked three, and went to go see if he wished to visit the gardens.

I knocked on his door and called his name. There was no answer. Finally, after two more attempts (also met with silence) and a moment of hesitation, I carefully opened the door and peeked in.

He was still in bed, curled up like a tight knot, a modest lump buried under the thick covers. As the bed was huge - fit for a king, after all - and he was not of large stature by any means, he looked very small indeed.

"My Lord?" I asked, quietly but clearly, to make sure he knew I had intruded.

The lump responded with an uncharacteristic sound that could only be described as a whimper.

I was immediately at his bedside. I crouched to his prone level and gently pulled the covers down, slightly, so I could see his face. His hands were balled into fists, covering his eyes.

"Are you alright?" I asked. (A stupid question, I realize.)

He might have mumbled something in response. It vaguely sounded like "No", but I couldn't make it out and was unsure.

"My Lord?" I asked, uncertain.

"I will be," he answered in a very small, tight voice. It did not sound particularly convincing; in fact, it was quite piteous.

I reached over and felt his forehead. It was not burning, but it was quite warm, and I strongly suspected it had been even hotter earlier as his skin was flushed and damp, as though from great exertion.

"I'll summon the doctor," I said, rising.

"No point," he replied, with such flat certainty in his tone that I believed him completely and sank back down on my knees next to his bed.

"Water?" I asked.

He shifted his hands slightly so that he was peering out at me from under his bangs, over his knuckles. He shook his head.

I bit my lip. There were faint traces of what appeared to be dried tears, and viciously dark circles under his eyes. The latter was clearly from lack of sleep, but so bad it created the impression of painful bruises. The sight - and the aftermath - of the king being punched in the face was not unfamiliar. But now he appeared so unguarded and defenceless, so completely different from his usual bold, assured presence, that I honestly felt like the most terrible person in the world merely looking at him. As if I had been the perpetrator inflicting violence on a very tiny and innocent animal.

My mind went back to that day in his chambers. "Is it the Spirit Wave?"

He nodded. This was by far the worst I had ever seen him. I wondered if it was something that built up over time in intensity.

"Is this the first in a long while?" I asked, maintaining calmness in my voice.

He shook his head again. I glanced at the wall, which was still as pristine as the day we had argued, and kept my emotions in check.

"Why," I asked, as gently as I could, trying not to sound accusatory or upset in any way, "didn't you keep track of this like we discussed?"

"I did," he said.

I blinked at him in surprise. I knew the king was no liar. Prone at times to lack of care or laziness, perhaps, but ...

"But there are no scratches on the wall," I said, not comprehending.

He squinted his eyes slightly as if he were trying to make sense of what I had said, then lifted one unsteady arm and pointed.

Under the bed.

Anything I felt even vaguely resembling anger evaporated. Well, anything directed at him; I was about ready to beat myself. I swallowed silently. With perfect hindsight now, it was obvious why he picked this location. It would have been much more difficult and awkward for most to reach below the bed, but of course I could easily stretch and ribbon my neck and head, and had very good eyesight.

I looked. And I was most definitely ready for some self-flagellation.

It was the best-kept record I could ever remember the king maintaining. There were scratches as far as I could see, an entire army of painstaking little marks in clear rows. Some long, some short, some straight, crooked, wobbly. I did a rough count of the number of scratches to estimate how many ran the length and width of the area under the bed, and did a quick calculation in my head.

No wonder he had said it wasn't worth tracking. It wasn't yearly. It wasn't monthly. It was every single day.

I was flabbergasted at the thought of him doing this following every episode, big or small - carefully moving the heavy bed, making the mark, carefully pushing the bed back so that no one - if I certainly hadn't, then absolutely no one - noticed anything had ever been shifted.

I wondered how long he would have kept this up if we had never had this conversation. A very long time, I would wager. He was exceptionally stubborn, to state it mildly.

I took a very deep breath and retracted my neck. My gaze remained trained on the floor. I felt so much shame I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. I wanted to set myself on fire and find a hole somewhere to crawl into where I could burn quietly into ashes, not disturbing anyone, least of all the king, with my idiocy and ill-informed assumptions.

"I am so sorry," I said, meaning every single syllable more than I have meant anything in my entire life. There was no point even asking for forgiveness when it was not deserved.

"Why?" asked the king, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"I... " I finally lifted my head to look at him. "I should have known."

He squinted at me again. The mild shift in his expression seemed to indicate he knew I wasn't speaking only of the scratches. The king gave me a shrug that, despite its weakness, was still somehow as dismissive as ever at the mere consideration of laying blame on me. "It doesn't matter."

"I-" I stopped because I couldn't bring myself to say, I at least could have avoided forcing this on you when you were already in pain. I knew the instant the words fell out of my mouth, he would be all over them, wholly dedicated to convincing me I had done nothing wrong. Nothing at all, only made a chronic invalid shift half the furniture in his room twice a day for no reason. And wasting his breath and energy on me was the last thing he should be doing right now. "-Is there nothing we can do to alleviate it?"

"I dun think so." He gingerly rolled onto his back. "Not unless I pass it on to someone else. And I'm not gonna just do that. It's hell." He started to rub his eyes with the backs of his hands, and then with his palms, until I reached out and lightly caught his arm to make him stop.

"It's okay," he said tiredly. "It'll pass."

"I'm sorry," I said again, pathetically.

He tilted his head at me, now looking more sleepy than in discomfort, and one corner of his mouth quirked up in a faint smile. "Don't be. You always take really good care of me. And you put up with all my shit. Thank you."

I still felt like the most fetid, loathsome piece of animal dung ever expelled upon the face of the earth, but forced a smile back at him. "I will always put up with your shit, my Lord."

He looked at me with a startled expression, then pulled the sheets over his head. The covers vibrated with choked, muffled laughter behind them. After a few moments, he lowered the sheets and looked up at me.

"You swearing is the most hilarious thing in the universe," he said. "As your king, I command you do more of it on a regular basis." He gestured grandly as he made the pronouncement, his movements somewhat drunken.

"Then it wouldn't be funny," I said.

He considered this, then frowned. "Damn."

I smiled, sincerely this time. "Go to sleep."

"Okay," he replied. He closed his eyes and rolled back onto his side towards me, folding his arms against his chest and nestling his cheek against his hands, a small smile on his face. I checked his temperature again on his forehead and neck - as he had promised, it was cooling and closer to normal. I adjusted his pillows and covers, watched him for a while, and when I was certain he was comfortable, I got up to fetch some water.

"You don't have to go," he said.

I paused and looked down at him. His eyes were still closed. "I'm only getting you water," I told him. "I'll be right back."

"Don't need any," he said, his eyes never opening.

After several more moments, I sat back down next to him on the bed. I stayed with him even long after he had fallen into a deep sleep, and long after the smile on his face had faded.

Chapter Text

When I went to deliver my end-of-day report to the king, I found his chambers empty, the massive windows wide open. A gentle night breeze circulated through the entire room, and I realized, for once, it actually wasn't storming - a rarity in our territory.

If this had been a hundred years ago, faced with an empty room and no sign of the king, I might have panicked. As it was, it was not, and I was much more familiar with the king's behaviour. Or at least, as much as anyone could be.

I extended my neck, stretching it out the window of the Acorn. (It seemed so long ago that we used to refer to this place as the throne room; while many had disliked the "new" name originally, all had to admit it was apt, and it stuck.) Outside, I did a quick circle around the structure, looking left and right about the main tower. After a brief moment's consideration, I doubled back and headed up, curving over the top of the Acorn.

There I found the king on the roof. He was lying on his back, one leg crossed over the opposite knee. A still-bandaged hand cradled the wrapped elbow of his other arm. Both were recent dressings from previous minor (for him) injuries. I always encouraged - or, in his words, nagged - him to keep them on longer than he felt was necessary to ensure proper mending, setting, or whatnot. He always healed tremendously fast, of course, so I wouldn't have been surprised if it was nearing, or already at, full-functioning capability again. But I've always felt better safe than sorry, and fortunately for the most part he humoured me in this area.

"My Lord," I greeted him. "What are you doing up here?"

He tilted his head slightly to acknowledge me, and smiled. He nodded his head towards the sky. "Check it out!" he said, quietly but enthusiastically.

I looked up, and was treated to the view of a completely unobscured Makai night. Pitch black with strokes of deep reds, hints of rich, dark blues to those with the right sensitivity of colour vision, and encrusted with billions of tiny points of light, sparkling like white jewels.

"Amazing," I said, and certainly meant it. We fell into mutual silence as we both took in the perfect, brilliant sight.

The king was the one who broke the stillness. "I wanna go on a trip," he said abruptly.

I cocked my head at him, snaking closer for better conversing. "You just returned from a trip," I said, knowing full well what he meant.

He sat up. "Not for work!" he exclaimed. When he saw my smile, he huffily flopped back down, then folded both arms behind his head.

"Where do you wish to vacation?" I asked, looping the air above him. "Portal jumps to the Human World are booking up fast. And you know Sarayashiki has been a tourist trap for decades now; you'll never have a moment's peace of any sort."

A few more moments passed. "Yeah …" he finally mumbled. "You're good. Or am I just getting that obvious?"

"Not to worry," I assured him. "You're still largely infuriatingly unpredictable."

He laughed at that. "Good," he said. "I'd hate to think I was borin' ya."

"That is highly unlikely to happen," I replied. "So any particular preferences for your get-away itinerary?" I began listing a few options, letting the king freely interrupt with his opinions on how enjoyable he felt they would be.

After a while, I detected a bit of a downward slide in his countenance. Following his last, "Nahhh," I was about to interject with another suggestion when the king suddenly exhaled loudly in a frustrated whoosh of air. He sat straight up again, staring past me.

"Aaarrghh!" he cried, flinging both arms up in the air, hands clenched into fists, then smacking them against his head and grabbing at his hair. "What the fuck is wrong with you, you dumbass?!" (This insult was, for the record, clearly not directed at me.) "Who the fuck cares?! Fuck it!"

With that outburst, he scrambled up, dashed to the edge of the Acorn and jumped, one arm catching the edge of the roof and swinging himself through the window back into his room, dodging around my standing body.

I reeled my head back in. "What are you doing?" I asked, pressing my head back down to its base and rubbing my retracted neck. Meanwhile, the king impressively multitasked his way out of his clothes - stripping down, flinging articles of clothing about the room, and changing into other, more casual civilian attire at the same time.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he said, his voice muffled as he finished dragging a shirt over his head while hopping around the room, a hand pulling a sock up past the heel of one foot. He ripped the bandages off his hand and arm, and I noted with relief that they did appear to be fully healed. "I'm goin' on a trip! Incognito!"

"But where to?"

He ducked into the master bathroom, ran his head under the shower, then ran both hands through his hair. Facing the mirror, he styled it quickly in a fashion faintly reminiscent of his hairstyle a long time ago, from when I first met him, only this one was looser (and wetter, obviously), slightly longer, and swept more to one side.

"Somewhere! Anywhere! Wherever! We'll just hit a free portal and jump!" He was now grabbing and cramming things into a small duffel. "Backpackers do it all the time. Even before portals. You know, hitchhiking. And hopping on random flights and whatever."

Free portals were unstable and certainly much riskier than the travel portals used widely today, but both the king and I had more than enough power to stabilize one. And one certainly didn't win many arguments with the king by telling him how risky something was.

He slung the duffel over his shoulder. "Here!" He threw another bag in my face, along with more civilian-style clothing - I noted the label said one-size-fits-all - and then ran out of his room.

Something he had said stuck in my head.

"Wait- we?" I asked, baffled. I ran after him, bag and clothing under my arm, as he trotted down the hall connecting the Acorn to the main tower. "What do you mean, 'we'? What's this for? What are you doing?!" We were in my quarters now, and I was catching random objects flying at me from out of my own shelves and drawers.

"You need a vacation too, your head's gonna explode. It'll be like a, whaddaya call it, a sabbatical. It'll be great!"

I dropped the bag and the impossible items he had thrown at me on the floor. Well, except for all six volumes of The Complete Three Worlds Reference Encyclopedia Ultimate Collection, Fifth Edition, which I gingerly set back onto my bookshelf. He clearly had no idea what I did for leisure or relaxation, or seemed to assume I had some sort of dimensional pocket to lug about all sorts of wonders when we travelled. Considering the messes I frequently cleaned up after him, it was flattering, but that notwithstanding -

"Who's going to do all your paperwork?" I said, exasperated.

The king, crouched down on the ground, turned his head and looked me straight in the eyes. He blew a strand of hair out of his face. I realized with a start that he had fully withdrawn his demon energy, and there wasn't a single rune or marking on his face, nor anywhere else on his exposed skin.

I hadn't seen the king without his Toushin tattoos for a long time, and observing him before me now, in casual clothing, brought to mind the first time we had welcomed him to the Makai with all his meager possessions in the small bag dangling from his hand. I felt a twinge of nostalgia for all that had come to pass.

"Seizan can," the king said, bringing me back to the here and now. "He loves that shit! He'll blast through a hundred piles of forms like he's meditating to nirvana!"

He had a point, I supposed.

A questioning coo interrupted the king's antics, and a feathery blue phoenix head peeked around the corner, nudging at the king's shoulder.

"Sorry Puu," said the king, patting his spirit beast. "No can do. As soon as anyone sees you, our cover'll be blown and then it'll be goddamned flashes and recorders everywhere." He gently pushed the phoenix away. The spirit beast dipped its head, rubbing at his arm, then reluctantly drew back.

"Good boy," the king murmured softly, watching the bird wander off. "Speaking of which-" He reached down, opening his duffel, and rummaged around in it before throwing another bundle at me.

I looked at the object lying in my arms. "Really," I said, not amused.

"What, not your style?" the king said coolly, getting to his feet. "I get it. We can find another one along the way."

"I don't understand when I became part of this trip," I muttered.

"I told you, vacation's important," the king replied. "If anyone needs a break around here, it's you. And I know you won't go unless I make you."

"Which results in me wearing a wig," I said, holding up the blond relic. I wasn't even aware that he had kept it all this time, and to be honest part of me did marvel at its preservation. It was certainly a testament to how frighteningly durable Human World synthetics were. It looked nearly as it did at least a good century ago when the king first wore it, back when he was still running a ramen stand and taking odd side jobs.

"I already told you," the king repeated, placing his hands on his hips. "I don't wanna be chased by cameras. Your bald head is like a beacon. It's too obvious."

Two could play at this game, I decided.

"Well," I said reasonably, "by that logic, you'll be unrecognisable if we shave your head. That would be the most effective disguise to throw off the paparazzi."

The king bristled at the thought. To put it mildly.

Actually, he froze completely, becoming stock-still. Then his arms flew up, covering the top of his head. He wore such a disproportionately over-the-top expression of horror on his face that I nearly guffawed.

"Are you FUCKING CRAZY?!" he yelled. "NO. HELL NO. NO FUCKING WAY. Come one step closer and I swear to god I'll fucking hadouken you to Hyouga!"

I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent anything resembling a laugh, snicker, titter or whatnot from escaping. "It was only a suggestion, my Lord," I replied serenely, although, despite the sting in my mouth, I was unable to prevent my face from breaking into a half smile. "You can always sprout more hair easily when you enter full battle god state."

The king scowled fiercely at me, arms still wrapped around his head and protecting his precious locks. "You think you're funny, but you're not," he snarled, but there was no real heat behind it.

I folded my arms and set my features into a calm but stern expression. I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for his own words sink into his thick skull.

The king paused. He slowly lowered his arms and folded them, mirroring my pose. His eyes slid to the side. He pouted, miffed. He looked up at me, then back down again. Finally, he tossed his head, the motion careless and aloof.

"... Alright, alright," he said. "You can stay bald. If you really want to. Just, wear a hat, or something."

I said nothing, maintaining an unmoved mask. After a while, the king shuffled his feet and sighed. "But you'd look better with hair."

I didn't reply.

"... Really. You'd look awesome. Kickass- no, badass."

I turned and started neatly folding the items he had tossed about, letting him know what the rational and responsible thought of his impulsive, ill-advised ideas.

"... It'll be fun. Honest." His tone was earnest, almost pleading.

I continued putting things away, ignoring him. I heard the king make another small, half-hearted sound, and out of the corner of my eye I could see him looking down at his feet abjectly, the strings of his duffel bag tangled in the fingers at his side, the little bag itself dragging sadly on the ground. And also, every so often, peeking hopefully at me out of the corner of his eye.

I considered this further as I restored order to my room. Certainly, decades ago, the king would have been much more thoughtless and devil-may-care with all of his whims, steamrolling over anything in his way. Granted, he still steamrolled over many things, but over the years we came to know each other, and live and work together, he had come to rely greatly on my support and advice. As open as the king appeared to be to anyone, not only his subjects, he tended to speak little of true feelings, and I knew I was among the very privileged few who could hold certain types of conversations with him, or receive certain thoughts in confidence.

And even the most deliberate and cerebral would admit that the king always brought a great deal of heart, not to mention unconventional and ingenious problem-solving, to any challenge.

The fact that he was standing there behind me right now, quietly allowing me to reverse all his enthusiastic handiwork (although, the fact that I was cleaning up a mess of my own possessions did not escape me entirely), recognizing that his wonderful plans (or lack thereof) were about to be completely undone, with nothing but the most tepid of protests - it spoke much of how his experiences and responsibilities had matured him.

If that was the word one wished to use. Heavy stone weights, shackles, and other such imagery along those lines crossed my mind.

What impact would all these little things have on the king, over time? How might they wear his spirit down? What kind of a king was I supporting with my actions? What kind of a king did I want? These thoughts began to eat at me.

In my attempts to avoid looking at the king, my gaze happened to fall upon a nearby calendar.

Only a week till Unification Day.

I felt an inkling of what King Yomi must have felt all those ages ago when my Lord first showed up on his doorstep, demanding tea and making his crazy proposition. And what he must have been feeling mere months later when he abruptly changed gears and began to take my Lord's proposal seriously as itself, instead of as a basis for a strategic ploy.

My mouth quirked, remembering my own reactions at the time. My Lord was certainly one of a kind.

I really shouldn't encourage him, I thought, doing a mental eye-roll - directed at myself, as much as it was at him. Perhaps more. But blowing off a bit of stream wasn't unreasonable. Both of us had been working hard, and things had become somewhat routine and mundane. And it had been at least a hundred years, and you certainly can't live that long around someone like the king without a little insanity rubbing off.

Or a lot.

I turned, picked up the bag he had given me earlier, and cleared my throat. The king peered up at me cautiously through his messy bangs. The resigned look in his eyes indicated he was anticipating a long lecture.

"Alright," I said with a sigh. "I'll wear one, but I'll select it myself. And we had best leave now before I realize I'm going mad."

The king blinked. Then he beamed brighter than the sun and launched himself at me, squeezing me in a tight hug. After letting go, he stepped back and high fived me. Or rather, he raised his hand, and I automatically half-raised my hand in a reflected, bemused gesture, and he smacked it eagerly with his palm.

"Great, it's a date! Portal ain't gonna wait!" He grabbed my arm. "Let's go!"

We passed a surprised Nankai in the hall; I made a mental note to apologize profusely to him for the whirlwind of confusion whenever we returned.

"Sayonara, sucker!" said the king cheerfully, tipping a two-fingers-to-the-temple salute as we flew by.

"We'll be gone for a month, or two, or maybe more," I barked at poor Nankai, trying to pass on two month's worth of organization in two chaotic seconds. "I've no idea where." I threw the master keys and the day's report at him, not unlike how the king had been flinging things at me earlier. "The king's room is a godforsaken disaster, just leave it! But lock the windows and the door! Tell Seizan he gets all the paperwork, cancel all the king's appointments, Touou can manage the patrols, if Puu looks sad, take him out to the gardens, or have him visit Lady Yukina at King Mukuro's! I'll call whenever we get a stable signal when we land!"

"Uh, ah, o-of course," Nankai stuttered, juggling the keys and report, eyes wide and bewildered. When we neared the gate, I heard him call from a window, "This is very unlike you, Hokushin, but I'm going to assume that's because it probably isn't! Good luck with His Majesty!"

Good luck indeed, I thought. We were running like mad; the nearest free portal was less than seven minutes from closing, and the king was intent on it. And in the history of this world, of all three Worlds, very few things had been able to deny the king what he wanted. Not the laws of the Spirit World, not the conventions of the Demon World, not human death itself, and most certainly not this one little portal, the last minor detail standing in the way between the king and his (temporary) freedom.

Sure enough, with 6 seconds left on the clock, we jumped.

Chapter Text

"Hey," said the king. "We're here to see the Director. It's kinda last minute."

The secretary at the reception, the first gatekeeper to the CEO of his company, peered at us over the rim of his elegant spectacles. He was 1. human, 2. smartly dressed in a finely tailored ensemble, and 3. from the look in his eyes, wholly unimpressed by our appearance.

I could hardly blame him. The king was, well, as only the king could be, but on top of that dressed in sandals, rolled shorts, the loudest, most visually offensive shirt he could have possibly found with the words "HIT ME WITH A CAR" scrawled across the front, and oversized sunglasses on his face. I was only a little better. (No sunglasses, and my shirt was far less obnoxious.)

I wished I had a chance to send advance word before we left, or before we arrived, but having not used free portals for several decades, both of us in our haste had forgotten entirely about some of their inconveniences. Such as, for instance, the possibility of landing in the middle of the ocean.

I blamed myself for the beginning of the journey starting on such a misstep, since attention to detail was never the king's strong suit, and taking care of such nuances was properly my domain. My lord had been an admirable sport about it, in fact finding everything hilarious and a grand adventure, but unsurprisingly it had taken longer than anticipated to become presentable in public again. (A moment of blessing for the prominence of digital currency in all three Worlds.) By the time the king had decided where he wanted to make a pit stop, there was really no time for anything in advance, including plans for a more appropriate wardrobe.

But then again, planning would have contravened the entire concept of the trip.

Evaluation complete, the man pasted on a detached customer service smile. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said, with schooled politeness, "but the Director is presently occupied."

The king took off his sunglasses, perching them precariously on his head. "No problem," he replied genially. "We can wait."

The man continued to smile. "I'm very sorry, sir, but first an appointment must be made to be able to see the Director."

"Okay," said the king.

The secretary looked at him, still smiling, and did nothing.

The king looked around the lobby, puzzled. "That's cool, we can make one," he finally said.

The secretary continued to smile at us.

The king furrowed his brow. "Uh, can I make one?" he asked.

"I'm very sorry, sir," the secretary repeated. "But appointments are in very short supply this day. "

"Oookay," said the king. He turned to me and stood on tiptoe, cupping one hand to his mouth. I leaned over to better hear him and, though it didn't in truth affect my auditory range, tucked my long hair behind one ear. Having "hair" again after centuries was certainly an experience I was still becoming reacquainted with. It had all been at the king's insistence, the better to elude both professionals and shutterbugs. Thus far, we had been successful. (Then again, his shirt ...)

"What's that supposed to mean?" the king whispered.

"I believe he's trying to tell us there are zero appointments available today," I answered.

"Why the fuck doesn't he just say that?" the king hissed.

"Perhaps he's been instructed to be difficult," I replied, unperturbed. Due to the king's aversion to bureaucracy, T1 had little to no red tape, but I was quite accustomed to dealing with other Territories and Human World governments where its citizens weren't nearly so fortunate.

"Got it," said the king. He turned back to the secretary. "I wanna make an appointment at the first available time."

"I'm very sorry, sir, but making an appointment is something that may be a little difficult."

"Nah, it's actually super easy," said the king. "Just take your head outta your ass long enough to look in your calendar, where there aren't any of those little coloured boxes, and give us a goddamned time."

A few other people milling about the lobby glanced our way, then politely continued with their business. The secretary's displeased gaze became positively ferocious, but his smile did not waver. "I'm so very sorry, sir. I meant to say that I'm afraid the Director's calendar is completely full. He is a very busy man."

The king inhaled slowly, squaring his shoulders. His eyes darkened like an incoming storm, his entire facial expression riding on the cusp of countdown-to-homicide. My lord was a world-class champion in the art of intimidation, possessing a formidable glower that could reduce even battle-hardened warriors to tears. He was quite far from pulling out all the stops at this moment, but even the ignorant usually quailed at the first hint of it, sensing their impending doom.

I noted that this human, who did not appear to be psychic in the least, did not give any outward sign he would buckle. I was impressed. Then again, the Director must have had measures in place to protect his employees.

The king gritted his teeth. He hadn't released any energy, but I noticed that his longer canines were starting to show.

"Look, pal-" he started, his voice a low growl.

"-we understand completely," I said, grabbing the king by the shoulder before he could unleash his royal demonic wrath and blow his cover, or worse, escalate into him taking the whole building down. He closed his mouth and looked at me. "You're obviously doing your job and fielding out time wasters with equal time wasting skill. However, I can assure you the Director would see us. If we're unable to secure an audience or a decision from you efficiently, I would feel terrible about the inconvenience that might result for you later - from your end of the organization."

The secretary looked at me, a microexpression of hesitation passing over his features. It was the first sign of acknowledgement that he had something to be nervous about - backlash from the company, perhaps even from the nebulous Director himself. He was, of course, well-trained and therefore still quite skeptical of such thinly-veiled threats, but a seed of doubt had been planted in his mind.

"If there isn't a quick way for the Director to verify for himself if he wishes to see us or not," I continued, giving the man an out, "we must leave a message for him to set up a later meeting."

The king frowned at me. That was weak, he complained. What happened to your badass negotiation skills, man? Who the hell knows if Mister Smiley All the Fuck Long Day is actually gonna pass the message on?

We're hardly here on urgent business, I shot back. Considering the owner, I trust the staff are competent, and we shouldn't lay waste to one man's livelihood for our convenience. Administrative assistants deserve some respect for the grunt work their employers task them with, wouldn't you say?

Taking the clear hint, the king shut up without even one further smidgeon of psychic grumbling. Thus assured, I released my grip on his shoulder. Not that I could have actually stopped the king if he had been set on a warpath of destruction, but, despite, or perhaps because of, his idiosyncrasies, he was a good ruler - an excellent ruler - without pretension, and he did listen to my words of reason. Mostly.

The secretary nodded at us, the customer service smile having vanished and now replaced with genuine professional courtesy and focused attention. He reached under his desk and pulled out a black book. "What is your party's name, contact information, and availability?" he asked.

"Ooh," said the king, impressed. My mind began to whirl, thinking of an answer that the Director would be able to recognize, but wouldn't compromise the cover of the king.

It was then that the sharp sound of heels clicking briskly against polished tiles caught everyone's attention.

A woman in a fashionable suit strode up to the reception, the very picture of traditional Japanese beauty, with long dark hair and a fragrant perfume trailing after her. I noticed her unique energy signature right away, and without a doubt the king did too. It wasn't human, nor was it exactly demon, but -

I pinpointed it after a few seconds, and marveled.

"I'll take this over from here," she said to the secretary. "You know I handle all the special inquiries."

He looked at her, and back at us. "Ah, Miss Megumi," protested the secretary. "There's no need. These guests have asked to leave a message for the Director."

"All guests, both humans and demons, can be special, including persistent visitors," Miss Megumi said, smiling pleasantly. "Especially persistent visitors." She turned to face us, bowing politely and gracefully. "Hello, gentlemen. Perhaps I can assist in expediting your request. May I ask what business you have with the Director, and help guide your concerns to where they need to go?"

"How 'bout a friendly handshake first?" said the king.

Miss Megumi's eyes narrowed subtly, but she extended a hand with delicately painted nails. The king smiled and took it, revealing a hint of his energy signature in his grip.

Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a small 'o'. She turned to the secretary, who had been watching the exchange curiously. "These very important gentlemen do have an appointment," she said to him. "It hasn't appeared in the calendar because it was such short notice. Please note only that the Director will be occupied for an indeterminate period of time."

The secretary's mouth fell open, and his face paled. He nodded and entered the information into the system.

"Come this way," said Miss Megumi.

"Sorry for being a dick," the king said to the secretary.

"Please, no need to apologize," the secretary replied, somewhat stiffly, but he was undeniably relieved.

We followed Miss Megumi deeper into the building and into a private lift. It was fully transparent, with an impressive panorama of the city. She tapped the glass lightly as we stepped in. "One way," she noted for our benefit.

There was no button panel, touch screen, or any floor indicator of the sort - we simply started going up. As the lift passed the numerous levels of the skyscraper, I could detect subtle twinges in the atmosphere, the intangible sense of converging, scanning, assessing, and then giving way. The energy intrusion was quite deft, even gentle, undetectable by low-level demons or psychics. But it was hardly something that could be slipped past any S-class demon worth their mettle.

Beside me, the king leaned against the glass, gaze resting languidly on the opposite wall, one hand in his pocket. A faint half-smile passed over his face as each floor went by, undoubtedly amused by his old friend's meticulous, painstaking measures.

After a few seconds, he looked up. "Kurama sure is doing elaborate shit with his plants nowadays," he remarked.

The plant smiled at us. "Sometimes it can be hard to find good help for, shall we say, delicate tasks. This is the next best thing to doing it all himself. And this way it's much easier to run a tight ship and deal with unwelcome visitors. Demon and human."

"That must take an inordinate amount of energy management and finessing," I said. "How many of you are there? Are you all completely autonomous?"

The plant pressed an elegant finger to her red lips. "Sorry, trade secret," she replied with a smile. The elevator doors opened, and she ushered us into a waiting room. It was beautiful in the modern, minimalist style, with clean lines and light wood, brightly lit with natural light, and decorated - or perhaps armed - with carefully arranged, exotic Human and Demon World plants.

"Here you are, gentlemen. You won't need to wait long. Lovely meeting both of you." We watched her leave, the scent of flowers still hanging in the air, gradually dissipating.

"Sooo fancy," commented the king.

"So these are my unexpected guests," said a severe voice from behind us.

We turned and found the Director standing there, a warm smile on his face. He was in casual business attire with a short sleeved shirt and subtly patterned tie, looking more like a young salaryman about to climb the corporate ladder than the immensely powerful worlds-spanning CEO - and ancient demon - he truly was.

"You know I'm trying to maintain a low profile," he mock-scolded.

"Yeah? Well, have some pity for those of us who can't," the king laughed, going to him with arms wide open. The two old friends embraced.

The Director chuckled. "Can't, or won't?"

"Can't help it, guess it's just not my style," the king replied with a grin. Then he froze. "Shit, are you swamped with work? I didn't even ask if this was a good time."

The Director smiled. "It's a great time," he replied. "It's actually fairly quiet - and boring - at the moment, so this is a pleasant surprise from both of you. I must say, Hokushin, that hairstyle suits you very well."

The king glanced at me with a told ya! smirk on his face.

The Director welcomed us into his spacious office, which, like the elevator, had a splendid view of the bustling city, and, naturally, more plants. On the table was an assortment of drinks and mouthwatering French delicacies, and the king pounced on them with delight.

"Megumi's cool," the king said, tucking into a buttery croissant. "But man, your people downstairs are bru-tal!"

"It's not their fault - for the most part," the Director replied. "They're only following my direction. All my gatekeepers have specialties, and rotate regularly so repeat offenders can't try the same tactic. Hiroyuki has been trained to frustrate and bore unwanted visitors to death."

"Give him a raise," said the king. "A big one. He did a great job; I nearly blew the place up. You know, we should work out a system so I don't act like an idiot next time."

"I think this one worked rather well," the Director replied. "Normally this wouldn't have been an issue at all; all employees are under express instructions to admit any of the Territory administrators and chiefs of staff directly to Megumi and her siblings. And even with your, ah, disguises, you only had to wait a couple of minutes. Although, this building's defenses are not equipped for S-class power of your magnitude." He nodded at me. "Thank you, Hokushin, for preventing him from inadvertently annihilating my property and decimating the morale of my staff."

"My pleasure," I replied, bowing in my chair.

The king was affronted. "Geez, I'm not really that bad, am I?" he said, wiping crumbs from his face.

"No, you've definitely improved," the Director said. "You actually gave Hokushin enough time to stop you from causing a scene."

"That thought crossed my mind as well," I agreed.

"Don't everybody give me too much credit, now," the king said, disgruntled, but he seemed mollified. Judging from the quickly emptying baskets and plates, the patisserie selection was probably helping.

"I am wondering, Master Kurama," I said, "If it may be possible for us to request some of your expertise or resources in maintaining a low … a lower profile while my Lord is on his vacation."

"Our vacation," the king interjected loudly. The Director quirked his lips, as if he wanted to make a comment, or laugh, but said nothing.

"We were quite fortunate you had Megumi set up to manage unforeseen scenarios," I continued. "But other venues may not be as accommodating."

The Director set down his cup of tea, leaning back in his chair. "Here I was, thinking some sort of dire trouble was brewing in the Makai, causing the two of you to turn up at my office in such, mmm, straits, without any formal notice," he said. "But it seems my fears were completely unfounded. I'm glad to hear things are going so well that you'd permit Yusuke to go out and play, not to mention drag you along with him."

"Hey, I'm right here! What am I, being babysat or something?" the king demanded.

"Yes," the Director and I said at the exact same time. The king looked taken aback, and then his expression grew sheepish.

"I think I can certainly be of assistance," the Director continued. "I'll arrange for employee IDs for both of you. You're taking advantage of a sightseeing break from whatever business workshop, conference or convention is happening in the area you're in. If anyone has questions, they can easily contact the company and verify your identities. If for some reason you run into any issues, you can also call, identify yourself with the information on the badges, and connect with a concierge who will assist you. One moment."

He got up and walked to one corner of the room, touching a screen on the wall, and spoke quietly into it while we continued to enjoy the refreshments. Mere seconds later, he returned and sat back down.

"There, it's all taken care of. By the time you're done here, the IDs will be waiting for you at reception. Minamino Enterprises, General Operations, Senior Consultant" - he nodded in my direction- "and -" he nodded at the king, "Summer Intern."

The king dropped the profiterole he was holding while I choked back a laugh. "Intern!" he exclaimed, incredulous.

"Yusuke, I will always owe you my life, and the wonderful life my beautiful departed mother was able to have," the Director said smoothly, "and you will forever enjoy my undying gratitude and eternal favour. But I am not prepared to see Minamino Enterprises go under in anything less than five hundred years. Thank you."

"Summer intern!" the king repeated, still dismayed.

"Thank you, Master Kurama," I said appreciatively. "This is immensely helpful." The identification and background support would no doubt make travel in the Human World easier by a hundredfold, and even the positions given, while entertaining, had been carefully selected in mere seconds. One could expect nothing less than brilliance from the Director.

I slid my sulking king a plate with a slice of mille crepe. "Consider the positive side, my Lord," I told him. "You can carry on as usual, and don't have to watch your language, or much of anything else related to proper decorum."

The king brightened. "Yeah, fuck that decorum," he said happily, attacking the mille crepe with his fork.

The Director laughed. His eyes, green as grass, were full of merriment. A flicker of gold passed over them and was gone, giving the impression one might have imagined it.

"So," he said, leaning forward. "Tell me the latest news from the Demon World."

Chapter Text

We raced through the gardens, pelted by the heavy rain, a surprise that had greeted us shortly after we'd returned to the capital. It was a relentless deluge of water, a torrential downpour in every sense of the phrase. Though it had been mere seconds since its inception, we were both already thoroughly drenched. Despite the awe-inspiring thunder and lightning shows T1 frequently enjoyed, rain itself was quite uncommon in the territory, hence the decades of work behind the water generation and distribution systems we currently had in place.

The king was faster than I, but he was also slightly hampered by the thick, dark mane flowing behind him. Long hair was a constant side effect of the power surge accompanying his shift into full battle god state. My Lord strongly disliked it, complaining that it looked stupid, that it dragged him down, that it was hot, uncomfortable, inconvenient, a pain in his derrière, and so on. He always had it lopped off at the first opportunity.

Practically speaking, the hair never seemed to actually bother the king in the midst of a battle. And it was plain and simple poor luck that we were caught in the downpour before he'd had a chance to shed himself of it. Personally speaking, I felt the mane was quite beautiful and regal on him; like his tattoos, it was a proud display of his noble heritage. His predecessor and ancestral father King Raizen, of course, had also possessed a magnificent white mane.

Whenever I brought any of those points up, the king would make some snide remark, usually something about standing at the top of the main tower of the central administration building during a thunderstorm, or a reference to late 20th century Human World music groups.

We soon reached the gazebo at the heart of the gardens, taking shelter underneath and an opportunity to dry off. I removed my outer robe and, hefting the waterlogged fabric, proceeded to roll it up tightly and wring it out.

Behind me, the king blurted, "Hokushin, check it out. I can do a Puu!"

"Very good, my Lord," I said, not really listening. In hindsight, he had an edge of excitement to his usual spirited voice, the subtle tonal rush indicating he had just thought of something exciting or brilliant (to him). I should have recognized it faster and paid closer attention, but I was absorbed in my own activity.

Approximately one second later, I processed his words and realised what he meant, and spun around. "Wait, don't-"

Of course, it was too late. In a remarkably accurate imitation of his spirit beast's favourite wet-dog maneuver, the king bent forward, arms folded tight against his upper body, and shook himself vigorously. Immediately water sprayed in all directions, splattering the interior of the gazebo and me. At my displeased shout, he quickly stopped.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, willed serenity through every pore of my being. And failed.

"... Your Majesty," I said curtly through clenched teeth, my eyes still closed. "Did it ever occur to you that when Puu shakes the water off, it all has to go elsewhere, such as on yourself, and you are usually quite upset?"

"Sorry," he said.

I counted to ten, slowly, wiped my face with the sleeve of my inner shirt (not that it did much), and finally opened my eyes. The king was tugging contritely at his now rather puffy mane. I was suddenly struck by the ridiculousness of the situation - that one of the most powerful beings in the entire realm, who could very well crush me with less than a finger if he truly wanted to, was standing before me, eyes downcast like a chastised child.

Also, after my initial rage, I had to admit his hair was now quite comical in appearance.

A sharp bird cry pierced the drumming of the rain. We looked up to see the king's spirit beast squawking exuberantly and galloping towards the gazebo to join us. It squeezed itself into the space, which was, fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) large enough to accommodate this.

The king's eyes widened. "Shit, Puu," he yelled, lunging forward, both hands flying out in a frantic gesture that screamed halt in every language. "I already-"

Without fail, his other self repeated its host's earlier actions. Only this time, as the phoenix had apparently been out in the rain much longer, was significantly larger, and had experience surpassing the king's plus his enthusiasm in spades, the net result was much greater. The water unleashed appeared an impossibly massive volume, and the impressive attack seemed to drown out even our indignant howls and shrieks.

When it was over, the gazebo was, for lack of a better word, ruined. I was triply soaked, the robe in my hands a sopping lump of wetness. The king, who had been closer at the moment of impact, was dripping from head to toe, his hair wholly drenched and plastering his face like a matted veil of fur.

The three of us stood there in silence. The only sound was the water dripping away, combined with the constant background drilling of the rain against the ground around us, beyond the boundaries of the gazebo.

Slowly, the king lifted both hands and carefully parted his hair in the centre like a curtain, peeking out. His line of sight was directed at some faraway, imperceptible horizon, his face completely devoid of emotion.

My gaze turned from my Lord to his spirit beast, who stared back at both of us with pure innocence in its eyes.

Surprisingly, despite the physical mess and discomfort, I felt utter inner peace and detachment, a zen-like calm radiating from within. From the expression I had seen on the king's face, I thought he must be experiencing something similar.

I gave the rare, very likely fleeting feeling and/or delusional shock a few moments before I spoke.

"... I am guessing you thought it was fun and you really wanted to do it again," I said.

"... Yeah," said the king, guilt and acceptance both heavy in his voice.

My shoulders began to shake, and not from the cold dampness. I started to chuckle. It quickly grew into a chortle, and then into full-bore guffaws. A lopsided smile cracked on the king's face as well, and he soon joined me. Next to us, the spirit beast chirped and crowed delightedly.

"-So how come when I do it, you get all pissy," the king said, laughing, "but when Puu does it-"

"Some days," I replied, finally managing to find my breath, "You just have to know when to give up in the face of a force greater than your own."

Chapter Text

It was only Monday afternoon and the Three Worlds were already teetering on the brink of war.

Fortunately, this was not yet common knowledge. Not including the source of the conflict, only five parties were currently privy to the fact.

The parties in question were, at present, convened in a marathon conference call. The host of the call sat in a boardroom at a broad table of polished wood and glass. He was physically alone. On the table were several monitors, and in the air before him hung a wide, curving panoramic screen divided into four sections.

"Fuck this jackass!" came the emotional outburst from view 1, Demon World Territory 1, Central Administration Building, not for the first time that day. The speaker was a young man, or rather looked like a young man, with messy dark hair ending in a short tail at the nape of his neck. He was dressed in a long, sleeveless white robe, which was open and baring his chest. Elaborate, mesmerizing tattoos covered his exposed skin, the markings also running along his arms and on his face. His eyes blazed like fiery embers, and his expression was the figure that would probably be found in the dictionary under "pissed off, supremely". To his left stood a taller, older man, a monk in pale green garments. His arms were folded behind his back, his presence serious but calm, unfazed by the verbal explosions of his lord. King Urameshi Yusuke and Chief of Staff Hokushin.

"What he said," said the woman in view 2, Demon World Territory 2, Mobile Fortress Mukade, coordinates xx-xx-xx, constantly shifting. She lifted her drink in approval, holding the slender glass by its stem, and took a sip. Half of her was strikingly beautiful, with a deep violet iris and full lips. The other half was a naked eyeball set in a mass of scarred tissue, fused with robotic attachments - horrifying, yet beautiful and compelling in its own way. Her hair was cropped in a short, utilitarian cut, and her expression was one of irritation blended with amusement, the former directed at the situation in general, the latter directed mostly at her counterpart in Territory 1 specifically. Behind her, a bored-looking man in black sharpened a katana. Every so often he glanced at the screen. King Mukuro and Chief of Staff Hiei.

"Yes, ditto Yusuke and his way with words," said the man in view 3, Demon World Territory 3, Gandara Library private penthouse. His long silken hair was tied back, accentuating the impressive horns on his head and his elegant elven ears, the six of them somewhat reminiscent of flower petals. His unseeing eyes were closed, as they always were, and one hand touched his temple where a short antenna sat, temporarily inserted into his skull and streaming the conference call visuals directly to his brain. His face was a mask of tranquility. Intermittently, a young man in a military-style coat, bearing similar elven ears, though only two, and a single horn on his forehead, would pass by in the background, lean over and make comments. King Yomi and Chief of Staff Prince Shura.

"Ah, it's clear we're all in agreement," said the man in view 4, Spirit World Headquarters. He bore the characters "Jr" upon his forehead, and was dressed in a light suit. He was also surrounded by towering stacks of paperwork. It was difficult to believe, but these stacks had actually diminished in the last few centuries, as the Spirit World slowly managed to cut down its paper usage and revamp its workflow for greater efficiency without compromising accuracy. Behind him, a blue ogre slow-hopped from one leg to the other, mumbling "Oh dear" to himself repeatedly. King Koenma and Administrative Assistant Jorge Saotome.

The man in the boardroom, the Director of Minamino Enterprises, looked down at the document at the heart of the drama. It was a true work of art: hand-scribed, each elegant word resplendent in flowing calligraphy, dark flourishes of ink standing out against the tactile cream of the handmade paper. The signature officiating the content was emblazoned with an insignia that burned with a bright and unholy light, even in the well-lit boardroom.

Only five existed: three for the demon kings, plus one each for the leaders of the Spirit and Human Worlds. The last package had been intercepted before it could be delivered to its destination at the United Nations. But soon facsimiles would be everywhere, making public to the populations of all three worlds the pronouncement of the new Emperor:

By Imperial Decree on this Date of x Year x

The Demon World hereby declares its intent to subsume all Worlds under the rule of the Emperor of Makai.

The three kings of the Unified Territories are to immediately without delay

direct all their resources to the Emperor to support him fully in the above endeavour.

The document was followed by endless pages of fine legal print in five point font. The Director flipped one thumb absently through the immense stack of paper, ruffling the sheets.

"To think only a hundred or so years ago I seriously considered this type of approach myself," commented King Yomi. "How embarrassing."

"Give yourself a little credit," said King Mukuro. "Even I wouldn't drop you in the same level of mud as this worm."

"I'm flattered," King Yomi replied, dryly.

"Fuck, Kurama." King Urameshi, who had been pacing restlessly, stopped and grabbed at his screen. "Are they done yet?!"

The Director glanced over at another monitor. "No, not yet. I realize it's not your strong suit, Yusuke, but patience. They're working as fast as they can."

"In Yusuke's defence, I do wish they were a little faster myself," said King Yomi, while King Urameshi continued making incoherent noises of rage on the other end of the screen. "Granted, the Human World still does have the best legal experts, so we can't complain about being limited to what's humanly possible until we better develop our own industry and education."

"I don't see the problem," said a deep, bland voice from view 2. "The solution is obvious." Everyone looked in the direction of the speaker, who had ceased sharpening his blade. "We assassinate him," the Jagan master clarified.

"I'm down with my man Hiei," said King Urameshi.

"Your Majesty," said Hokushin, just as King Koenma said, "Yusuke" in the exact same disapproving tone.

King Urameshi made a punching motion at his screen. "Yeah, yeah, I know! Civilized politics and shit! That's why we're dicking around here!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Goddamnit, why can't we just go to the Palace and straight up kick this douche's ass? Why do we have to listen to this stupid paper?!"

He glared down at said paper again. His copy had been crumpled and uncrumpled several times - but not torn, shredded, blasted or anything else, as destruction of the document had been stated as impermissible in the fine print - and pages from the legal section had been tossed all over earlier, white sheets clearly visible in the background and draped across every piece of furniture. With a snarl, he viciously balled the imperial decree up again and slung it across the room. Hokushin exited the view, going to retrieve it while his king covered his face with both hands in frustration. "Aaarrghh. I know why! Don't say it!"

The ruler of the Spirit World said it anyways. "If you don't, then you've broken your own laws, the Demon World descends into chaos, the integrity of the Three Worlds Act is compromised, thus jeopardizing inter-world relations and peace ... You're stuck, Yusuke. We're all stuck. Until we find a loophole." He looked to the side, off-screen, gazing out the window of his office. "At least you all gave me a head start to get the SDF on an emergency barrier deployment. It'll be light compared to the original, but at least it'll be something. Worse comes to worst."

"I hate my laws," King Urameshi spat. "And I -" he continued with a string of colourful expletives unfit for reprint anywhere - "-hate lawyers!" he finished.

"Ahem," said the Director, checking his status screen again for notifications.

"Sorry. Except yours," said King Urameshi, instantly chastened. "I love lawyers. I mean, I love your guys. Especially if they can get us out of this shittyass mess."

"I used to love lawyers," said King Mukuro. Her expression grew faintly nostalgic. "Some of them were so delicious. Fattening though."

"Mmm," said King Yomi. "You're making my mouth water."

"Guys, seriously. Can we not?" said King Urameshi.

"Just killing some time," replied King Mukuro.

"We should be killing something else," said Hiei.

"Ummm," said King Koenma.

"Considering it's taken this long for someone to try to pull something of this extent," the Director said, helpfully changing the subject, "the Unification laws worked pretty well to govern themselves."

"We do usually knock most of the egomaniacal fools out quite early," King Mukuro said.

King Yomi nodded. "Pure freak accident that this one got so far. He did have the sense for this piece of work, though. I was honestly quite surprised." He fanned through the document.

A hand reached across the screen and took the sheaf of papers out of his grasp. "You old people have started getting too lax," said Prince Shura, peering into the screen. "I keep telling Papa that he needs to stop thinking of the Tournament as a vacation and get back to employing at least a little bit of strategy."

King Yomi snatched the document back. "And I keep telling you, quit ragging on your father," he replied, his brow creasing with annoyance and briefly cracking his mask of tranquility. "You still haven't defeated me in a Tournament matchup once."

"Shut up, Shura, you're only sixteen years younger than me," said King Urameshi distractedly, clearly only half listening to the conversation on the other side of the screen.

Prince Shura frowned. "Uncle Yusuke, I'm seventeen years younger than you."

"Whatever," King Urameshi replied with a dismissive wave. "You coulda come out earlier but Yomi just wanted to buy you some extra time in that incubator."

Prince Shura made a face. "Good thing he did, 'cause now I'm five inches taller than you!"

King Yomi laughed loudly; King Koenma snorted. All others in attendance had mildly distorted expressions that looked like they were holding similar reactions in. The Director turned his gaze down to a tabletop monitor, but the corner of his mouth curled up as well.

"Shut up," King Urameshi said, scowling fiercely. "Anyways, this is a fucking joke. Any one of us could easily fry that dude with a fraction of our power. And probably by accident!"

"Indeed," said the Director, fingers sliding down a touchscreen. "I do believe you hit the nail on the head, Yusuke."

King Urameshi raised an eyebrow. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Legal has finished parsing the document," said the Director. All of the kings leaned forward in their respective offices. "This may sound shocking, but despite how bulletproof the document initially appears to be, one of the terms retains a surprisingly broad definition, and in combination with the rest of the decree … well. It seemed to be a rather glaring omission, so to be safe, my team has reconfirmed it three times in independent reviews."

"The confirmation being?" asked King Mukuro, only betraying the slightest edge of impatience in her voice.

"This is perhaps somewhat ironic and fitting considering my title." The Director read the line out from the document. "'The three kings of the Unified Territories are to immediately without delay'-" he paused, emphasizing the next few words - "direct all their resources to the Emperor.' An interpretation of the word 'direct' that would be acceptable according to the Emperor's instructions is, 'to channel or focus toward a given result, object, or end'. And energy is most certainly a resource, one of the most abundant, powerful and immediately accessible to all three kings."

The Director allowed his words to sink in. Understanding quickly dawned on the faces of all in attendance.

Well, on most of them. King Urameshi, squinting, still wore a somewhat quizzical expression.

"If I lob a fireball at you, I'm directing energy resources your way," Hokushin said to him.

King Urameshi drummed on his table. "Loophole!" he crowed with glee. King Mukuro and King Yomi both chuckled, and King Koenma slow-clapped.

"Yes, a most unfortunate oversight," agreed the Director, flipping through the package. "What a shame, after all the effort that was put into this impressive document. It does state that the resources should be sent 'to support him fully in the above endeavour', and we all know - Yusuke, you know this perhaps better than most - the fastest and most complete form of energy transfer is, well, rather physical. My lawyers have conferred and agree it is hardly your fault if he does not have the existing resources to properly absorb, repurpose or withstand the deluge of new resources being provided to him. As a matter of fact," he looked up, a not-quite-friendly smile on his face, "You are all quite obligated in your duties to straight away offer all your energy resources to the Emperor without pausing to consider this. The priority was clearly placed on speed of carrying out the command, not on due diligence in reviewing the Emperor's capabilities to accept whatever type of support you are obediently supplying."

King Urameshi jubilantly flung his arms in the air in a wide arc. "Man, Kurama, I could kiss you right now," he enthused. "I could kiss all your lawyers! Line 'em up for me next time I'm in town!"

"I'll be sure to send out a memo," the Director said, smiling.

"Wonderful," said King Koenma. "I believe you covered the Emperor being incapacitated issue a few decades back, correct?"

"Yes," said the Director, scrolling down another touchscreen. "We did end up having to develop a whole clause dedicated to clarifying incapacitation as well. But in any case, essentially, in the event the Emperor is unable to rule, the three kings of the Unified Territories will govern in a 'business-as-usual' capacity in their stead until the next Tournament. The kings will also have the option to institute an interim Emperor from either the runner up of the Tournament or the prior Emperor, but this must be agreed upon unanimously by all three kings."

"Excellent," said King Koenma.

"Well, can't be holdin' up the wishes of our brave new leader, now can we?" said King Urameshi cheerfully. "As head of the Imperial Offensive Forces, here I am getting those resources to him right away. Super big flashy resources. See you slowpokes at the Palace! Buh bye!" Now in full party mode, he jumped up and turned his back to the screen. "Hokushin, pack us some hot dogs and marshmallows! Bring on the fireworks!" The Territory 1 view shuttered to black.

"Idiot," said Hiei, his expression amused. "We'll beat him."

"Oh, I was going to tell him we were close to his area, they could've hitched a ride," said King Mukuro. "I know what the decree says, but maybe we should slow down a little? It's always more fun when Yusuke's there. What time is it?"

The Director glanced at the corner of his screen. "5:02 PM," he replied.

"Be sure to tune into the six o'clock news," said King Mukuro. "It'll be a good show." She smiled dangerously, baring her teeth.

"I will do that," the Director said. The Jagan master gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and view 2 closed.

"I suppose we should be going too," said King Yomi, removing the brain antenna and setting it down on the table. "Can't let those people have all the fun. Oh, before I forget, I need to set up a few workshops for my people."

"Sounds good," the Director replied. "We can touch base next week, after this dies down a bit."

"Alright, we'll connect then. Give me a call. Goodbye."

"Have a good one, Uncle Kurama," said Prince Shura.

"You too, see you on the news," the Director replied, waving, as view 3 closed.

All three demon kings and their chiefs of staff gone, the room was quiet save for the digital hum of technology. View 4 continued to stream silently. After a few moments, the silence was broken.

"Ah, Koenma, sir," said Jorge. "Is there anything we need to do?"

"No," said King Koenma. "Just enjoy the show, I suppose."

The Director tilted his head at the only active block on his screen. "Was there something else you wanted to discuss?"

"Not really," said Koenma. "I'm still digesting everything that just happened. To be honest, I feel a little … sorry for the Emperor."

"That's fascinating," said the Director. "I don't." He smiled a sharp vulpine smile.

Jorge shivered. King Koenma paused. "I know this isn't the first time I've said this," said the ruler of the Spirit World, "but the Three Worlds are so lucky you all get along so well. These emergency calls, the rare times we have them, always remind me of some bizarre family reunion."

"Well," said the Director. "It did literally take us centuries to get to this point. Yusuke sped up the process considerably back then. And just now. It'd be next to impossible for Mukuro and Yomi to agree to act together so quickly, otherwise. Although, a few more of these and it might just start coming naturally to them."

King Koenma smiled. "No kidding. Thanks again for the hard work of your legal team. I look forward to the day a few of them can join mine. Although perhaps they don't. Take care." View 4 closed.

Now fully alone, the Director leaned back in his chair, hands pressed together, fingertips braced against each other. He eyed the panoramic screen, and then the time.

"Calendar reminder," he said. "Next Tuesday, call T3 to schedule legal consulting workshops. Media on, IMN newscast. Audio only is fine till six." He paused. "No, wait; make that five-thirty."

The system complied with his voice commands, generating the appointment in his schedule, and in the room, an ambient speaker sprung to life.

"-bring you breaking news: an anonymous source has alerted us that the new Emperor has issued his first imperial decree, with an urgent private summons for all three kings. Reports that Mukade has already been seen making a U-turn towards the Imperial Palace appear to verify this. Stay tuned, we'll be following this developing story closely."

"Oh dear," said the Director, smiling. "Not too closely, please." He got up from the table and went to make tea the old-fashioned way.

Chapter Text

"Oh, and by the way," Touou said gruffly, casually, as he wrapped up his survey report. "Eleven came in."

I looked up, only mildly surprised - at the message, not the identity of the messenger.

"What, already?" I said.

Ever since we had begun doing this, over half a century now, Touou always seemed to be the first to know about the new arrivals. He had to be actively keeping tabs on it, and I suspected he was possibly even contacting places himself, at least in a few instances. But I never bothered following up on my suspicions. I was certain I was correct, in any case.

It was heartwarming that my long-time colleague and friend, a rough mountain of a demon, cared so much. One might suggest he was a little obsessed, but he was hardly the only one.

Touou shrugged his massive shoulders. "No more space. No one wanted them. The usual. When do you want to tell the king?"

I double checked the king's schedule, though I knew it already. He was technically busy reviewing documents and providing final comments and approvals, but urgency on those matters was low.

"Now, I suppose," I replied. Touou nodded and exited.

I tapped a screen, and found myself face to face with the back of a cushy executive chair.

"My Lord," I said.

The chair slowly swung around.

"Yeeeeeees?" said the king affectedly, one leg crossed over the other and fingers pressed together in a tent before him, a business-appropriate anticipatory pose he called the Executive Minamino Shuichi. One eyebrow was raised in an exaggerated expression of professional disinterest. It was a spot-on impersonation of a too-busy-for-you corporate bigwig.

It was also a fairly clear sign that whatever he had been up to before my call, it wasn't work. I gave him a look, making sure he knew that I knew he had been goofing off.

Sure enough, several seconds later there was a clattering sound. The king half-scrambled out of his chair, spinning around quickly. One arm swept the pile of whatever stationery supplies he had been balancing from the table, sending them off-screen and onto the floor.

"Heyyyy, Hokushin," said the king nonchalantly, lounging back in his chair as it rotated (twice) and finally came around to face the screen again. "What's up?"

I rubbed my temple. I thought about telling him to finish his work first, but realized he was probably not going to focus at all for the rest of the day.

And Touou would have been disappointed. Though he would never admit it.

"Touou says -" I sighed. "New cats."

The king's face lit up. "All right! See ya downstairs!" He hopped out of his chair and the connection ended, but not before I saw more office toys topple off of his desk, and a fluttering breeze of little folded paper figures - crumpled shapes resembling animals, cars and planes - scattering and flying past.

I shook my head, both amused and resigned, and got up to meet the king at the private entrance to Blue Gardens. From there we would make our way to the central gazebo.

All of the cats living in the gardens came from Human World shelters. The king never hesitated in accepting them, whatever their appearance or condition. The older, the uglier, the more unwanted, the better.

And the king insisted on naming every single one of them. He christened them all sorts of things, whatever happened to cross his mind. He never seemed to care about the animal's actual gender, or if he'd already dubbed another still-living cat the same thing (for the sake of managing their health, we kept track of them separately with digital implants and numbers). There were frequent repeats from some consistent favourites, mostly what I considered memorial names, to the point where I could practically predict them.

Large ginger cats were always Kuwabara (at one point, I recalled, there were at least thirteen Kuwabaras wandering the grounds). Pretty brown ones were Keiko; lazy brown ones were Atsuko; especially indifferent, unfazed ones were Shizuru; small scrappy bad-tempered ones were Genkai; visibly old and chunkier salt-and-pepper ones were Takenaka. Skinny goofy-looking cats were Yana (although they generally didn't remain skinny for long with us, so the king sometimes became confused, asking Touou and me on more than one occasion where the Yanas had gone); chubbier dark and curly-haired ones were Kaito; shy bristly light-coloured ones were Kido; shy skittish cream-coloured ones - especially if they liked water - were Mitarai; and so on.

We even had a Toguro at one point. It was probably the largest feline we had ever welcomed to the gardens, a giant, solidly built animal with a perpetually sleepy face that turned out to love belly rubs. The air would vibrate with its deep, happy purrs. Its size and disposition made it extremely popular with the regular visitors, and it became a bit of a tourist attraction. Come see Blue Gardens, give Toguro a belly rub, call it a good day. The local children - well, not only the children - were extremely upset when it passed away a few years back. We had held a public funeral in the gazebo, and the king had even delivered a eulogy.

"Mrowr?"

"Heyyy, fatso," said the king to the striking black cat that had crossed his path, and was now sidled up against his leg. Its name was actually Sensui, and it had been gaunt and distrustful when it originally came to us. Years had passed, and it had grown very friendly, not to mention a bit on the rotund side. The king had taken to chasing Sensui around the gardens every so often to help it exercise. Results were mixed as it didn't always run away.

He leaned over and scratched behind Sensui's ear, then ran a hand along its spine as the animal eased forward. Its tail hooked around the king's arm gently before sliding off. It padded over to me, snuffling and rubbing along my legs as well before wandering off into the blue flowers.

A long time ago, I had remarked to the king that I was surprised he had never named a cat Eikichi. The king had shrugged. "Kuwabara said there's only one," he had replied, and we had left it at that.

We soon arrived at the gazebo. Touou had, of course, already advised the caretakers, and they were ready and waiting with the new animals. There were also a few lucky civilians who happened to be visiting the gardens at the right time. They greeted the king with excitement, and he waved back at them cheerily before getting down to the business of cat naming.

The king seemed to have noodles on the mind today. "Ramen, Soba, Udon," he decided pretty quickly, pointing at the cats nuzzling his legs while the attendants took notes. "Uh, this one's Hiyamugi," he said, scratching the chin of a mostly white calico. "That one's Soumen." Wheat-coloured Soumen yawned, unimpressed.

The king puzzled over a tiny, weak-looking blue-grey kitten - a rarity as we usually took in older cats - before finally settling on Sayaka in a burst of enthusiastic inspiration. The rest went quickly, with Miso, Tonkotsu, Shio, and Shoyu following soon after.

The last cat was brought out separately.

"Unpredictable," warned one of the caretakers.

Little wonder no one wanted it. It was not a beautiful animal.

The beast was large - though nowhere near as big as Toguro (the cat) - and quite old, with a rather mangy, mean look and several visible scars. It was thin almost to the point of emaciation, and its coat was very pale and fading, with patches in several spots. When anyone neared, it tightened and hissed, ears flat against its head.

I frowned, more out of quiet anger and pity for a creature that had clearly been mistreated and abused than anything else.

The king stared silently at the cat until it turned its attention onto him. Then he soundlessly got down on one knee, one hand palm-side down on the ground, never breaking eye contact with the animal.

Slowly, slowly, he lowered his other hand to the ground as well. The cat's flat ears gradually lifted, becoming pert, even curious.

The king inched forward, one hand in front of the other, padding softly closer towards the cat. The animal began to settle, lying down on its stomach, both paws extended and resting on the ground before it. It didn't move any further, though its tail hovered, tentative, in the air.

Less than a foot away, the king slowly reached a hand out, turning his wrist and letting the hand drift closer to the cat's face. It cocked its head to brush its whiskers against the king's fingers, eyes narrowing almost to slits.

Several minutes passed. The king lowered his hand, drew it back slowly, and began to get up.

That was when the cat lunged with unexpected speed and energy, swiping viciously at the king's chest.

The king jumped back, and the cat twisted in the air before landing on the ground again.

The attendants and civilian onlookers gasped. The king wasn't injured, of course; it was simply a bit of a shock that he had let his guard down enough for a mere Ningenkai cat to leave a tangible mark. The fabric of his loose shirt had a clear tear in it.

The cat lay low on the ground, eyeing the king, who continued holding its gaze. After several more moments of this unblinking staredown, it finally shook itself and got up.

The animal turned, aloof, and padded away unhurriedly.

The king stood up fully, scratching his head, watching the cat disappear into the flora. When it was out of sight, the king looked down at himself and tugged at the hem of his shirt to get a better view of the rip.

Then he laughed. He turned his head to me, grinning cheekily.

"And that cocky old bastard," said the king, "is Raizen."

Chapter Text

The first thing I became aware of was simply that: being aware.

The second thing I became aware of was a scent. A mixture of scents, rather. Amongst the sweet florals there was a floating tang, muted by the other fragrances yet still distinctively pungent. It seemed familiar; I felt like I used to know it in a stronger distillation. It made me recall an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, and accepted that it would likely come to me later, when I was more awake, more collected.

The third thing I became aware of was an all-over soreness.

I opened my eyes.

And shut them again. It was very bright.

I tried again. I squinted, blinking slowly, as the brightness came into focus.

Judging from the gentle, natural light and the pale green, almost white, tiles, I realized I was lying in a private recovery chamber in the infirmary at the Central Administration Building, looking up at the ceiling.

"Welcome back, my old friend," said a familiar voice, soothing and serene. I turned my head slightly towards the source, and found myself now looking up at Seizan.

I considered my surroundings, and soon the events of the incident came to me. I recalled my last action, and conscious thought, was to keep the king out of harm's way.

"Is the king alright?" I asked. The rasp in my voice surprised me, though it really shouldn't have.

"The king is very well," Seizan answered. "Or I should say, he is well now. He was a mess until all your symptoms stabilized. Only then were we able to convince him to leave your side, and only after promising that Touou, Nankai and I would rotate shifts to keep watch over you."

"I see," I said. I lay there silently for a few more moments, vaguely recalling flashes of the king's distressed face covered with blood, and the sound of my name being screamed, then repeated over and over.

I shifted slightly, noting that I did appear to still have all of my limbs. Or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that I did appear to have them all, again.

"If you wish and are able to," Seizan said, observing my movement, "feel free to sit up. I will assist you if you need it."

I found I did need it, though not as much as I would have thought.

"How much time has passed?" I asked, when I was able to speak again.

"Eighteen days," Seizan informed me. "Most of it recuperation. The king's Spirit Wave minimized most of the internal damage before you were even brought to the hospital, so we were able to transport you to the infirmary here quite quickly. Between the Spirit Wave and the latest T2 regenerative technology, your recovery has been remarkably rapid, all things considered."

I slowly flexed the fingers of my right hand. My king's Spirit Wave technique was truly amazing, I thought. And so were King Mukuro's resources. I was very fortunate.

I soon noticed splashes of vivid colours past the sight of my palm and flexing fingers. I lowered my hand and looked around the room. It was filled, practically overflowing, with cards and flowers.

I took this all in silently, quite moved and not entirely quite sure what to say.

After a few minutes, I said, "Well, as you can see, I'm fully conscious. I suspect there's been some administrative backlog. You can start bringing me reports to complete."

Seizan smiled and shook his head. He seemed amused.

"I am afraid I cannot do that," he replied.

I raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"There is absolutely no work for you to do," he said.

I raised my eyebrow even higher. "Of course there is," I said. "Nothing physical, perhaps, but there are documents only the king or I can review."

"Yes," Seizan replied. "And the king is reviewing them all."

I'm sure both of my eyebrows shot up. "What? He can't be. He only gets my briefs. He's never even seen most of the original files."

"Well, he has now, and therefore he is."

I started to remember the volume of work I had ongoing before the incident. Perhaps it was from all the mental and physical strain, inactivity, and sudden activity again, but a completely illogical panic began to settle in me.

"But they're lengthy and dense, some of them run hundreds of pages with complex forms! They have extremely long words!" A mental image was quickly forming of my bewildered king overwhelmed and buried under an avalanche of confusing paperwork. I could hear the pitch and speed rising in my own voice, while simultaneously comprehending how ridiculous I must have sounded. "He won't know what to do!"

"Yes, they are," Seizan replied calmly. "And yes, they do. And no, he asked me, and Touou, and Nankai, and everyone else, many, many questions. Many questions. And I believe for the most part he has figured them out. We will all assist him as needed. And I will double check everything before it is sent out." He patted me reassuringly on the shoulder. "Just because the king abhors paperwork does not mean he cannot do it when he puts his mind to it. He is adamant that you will not lift a finger on the administration of the territory until you are fully well. You, of all people, know how single-minded he can be."

I looked at him. I knew there was truth and logic in what he was saying. I was beginning to calm down and return to my senses.

But I still wasn't 100% convinced. I folded my arms. "What if smoke begins to pour out of his ears," I said flatly, not entirely sure I was joking.

Seizan smiled at me, ever-patient. "Then we will find a bucket, we will fill it with water and ice, and we will put his head in it until his brain stops overheating." He touched my shoulder again. "Hokushin, everything will be fine. The most important thing is that you are fine. That is what everyone, and the king most of all, cares about." He gestured at the gifts lying around the room.

I took a deep breath, and nodded.

Seizan paused, seeming to recall something. "Oh, forgive me, I misspoke. The king did leave you something to do."

I turned my head, curious. Seizan handed me a large, slightly floppy soft cover book, and a box of pencils.

I looked down at the book. Fantastical Makai, it read in elegant letters stamped in gold foil, followed by the subtitle Colour Your Way to Tranquility with Magnificent Demon World Flora and Fauna.

I gave Seizan a look. My colleague of nearly a thousand years shrugged.

"He said this was to help you feel better, because you are a workaholic." He smiled beatifically. "And, quite frankly, I do agree with him. You are a workaholic."

Before I could come up with a retort, there was a series of bangs, the loud slams of door after door being flung open and hitting the wall, and the sound of running feet against the tiled floors. Several cries of "Your Majesty!" echoed in the hallways.

"Hokushinnnnn!" I heard the king yelling. He flew into the room with his usual subtle manner, trailed by Nankai and Touou. Unusually, to my surprise, he was sporting his long mane tied back in a rough, messy ponytail. He must have shifted into full battle god state after I went unconscious. It seemed he hadn't even taken the time to get his hair cut since.

He dashed over to my bedside, and crouched down slightly to look me in the face at eye level.

"Hokushin?" he repeated, at a much quieter volume.

"My Lord," I greeted him.

When he saw from my response I most certainly recognized him, a mixture of happiness and relief flooded his expression. He gave me a big, careful hug, then ran around my bed to the other side of the room to seize a chair with one hand. It scraped and screeched across the floor as he carelessly dragged it over and pulled up next to Seizan. He plopped down unceremoniously, then leaned forward, both hands resting casually on his knees.

"They didn't tell me you were awake until just now!" he said indignantly.

My interactions with Seizan couldn't have taken much more than half an hour, unless I was really that disoriented. "I didn't wake up until just now," I replied.

"Tch," he scoffed. "Excuses!" He folded his arms, then noticed the book in front of me. "Oh hey, did Seizan give it to you already? Whaddaya think?"

Before I could answer him, he leaned over and snatched it from my lap. "It's full of super trippy drawings," he said, flipping through it breezily, then opening to a spread and shoving it at my face. "Check out this badass! Whoops, wrong page."

My brain registered an exquisite line illustration of a Shokuyou Shokubutsu with its thick, limb-like roots and drooling, teeth-filled mouths spiraling madly outwards from the centre of the book, just as it was pulled away.

I blinked, and then the book flew back at me. This time the spread was of a monstrous dream-eating baku, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of hundreds of overlapping humanoid forms representing the despairing dreamers who were having their hopes and desires sucked out of them.

"Look! The whole book is like this." The drawing waggled at me. "Whoooooo! Crazy, huh? You could spend days filling in this sucker!"

"Your Majesty," I said stiffly, "I am n-"

I stopped myself. The king had obviously been terribly worried about my condition, and he was clearly trying his hardest to be thoughtful. It would have been unkind of me to dismiss his heartfelt gesture.

"Thank you," I finally said, smiling into the gutter of the book. "I'm fine."

The drawing moved away from my face. The king closed the book and tossed it over to the bedside table. "Well, Mukuro liked it," he said with a shrug. Beside him, Nankai picked up the book and began to flip through it, oohing at the illustrations and showing Touou.

"That was from King Mukuro?" I said, surprised.

"No," the king said, pointing at the windowsill across from him. "The, the - whaddid Kurama call it? - the rotting flesh dwarf rafflesia whatever bouquet is from her." I turned my head to look. "No, not that one, the other one. That carrion flower arrangement is from Yomi. Anyways, I saw the book, and I mentioned it to her, and she said she enjoyed it, so I figured, if Mukuro found it relaxing? It's probably kinda relaxing? Ya know?" He paused thoughtfully, fingers tapping his lips, considering his own words. "Or, uh, really disturbing, I guess. But I didn't think it was too bad."

"Oh," I said, mildly taken aback. I finalized realized what the memory-stoking aroma in the air was, and why my stomach had seemed to ache. I was also having a great deal of difficulty picturing King Mukuro working her way through a colouring book, no matter how macabre the subject matter.

The two challenging thoughts made me realize how thoroughly tired and physically worn out I actually was.

The king eyed me, noticing my fatigue. He pushed his chair back and got up, then placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it warmly. "Take it easy, okay? Don't worry, I haven't fucked anything up. If you don't believe me, you can ask them." He pointed at my long-time colleagues and friends. Seizan nodded, Touou quirked a smile, and Nankai gave me a grin accompanied by a thumbs up.

The king lifted his hand from my shoulder, raising it palm out. "And I solemnly swear I won't fuck anything up until after you get out of bed and finish all your physio." He winked at me.

I had to smile at all this support. "I look forward to it," I replied.

"Okay, rest up and see ya!" said the king, and all made to leave.

"Wait," I said. Everyone halted, the king freezing rather comedicly in his tracks. "If you could please take the carrion flowers with you, that would be appreciated." It wasn't that the smell was necessarily unpleasant for demons of our backgrounds - the king excepted, of course, due to his human heritage and upbringing. But since we had all changed our diet a very long time ago, it was probably best not to keep them around.

"Sure thing," said the king, wrinkling his nose slightly before grabbing at the two arrangements.

"I'll take those," said Touou, reaching them first and lifting them up and out of the king's way. They left, leaving me with the calmness of the room and the quiet activities of the infirmary staff just outside.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly, deeply, taking in the perfume of the flowers. Then exhaled, equally slowly.

When I opened my eyes again, my gaze fell on the colouring book.

I hesitated.

Finally, I reached over and, with only some difficulty, pulled it to me. I flipped through it, perusing the detailed drawings. After a while of page-turning, I reached over and pulled a pencil out of the box. Idly, I began to colour in the teeth on the Shokuyou Shokubutsu.

Several minutes later, I sifted through the box for another pencil, making each tooth a different colour. Before I knew it, hours had passed.

Chapter Text

"I don't wanna interfere with the free market enterprise there," said the king, his voice clear and strong. "Unless they're doing something stupid and I need to kick their ass. No, we don't need to take a cut of their profits. Just make them donate shit to charity. Middlemen are annoying and dumb."

I looked over at him, just as he added, "No, you're dumb. Hold on, Hokushin, I'm gonna deck this moron."

The king was not, as his speech would imply, in the midst of punching anyone out. His head was down on his desk and he was most definitely sound asleep, drooling away on a form. The only sign that this wasn't your run-of-the-mill sleeptalker - or perhaps more accurately, considering his tattooed Toushin appearance, your run-of-the-mill sleep-talking demon king - was the fact that he was still diligently filling out the form he was sleeping on.

The training techniques of the legendary human psychic Genkai were astoundingly thorough. Even today, a century after the king originally studied under her, he remained remarkably lucid in his sleep. His mental focus in this state was at times greater than during his waking life. It was only natural that the king eventually realized he could hone this skill into areas beyond merely training for martial activity.

I was highly skeptical when he had first broached the idea with me. But, as with most of the king's especially outlandish schemes, I was soon made a believer. And after some initial trial and error, I readily admitted that it came in very handy.

T1 might be known as a very unbureaucratic place, not without reason. But it was hardly a chaotic free-for-all. Overseeing the largest territory of the Demon World and the welfare of a third of the entire realm's population was a major responsibility, and the king cared a great deal about doing a good job. He was simply not a micromanager, and also simply - or not simply - unconventional about it.

In any case, dealing with the red tape of other governments was a daily reality. Every so often the volume of tasks - physical paper-based or not - became onerous. Fortunately, with the king unrestricted to working only during his waking hours and able to access higher cognitive performance on command (for the most part), his absolute trust in my ability to interpret and implement his wishes, as well as his complete confidence in the rest of our highly competent staff, T1 was extremely successful in measures of both efficiency and effectiveness.

Our results frequently confounded other organizations, demon and human. I couldn't blame them, as the king definitely gave off, as he would describe it, a "slacker vibe", and made no effort to dispel such impressions. I was often approached for consulting and, while I could offer general (and, in my mind, usually rather obvious) advice, I ultimately had to disappoint many people. Our system worked very well for us, but it was hardly something that could be easily adopted by others.

The sound of methodical scratching suddenly filled the air. I frowned. The king's hand had wandered off the paper and was now scrawling into the fine surface of his desk.

There were, of course, still some kinks to be worked out. If they could ever be.

I took his wrist and gently guided his hand back onto the sheet, only to find it continued drawing wide, illegible loops all over the submitted proposal.

We hadn't quite figured this out, but it seemed at a certain point even the king's deep sleep motor skills hit a limit. It appeared to me this was also the cause for his verbal outburst earlier - that his subconsciousness realized he couldn't finish writing any more directives, and had allowed me to bear witness to his intended response, even directly addressing me to make sure I noticed.

Another one for our lessons. "Duly noted, my Lord," I said. I removed the pen from the king's grasp.

His hand continued doodling blindly for a few moments across his desk, then paused. The fingers stretched, the hand flattened, and the wrist jerked from side to side, patting around looking for the missing pen. After several seconds, it gave up and his arm folded in towards himself. He lifted his head and rested it in the crook of his arm, his face hidden.

I checked the large stack of papers in his "out" box. It had been completed quite thoroughly, and it was largely discernable, though some of the writing wandered dangerously close to the edge of the paper. I furrowed a brow at a sentence that marched confidently into the void beyond; I would have to ask the king about that one later. Otherwise, the only incomplete document was the last item lying beneath the king's head, but he had answered it in his sleep.

I carefully tugged the papers out from under him and jotted the appropriate comments on it before adding it to the pile. The king grunted and mumbled something, then rolled his head slightly to the side so that his face was no longer obscured.

"I wanna eat pancakes," he said, eyes closed. "Banana pancakes."

Well, he had worked hard; banana pancakes for the king it was. I made a note of this request for breakfast and transmitted it down to the kitchen.

There was a rustling sound just behind me, and a blue-grey fuzz lept on to the table. Sayaka turned slightly and looked at me, her tail a curious question mark, before turning her attention to the king.

I smiled at her, remembering what a tiny weak thing she had been when she first arrived. She was definitely much larger and healthier now, though still small for one of our cats. She also much preferred the indoors to the gardens, and frequently tagged along with the king (and therefore me, by extension) and Touou. Both of them had been particularly taken with her, and she adored them in return. When she was very tiny, they used to take turns carrying her around, often hidden in their robes only to be discovered when she sprang out unexpectedly during meetings.

Sayaka padded towards the sleeping king, putting a paw on his head and prodding at his hair. When he didn't respond, she turned to me and maiowed questioningly.

"No, he's asleep," I said to her.

She meowed again and prodded at the king some more with both paws. When there was still no reaction, she raised herself on both hind legs and put most of the weight of her upper body behind her actions, rocking his head back and forth.

The king groaned. "Quit poking me, Sayaka," he muttered, sounding even younger than usual. "We already played 'pony' two hundred freaking times! Can you please just go to heaven?!"

Sayaka stopped pressing on his head.

"Botan, when are you gonna take her to Reikai?" the king continued to grumble in his sleep. "I ain't no friggin' ghost babysitter ..."

Sayaka dropped her paws and sat back on her haunches.

"Finally," the king said, smiling blissfully in his sleep. Sayaka looked up me, tail swishing. I smiled as well, imagining her feline expression to be one of bafflement and resignation.

After a few moments of silence, the king spoke again.

"When can I come back to life already …?"

We both turned our heads to look at him. The king's tone was completely different from earlier. His words were very quiet, almost plaintive, with a distant, drifting quality to them. I looked carefully at him; his smile was gone now.

"I'm so tired of this," he said. "I don't ... wanna exist like this ... Forever ... "

His expression and voice were so unexpectedly despondent it made my chest ache. Sayaka nuzzled the side of his face, and then looked back at me.

I placed a hand on the king's shoulder and shook it gently. The physical motion alone was not enough, of course; the direct touch allowed me to also send a thread of demon energy as a signal to rouse him.

"You can wake up now," I said softly.

Slowly, the king lifted his head from the desk. He blinked groggily and then turned his head to look up at me. For a split second, he seemed confused, as if he didn't know who I was, but the microexpression disappeared quickly.

"Yo," he said, eyes half lidded. Sayaka mewled loudly, and he reflexively reached over and rubbed her head, then scratched her under the chin.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

He yawned widely and stretched his arms in the air. "Like I've been sleeping for a million years." He leaned forward, pulled both arms behind him, and cracked his neck and shoulders. Then he reclined, causing his chair to squeak in protest. Sayaka took the opportunity to pounce into his lap, curling into a satisfied ball of fur.

He looked around at his room, as if seeing it for the first time. "How'd I do? Did I finish everything?"

"Almost," I said. I patted the impressive stack of papers to show him what he had gotten through, and waved the last set including the form with the running-off sentence at him. "It's a new record."

"Awesome," he said, smiling sleepily. "I want a raise."

"Kings don't get raises," I informed him, and he laughed.

"Why the fuck did I sign up for this again?" he replied.

He was clearly joking, and it was hardly the first time he had cracked this line. My usual comeback was that he hadn't. But this time, I paused.

This time, his earlier plea echoed in my mind.

Of course he had been dreaming, a chain of memories likely prompted by Sayaka's namesake, clearly reliving a version of events from the first time he had died.

But I wondered.

In every deep sleep experience I had encountered with the king, his responses almost always turned out to be relevant, even if they at first appeared unrelated or nonsensical. I initially assumed that his words were a request to be woken up, and perhaps that was all they were.

But considering the deep-rooted nature of dreams, and the king's unique situation, one couldn't help but seriously entertain the thought that it was, to some degree, a reflection of his truest feelings.

The king's boisterous, outwardly carefree - and careless - attitude certainly made it seem like he lived his life quite freely and autonomously. He confided to few how he truly felt. I remembered once, when he had first come to the Makai, he had commented to me that many turning points in his life had simply … happened, that many times he felt like he was simply being swept along in a wave. Being able to return to life; becoming a Spirit Detective; becoming the successor to the Spirit Wave technique; entering the Dark Tournament.

And he hadn't specifically said them, but I could easily add at least two more: becoming a demon. Becoming a king.

One could read between the lines - not by choice. And all that it implied.

All the things he had left behind. All the doors that had closed to him.

It takes a certain kind of courage to continue upon a road that has been thrust upon you. No matter how few the options appear to be, choosing to continue is still a choice. Even when other paths become inaccessible, and there is only one direction to walk - especially when there is only one to walk - it can still be a difficult journey: treacherous, frightening, painful, or lonely.

Many people thought the king never took anything seriously, nor anything to heart. In many ways, they would be right.

And wrong.

It was not surprising to me that the king avoided dwelling on things publicly, detested thinking and preparing, loathed strategy and mind games. He did them when he had to, but he told me they gave him cold feet, made him question himself, took his brain to places he did not particularly wish to go. And it was not surprising to me that the king frequently complained about inane little things, but rarely momentous big ones. In the end, like many before him, the way he focused was the way he coped. Like blinders on a horse, they allowed him to continue doggedly on the path he had been flung upon, and he always knew perfectly well those blinders were there if he stopped.

Thus, his behaviour seemed immensely straightforward. He appeared guileless. And at the same, in many ways, incredibly difficult to read.

All of these mixed thoughts and emotions coursed through my mind in a mere matter of seconds. It was an extremely short period of time, but long enough for the king to notice. He looked straight at me.

It might have been the light, it might have been my imagination, but his expression seemed to shift. If he suspected the train of my thoughts- I realized I still hadn't spoken, and opened my mouth to respond.

Before I could say a single word, the king sniffed the air and interrupted me with, "Hey, is that banana pancakes? I've been dying for some. How'd you know?"

"You mentioned it in your sleep," I replied.

"Man," said the king with a grin, "Psychic powers are great for the important stuff. Come on, Sayaka! Move your fuzzy butt!" He started to get up, prompting the cat to leap off his lap and onto the floor. He brushed past me and out the door, and Sayaka meowed, trotting after him.

I followed the two of them down the long corridor, silent, thoughtful.

Chapter Text

Kazuki frowned. There was some kid milling about in the courtyard.

Well, he assumed it was a kid, but who could say for sure? It had nothing to do with his vision. His eyesight was excellent, and he'd never had to wear glasses, contacts or consider corrective surgery a day in his life. The intruder did look relatively young, about the age of one of Kazuki's own daughters, but there was a bit of that nebulous appearance of youth, like an actor in their late 20's or early 30's who could still convincingly tackle teenaged roles. And of course it was hard to tell with all the spirits and demons living (existing), working, and vacationing in the Human World nowadays. Every so often there were hilarious - and, for someone, surely embarrassing - stories in the news resulting from mistaken assumptions.

But the sleeveless, gaudy neon-coloured shirt with the words "HIT ME WITH A CAR" splashed across it, the giant sunglasses obscuring the eyes, and the carelessly sideswept short hairstyle all created an overall impression that made a strong case for "kid".

Or maybe just visually-impaired.

In any case, whatever the stranger's age or visual acuity, he shouldn't have been there. Ordinary people - and ordinary spirits and demons - couldn't possibly get past the security measures of the site. The company's technology and wards were top of the line.

But nothing had been set off.

Mildly perturbed, but still confident in the personal protective equipment supplied by his employer, Kazuki strode over.

The stranger was crouched down by the recently finished water feature and poking at it curiously. There was no power hooked up so it wasn't running yet, but it had a clear engagement interface. The structure was a work of art, a feat of sophisticated modern design and engineering, and Kazuki couldn't help but mentally contrast that against the intruder's appearance.

"Sir," he said, on the off-chance it wasn't some kid. "This site is under construction and off-limits to the public. What are you doing here?"

The young-looking man - Kazuki settled on this description for now - looked up at him nonchalantly, then reached down and pulled up a badge dangling from the end of a lanyard.

"Summer intern, Minamino Enterprises," the young-looking man replied cheerfully, as if that explained everything. Then he paused. He seemed to blank - not that Kazuki could be sure, since the stranger was still wearing those ridiculous sunglasses - and looked down at his badge. Suddenly the stranger stood up, dusted himself off, and removed the sunglasses from his face, setting them on top of his head. He removed the lanyard from around his neck and reached both arms out, one proffering the ID for inspection and the other extended in greeting.

"Shinjo Yohei," said the young-looking man. "Just takin' a look around." His gaze was direct and unwavering, his smile open and confident.

Kazuki did not shake the other man's hand. Shinjo Yohei didn't look anything like anyone he would associate with the Minamino company brand. But his voice and his face did seem vaguely familiar; Kazuki couldn't quite put his finger on it. For a moment, he wondered if he had seen him on the news, or perhaps that he bore a resemblance to someone else he had encountered in the past.

Kazuki reached over to take the ID badge, and dubiously examined it. It actually did read Shinjo Yohei, Summer Intern, Minamino Enterprises, followed by the standard division information and dates of validity. It felt and looked exactly as the head office IDs did, emblazoned with every modern security feature known to the Three Worlds. A photo of the young-looking man standing in front of him stared back, wearing a perfectly neutral expression.

Kazuki reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his phone, activating the scanner and running it over the badge. The scanner beeped positively. Well, what do you know. "Valid. Identify confirmed," the device chirped. "Shinjo Yohei, Summer Intern, Minamino Enterprises. Full site access."

He looked at the young-looking man who languidly returned his gaze. Yohei's body language was completely relaxed, calm, inoffensive. At the same time, Kazuki had the strangest sense that their roles were, in reality, reversed; that the man was engaging with him as if he were a child, that he was being humoured in his laughable attempts at playing an authority figure.

"Alright, Mr. Shinjo," Kazuki said, feeling a bit out of sorts in this interaction. "Just one more thing." It all appeared legitimate, but he never took anything at face value. He was primarily a rational, practical man, but he also trusted his gut, and if he felt off about something, he questioned it. That was why he was good at his job. He called head office.

"Sarayashiki Kumo Properties, a division of Minamino Enterprises," said the pleasant female voice on the other end. "Good afternoon, Mr. Takenaka. How may I assist you?"

"I have an individual here," said Kazuki, never taking his eyes off of the other man. Yohei casually clasped both hands behind his back. "A summer intern with Minamino Enterprises. Name's Shinjo Yohei. He has company ID and permissions for full site access. I didn't hear anything about it, so I'd just like to make sure it all checks out."

"Of course, sir." A pause. "Yes, I can confirm we do have two employees dispatched and expected in your area, Mr. Shinjo Yohei and senior consultant Mr. Ito Rokurou, with full access to the site." Before he even had a chance to ask why, she continued: "It's a last-minute favour for some of the private sector backers of the development project. I am so sorry we were unable to notify you in advance. It must have been a bit of a shock for you to run into them. I'll speak to our team about making sure this doesn't happen again."

That's why he liked working for this company. So considerate and professional. "That's alright," Kazuki said understandingly. "I imagine they probably weren't expecting me to be here either. I normally would have left for the day already, so there wouldn't have been a need to notify me."

"We appreciate that so much, Mr. Takenaka. Please don't overwork yourself. Oh, one other thing to note - Mr. Shinjo and Mr. Ito unfortunately aren't permitted to discuss much of their work. They may have some requests that seem odd. Private backers can be so eccentric, you know? Anyways, they're all pre-approved by head office so if it isn't too inconvenient for you, it would be wonderful if you happen to be able to assist in any way. But you're completely not obligated to; there's no need to go out of your way and we fully understand if it's not feasible. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you. That was very helpful."

"I'm glad to hear that. Sorry again about the trouble. Don't hesitate to contact us if you have any other questions. Have a lovely evening, Mr. Takenaka."

He hung up. "Sorry about that, Mr. Shinjo," he said, putting his phone back in his pocket. "I had to double check with head office. Let me know if there's anything I can help you with."

"Mm-hmm," Yohei replied, in the absent-minded tone of one who was only half-listening. While Kazuki had been speaking with the operator, Yohei had wandered away and was now inspecting the courtyard centrepiece, the tree. It was a massive mulberry that had been there for generations. The development had instructions to build carefully around it, the architect's design respectfully integrating it into the new facility and showcasing its natural beauty and resilience.

"Man, this takes me back." Yohei placed his hand against the trunk, slowly ran his palm along the bark. "Can't believe it's still here. Keiko and I walked this route every day. I used to kick Kuwabara's ass under it all the time. Those were the days."

He turned his head and his eyes met Kazuki's. "I have a lot of fond memories of this tree," Yohei said, and grinned. The smile was bright and disarming.

Kazuki recalled sunny afternoons spent with his grandfather, his mother, the woman who would become his wife, and his own daughters in the mulberry's shade. I do too, Kazuki realized, and he appreciated that his company was so progressive and thoughtful to do this, to safeguard this living landmark for future generations.

Yohei reached his hand out again. "Didn't get your name earlier...?"

"Takenaka Kazuki, site manager," Kazuki said, taking the proffered hand this time and shaking it. "Here, this is yours," he added, returning the ID. Yohei's status was confirmed, but Kazuki was still not entirely sure what to make of the other man.

Yohei gave him a peculiar look before taking the lanyard and pulling it back over his head. "Any relation to Takenaka, junior high teacher?"

Kazuki wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "Who?"

"This place used to be Sarayashiki Junior High, right?"

That's right. Kazuki had almost completely forgotten. Actually, most people, even those born in the area, didn't know this site used to be a school. Decades before he was born, districts had consolidated, one had been merged with another, the land had eventually been sold to developers. That was ages ago, and now it was being transformed yet again. He remembered, when his daughters were younger, a time when he and his wife struggled to answer their questions about what and why things were in their neighbourhood. There was so much development going on in Sarayashiki these days, it was easy to forget what certain areas used to look like, what they used to be.

"Yes," Kazuki said. "That was well before my time. It's been quite a few things since then. The world changes so fast nowadays, eh?"

"It's so different," murmured Yohei.

He wasn't looking at Kazuki anymore. His words, for some reason, didn't seem to be part of the flow of their conversation so much as part of something else Kazuki couldn't discern.

Kazuki hesitated before he continued, compelled by something to share - to share - to share what, he wasn't quite sure. But something in him pushed ahead.

"When I was a kid," Kazuki mused, "my grandfather used to take me on walks around the neighbourhood, point out little bits of local history. Now I'm in the line of tearing it all up. People get nostalgic for the past, and we call them sentimental, but it makes me wonder sometimes. Would it be better if it were still a small junior high, and Sarayashiki still a sleepy little suburb?"

Yohei snorted. "Hell if I know, I was barely in school and when I was, I was bored out of my mind for most of it." He put his hands in his pockets, leaned on one leg, and smiled a half-smile. "But I guess… I guess I am feeling kinda nostalgic. But not really about this place. Or what this place used to be. Or that it was better back in the 'good ol' days' or whatever."

"What's it about, then?"

Yohei shrugged. "I dunno. About... time, I guess. About things that were... whatever they were, back then, and how they won't be that way ever again. And how easy it is to forget that in every moment."

The young-looking man turned his head to look past the tree, beyond the tree. He seemed to be staring at something that wasn't there - or not there anymore, in any case.

An image flashed, suddenly, in Kazuki's mind: a drawing his grandfather had made for him when he was a child, a diagram of the school's layout. He had been fascinated by it, this simple two-dimensional depiction of another world; perhaps that was where his passion and appreciation for blueprints had come from. He never saw the building or the actual school grounds for himself, not the way they were, since it had long since been torn down by the time he was born. But from the memory of that drawing, and his family's photos, the orientation was roughly where the school gate might have stood.

Yohei yawned exaggeratedly, breaking Kazuki out of his reverie. "Yeah, I know I'm not making much sense," said the other man.

"You were asking about Takenaka the schoolteacher, before?" said Kazuki.

"Yeah?" said Yohei.

"Takenaka was an ancestor of mine," said Kazuki. "I believe he lived a good, long life. He was very much respected and beloved by his family and his community."

Yohei's eyes lit up. He looked pleased. "That's cool. He was an old fart but a good guy." The words were warm and affectionate.

"You knew him?" Despite his question, Kazuki didn't feel the least bit surprised. It was as if he had subconsciously been expecting it all along. He wondered how old this young-looking man really was.

Yohei was looking at the invisible school gate again. "He couldn't get through to me back then, but it wasn't his fault. I was probably the biggest pain in his backside. Then again," Yohei chuckled, "I was probably the biggest pain in everybody's backsides. Looking back, I feel kinda bad about it. He cared so much and he tried so hard. When I got my ramen stand, he became a regular... Came to the wedding… I think he was just relieved I had a job and was living some semblance of adulthood and not lying in a hole somewhere. He was a good guy. A good teacher. Best I ever had."

Yohei paused, then grinned again. This time, the expression had a private, reflective quality to it. "Best normal teacher I ever had. He would've gotten along nicely with the old hag. I'm sure they're probably bitching about my dimwitted lazy ass in eternity somewhere."

Kazuki found himself furrowing his brow; his mind had inexplicably caught on the mention of the ramen stand. He had a faint impression, a feeling, of something like this: barely peeking over the edge of a counter from the height of a stool, below a dusty overpass with a train rumbling deeply overhead, surrounded by the warm buzz of conversation and the noise of patrons slurping noodles, his grandfather's comfortable presence, and a man - a young-looking man in a white tee and hachimaki - deftly chopping ingredients with a skill that was magical.

It might have been a dream. But it was almost like a memory.

Who are you? The thought entered his mind to ask. Part of him wanted to. But the other part felt, perhaps, it didn't seem right to barge into another person's world. That it wasn't really his place, or his story.

"Excuse me," said a new voice. Kazuki turned to see another man standing behind him. His appearance was older than Yohei's. "Ito Rokurou, senior consultant," said the man. "Apologies for the intrusion. We meant to call earlier, but-"

"No apology necessary," Kazuki said. Though Rokurou's clothing was more casual than would typically be expected, his bearing and manner were precisely what Kazuki would have expected of a Minamino Enterprises senior employee. For a split second Kazuki wondered how long the man had been standing there, and how he had gotten there without any sound at all - and the thoughts rose, then fell away. It didn't seem important.

"Takenaka Kazuki, site manager," Kazuki said. They shook hands. "Head office told me about both of you already. I know you folks need to take a look around, and if there's any questions I can answer or anything I can help you out with, just let me know."

"That's most gracious of them, and of you." Rokurou nodded at Yohei. "Shinjo. Did you get what you needed?"

The other man said nothing. "Shinjo?" repeated Rokurou.

"Wha?" The younger-looking man squinted at the older-looking man. "Oh- Oh! Right, me. Yeah. I'm done here."

"Are you sure? We're not in a rush - we do have other stops you wanted to make, but we can stay longer."

"Sure I'm sure, houhhhhh I don't remember what your name is. But sure."

Mild exasperation crossed Rokurou's face, but he only shrugged at this apparent slight. "Okay."

"Guess we'll be going now," Yohei replied. He looked back at Kazuki. "Good talking to you." He paused. "...I dunno, I feel like I should be giving you a blessing or something." He raised an arm, aiming a closed fist at Kazuki. "May you live a kickass life with people you love, do shit that makes you happy, get lucky sometimes, all that good stuff." He opened his hand, flicking his fingers as though he were flinging invisible fairy dust. "Poof. Hope that worked."

"Thank you," said Kazuki, not sure what else to say. As odd as it was, he did find himself holding a certain reverence for the moment. For something much older and bigger than him, than his one ordinary human life, crossing a wide span of time and space that he couldn't begin to imagine.

"Thank you for your hospitality," said Rokurou, bowing politely.

"My pleasure." Kazuki bowed in return at both of them. "Is there anything else you need?" he asked.

"All good," Yohei said, giving him a cheerful thumbs-up.

"Yes, we can show ourselves out," said Rokurou.

"Say," Kazuki heard Yohei remark as the two men left, "When we met, didn't you kick my ass at the base of a tree?"

"What brought that to mind?" the other man answered. Yohei said something in reply, but they were facing away, too far, and Kazuki couldn't make out their conversation anymore.

Kazuki took his time locking up that evening before heading home. He found he felt no need to rush as he submitted his day-end report, cleaned and organized his desk for the next morning, made sure all systems were running properly.

Before he shut the gate behind him, he looked over his shoulder at the site that was, and had been, his workplace every day for the last few years, and for the next few years to come. The view was equal parts dust of the past, chaos of limbo, and emerging, gleaming shoots of the future. He realized that the sight was suddenly extremely familiar and incredibly alien at the same time. He thought about how this place was changing, and would continue to change in ways he couldn't even begin to fathom. He thought about his childhood, his parents, his wife and children, his ancestors, his descendants, and whatever people came before, or would come long after they were all gone.

Above the stillness of the empty site and the muted hum of equipment, the feeling came to him, a sense quiet yet overwhelming: it will never be this way again, the way it is right now, at this very moment.

For some reason, he felt OK with that.

Kazuki headed home. Along the way the thought entered his head that he ought to take his family out for some good, old-fashioned ramen. It seemed fitting, but why, he couldn't say.

Chapter Text

I remember you.

He smiles. "I remember you too," he says.

His face becomes clearer in my sight as my consciousness expands, sharpens, focuses on and into the wakeful solidness of this world. It is the youth, the foolhardy human boy who disrupted the ritual of one of the last wishes I granted, the only one where I took no one human life. He is a youth no more, though he still bears the semblance of youth.

And he is no longer human. The heart in his chest is silent. He is a demon king now, and he reeks of power.

You have changed.

He laughs. "Not too much, I hope." His hand, flesh inscribed with flowing runes, comes to me. His fingers wrap around me carefully, lifting me out of the box. "You look pretty much the same, except you don't have that giant crack in the middle of your glass anymore. Sorry 'bout that."

I had forgotten all about it until now, I assure him. And I feel nothing. My body is a mere shell. I take in my surroundings. We are in a large, open chamber. There are labels, cartons, white boxes, flickering screens all around us. The room is overflowing with artifacts. Where am I?

"This is T1 Customs and Immigration offices," says another voice. "We are in the warehouse for the interim storage of seized goods. You were retrieved during the bust of an inter-Worlds smuggling operation. You will be returned to the Reikai soon."

Ah. I focus on the second speaker's presence. The rokurokubi. I remember him too, from much, much longer ago: masquerading as human, serving a human lord in human court. I am quickly gaining awareness and strength. I circle their hearts, their thoughts and memories. Between the two of them, I catch up quickly on the news I have missed since I was last awake.

You found a new lord, I observe.

"I have indeed, Yata no Kagami," the rokurokubi replies with a smile, addressing me by my older name.

The youth - the king - looks from his retainer the rokurokubi to me, then shrugs. The gesture combined with his facial expression makes his thought as clear as day, even had I not been able to read them: Meh, whatever, of course they know each other. They're both like a bajillion years old.

We are not a bajillion years old, I inform him.

"Sometime after the dinosaurs died out, and before the invention of the toaster," he says. "Close enough."

A bit of a stretch, but I cannot disagree with that. Time is relative. If memory of bureaucratic process serves me, I assume I will be waiting in administrative limbo for a while. How long? Five years? Ten?

"Not in my territory," the youth/king says. "I'll rip somebody a new one if everything isn't outta here by the end of next month. But we still gotta wait for shipping paperwork. Kurama's expediting that from Minamino Enterprises." He smiles again. "You remember Kurama?"

I do. I recall the human fox. He had certainly stood out in my experience as well, vastly more intelligent, thorough and altruistic in his wish than most who seek me out. His plan was a well-considered one; what he had lacked was time. Time, and his former ruthlessness. He had questioned me, tested me, sought loopholes. Of course, he found only the truth: that I am a translator. I am a converter. I direct all of the energy the wisher can gather for me, the permission granted to me, to effect the desired outcome that has been expressed. Most human lives are barely just enough to accomplish their desire. His fortune was the boy he encountered, the reckless youth/king before me now. His mother lived and passed away happy. He is doing well.

"Yeah," the youth/king says. "You need anything? You eat anything? Other than lives, I mean."

I do not eat lives, and I have no need for physical sustenance. I do not mind a little conversation, after sleeping for so long.

"OK." He brings me closer to his face. "So," he says, curious, "What do you do to pass the time? When nobody's bugging you for wishes?"

I sleep.

His brow furrows. "That's it? Sounds boring."

I can delve anywhere the lives sacrificed to me can take me. I can wander the worlds of their past and their imagination. It is not uncomfortable.

"Yata no Kagami can also see the present, and even the future," explains the rokurokubi. "It is a bit like dreaming, would that be correct to say?"

Yes. It is not as clear as what I perceive from the two of you, before me, at this moment. I do not specialize in clairvoyance or fortune-telling.

"Oh," the youth/king nodded in understanding. "So it's like, you're lying on the couch watching TV all the time. But sorta passed out from all the beer."

You could say something like that. I do see much less action these centuries.

"That's too bad. Wanna see your buddies?" The youth/king puts me down on the table, then bends down, picks something up, brings them into view: the orb of hunger and the sword of demonization.

I see they are whole, and well taken care of. But I have no conversation with them.

"Yata no Kagami is the only one with consciousness," says the rokurokubi.

"What?" exclaims the youth/king. "Really?" He turns the sword this way and that, rotates the gem in the light to inspect its facets. "But these guys are super old too. Even umbrellas turn into demons after a hundred years, don't they?"

"It isn't that simple," says the rokurokubi. "It isn't as though a thing exists for a hundred years and then automatically becomes sentient. But you'll have to ask the Reikai about the sword and the orb. I am not aware of them having spoken to anyone in my time. Koenma may know."

They were perhaps awake once. They are not at present.

"Are they sleeping?" asks the youth/king.

Perhaps. I do not know.

"Well, if they are, hope they're having a good time in there," says the youth/king. "It's probably better they're not awake. I mean, if all people do with you is eat souls and turn shit into demons, can't imagine you'd be pleasant company to be around."

He puts the jewel back into its box. He is about to put the sword back as well, when he pauses.

"Isn't it funny," he comments, holding the blade out and watching the light reflect off of it, "how everything turned out? You guys were my first case. I was in way over my head; shoulda kicked the bucket a million times over. I lucked out with Gouki, shoulda died right there. Kurama - lucked out with him too. He was already expecting to die or surrender in some way. Hiei - it was a good thing Kurama wasn't dead."

He is replaying the memories at hyper speed in his mind. The battle in the forest - forgetting he had already used up his one spirit gun shot - the rescue from the ferry girl - the second pursuit - the child falling before his eyes - the tree branch. The red-haired stranger in the street - the meeting at his school - the mother in the hospital - the split-second decision before anyone could change their minds. The kidnapping - the third eye opening on her forehead - the - the - the -

And then, like a replay you have watched countless times, and suddenly detect something new that you had never noticed before, there is a double take, and a pause, and a rewind.

No, that is not it. It is not a double-take, nor a rewind. It is a weighted contemplation, a circling back and underlining of a note that had been made before, a thought that had already crossed his mind before. He is not the type to dwell on this type of thing, but one cannot avoid such thoughts floating to the conscious surface when given over a hundred years to stir, to churn, to steep.

And before, when such thoughts arose, I was not there.

I am here now, less than an arms-length away. I am awake, and I can hear his heart.

Keiko was almost a demon, once.

His lips are dry. Without being aware he is doing so, he licks them.

He knows it is easier to prevent a death, to cure a terminal illness. Two half-lives is enough. It is easier to resurrect the recently dead, whether two days or two hours. Less than a century of passively accumulated energy is enough. I can sense his heart whirring wordlessly, unconsciously. What of the long dead? What of the long since reincarnated? What of changing the past? What of rewriting the reality of present existence itself?

Every living thing yearns for things impossible; it is the nature of living things. Some admit it, some refuse to believe it, and some simply do not know it yet.

I know this to be true. I am the Mirror of Darkness, and I reflect the truth, even if it is in darkness. And he -

He is a demon king, and he is carrying the Spirit Wave. He has a great deal of power, and a great will, if not the immediate desire, capable of even more.

He looks at me. I can feel the sight of dark glass held in his mind, and I can feel his mind ever so slightly tipping, beginning to sink.

Ever so slightly.

What if, he is thinking, inching the door open to the deeper waters of possibility.

"Put it out of your mind," says the rokurokubi. His voice is steady, but also slightly stiff - it is laced with tension. I can hear the alarm in his heart, the anxious unspoken plea to his lord: Don't tread into those waters. It will eat you alive.

Your retainer is wise, I say. Listen to him.

His mind spreads out. He stops sinking. He is still far, so it is easy.

"I know," he says. He was not deeply tempted, only curious, wondering. "And I do." The corner of his mouth curls up. "Most of the time."

He has grown wise in his years, too. He knows the first stage of drowning is finding a place where the waters can overtake you.

He puts the sword away. "Well, that was a fun little reunion," he says. "Now it's time for you to have a nice, long nap. And I mean that in a positive way, not a I'm-about-to-rearrange-your-face way."

That it was. And that I shall.

He nestles me back into the fabric of my box. The shadow of the lid hovers over my glass.

Yusuke.

He pauses at his name. He hadn't realized that I know it, hadn't thought about it, but of course I know it. The shadow moves away, and I see his face. "Yeah?"

You've changed, I tell him. But not too much.

He grins at me. "That's good. Good night."

Good night, I reply.

He closes the box over me. And I sleep.

Chapter Text

Ugh. Not another one. I pick up the stupid white stone. It's about the size and shape of a bead, just like the others. I glare at it, not like that does anything.

I know I can't pretend nothing's happening anymore. I know I should let Hokushin know.

And I know he's busy, so I don't want to.

OK, in reality that logic doesn't work, since A) Hokushin's always busy with his job and B) his job is my Chief of Staff, and that basically translates to "clean up Yusuke's shit, make sure world doesn't end/T1 doesn't collapse". So he'll always make time for me no matter what. But let's face it - I ain't the easiest bum to babysit. Dealing with me can be rough. I'm fully aware I sometimes take him to the point where a lesser dude would have spontaneously combusted. I got a bet going with a few of the interns that if he ever decides to stop shaving his head and grow hair again, nothing'll happen. (So far, nobody's collected any money yet. Stay tuned!) I'm probably shaving years off of his demon lifespan, whatever that is, on a regular basis.

So, I'm conflicted. And I hate being conflicted. Basically I hate anything that makes me think. Thinking makes you second guess all your decisions, and who the hell has time for that? What I need is to get beyond this emotionally and just make a goddamned move. If I make a list of all my options and all the pros and cons, that might help. OK, I guess that technically counts as thinking, but it's like… thinking so I don't have to think more. Yeah, let's go with that.

OK. Plan A: Tell Hokushin.

Pro: Hokushin knows, probably solves The Mystery of the Stupid White Stones in like two hours. Hooray! Con: It's been a few days already. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get a "Your Majesty, why didn't you tell me earlier?" lecture.

Nahhhh.

So, Plan B: Don't tell Hokushin.

Pro: No lecture. Con: Problem not solved. Aaaaand I'm really not sure what to do after that. If I tell somebody else, then sooner or later that'll get to Hokushin, and then it won't be "Your Majesty, why didn't you tell me earlier?" but "Your Majesty, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME EARLIER?!"

So. Plan C: Deal with The Mystery of the Stupid White Stones myself. Which I am already doing right now. Which so far has consisted of me throwing the stones out the window and getting pissed off whenever I see another one. Sure, you'd think I'd be pretty good at solving mysteries considering I was a Spirit Detective over a hundred years ago, but like I keep reminding Koenma, that job title was sooo misleading. It shoulda been Spirit Gopher, or Spirit Bouncer, or Spirit Asskicker. And things weren't that different after I went independent either, except Spirit Noodlemaker ended up being a way more sustainable business.

Anyways, can't win, man.

So. Plan A, with a twist: tell Hokushin. But do it in a nice, thoughtful, considerate way. Hokushin says "Why, Your Majesty, you should simply have told me earlier," finds out where these stupid rocks are coming from, the end.

OK, Plan A, you win this time. Stupid stone in hand, I go looking for the good ol' Chief of Staff.

I'm walking along the corridor on one side of the central administration building when I pass a tour group on the opposite side. I don't notice them at first since we're separated by the atrium - it's basically a giant gap dropping down through the centre of the tower, all the way down to a view of the main floor, and the two corridors run separately on either side. You can't just fly from one side over to the other. Well, unless you can fly, or jump across the gap. I can jump it, and so can most of my staff, but most of the tourists would probably fall down and die.

But they definitely see me, and they start making a lot of noise. "I love you, Your Majesty!" somebody screams.

I stop to give whoever it is a thumbs up. "Love ya too-AauUUGH!" I'm almost blinded by all the fricking camera flashes. I wave in their general direction with the hand that's not covering my eyes. "Er, anybody seen Hokushin?" I ask, when I can see again.

"We saw him headed for the Archives just a few minutes ago, Your Majesty!" somebody shouts.

"Thanks!" I take off.

The Royal Archives is our giant fancy library. It's got super high ceilings and expensive looking furniture and books and documents and all the shit you'd expect a bonafide library to have. It's had a few renovations since I first came to the Makai, but it's still got that same vibe. Can't say I've ever been much for libraries, but it's pretty cool, looks just like a fantasy movie set. That's what I thought when I first saw it. I ended up getting stupidly lost in it that time. A couple hundred years later and it's not so overwhelming anymore; I actually know where stuff is now. And anyways, I'm here for a reason today.

It's pretty quiet and there aren't a lot of people - a couple of our own researchers here and there. I pick up Hokushin's presence in the direction of the map room pretty quickly and head straight there. His back is to the door, and he's inspecting a map of some sort. In the map room. Duh.

OK, Yusuke, remember Plan A. Let's do this.

I open my mouth. "Hokushiiiin honeyyy-"

He doesn't even turn around. "What did you do now, Your Majesty," he says without missing a beat.

Damn, too obvious. And then I'm like, wait, too obvious what, I didn't even fucking do anything this time! I'm offended. "I didn't fucking do anything!" I say, letting him know my Royal Offensiveness… Offension.. Offend… ed… ness? Whatever. "Somebody's been leaving these stupid white rocks around my room, so I just wanted to ask if you knew anything about them."

He stops. As in, he completely freezes, then fully turns and looks straight at me. I know right away what he's thinking.

Assassination attempt.

When I first became king - OK, second time, since the first time I disbanded the kingdom - practically any time something weird or unexpected happened, that was Hokushin's immediate reaction: assassination attempt. Kitchen got the order wrong? Assassination attempt. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and fell on the floor? Assassination attempt. Nothing was too small or too minor to be worth considering as part of a carefully hatched murder plot. I made fun of his paranoia mercilessly... until a bunch of them actually turned out to be assassination attempts, and it got a little less funny.

But it's been improving over the years. The Makai grew more civilized, and assassination attempts in general dropped off. It was so 20th century, you know? But I get it, some people are old fashioned. And honestly, considering what a pain in the ass the king is (that's me, in case anybody forgot), a Chief of Staff would probably be relieved if somebody actually succeeded one day.

But god bless the long-suffering man. Hokushin's loyal as hell and damn good at his job. He never shirks his duties, unlike some people I can name (like, uh, me). Doesn't matter if it was a hundred years ago or a hundred years from now, the possibility is always real to him. And you know, he's awfully creative in coming up with ways that something could be playing into some other big convoluted master plan. Little white stones equal Yusuke-offing scheme? That didn't even cross my mind. (And before anybody else says it, yeah, so doesn't a ton of other shit. I'm self-aware, you know.) On the contrary, for Hokushin, it's a no-brainer: someone is clearly trying to kill me by putting marbles in my room and they must be stopped.

"Are they still there?" he says, taking me out of the impression I'm doing in my head. "Don't touch them." He's walking over to me and his face is dead serious.

Shit. I automatically put my hand behind my back. "Uh, I'm holding one right now," I say.

He turns almost as pale as the rock hidden in my hand. I look over my shoulder, wondering if some, I dunno, giant head with a gaping maw or ghost ninja or whatever with a sword's materialized behind me, about to eat me or cut my head off. Nope, nothing of course. I would have sensed it, or Hokushin would have clobbered it already.

I look back at him. "Good news is I'm still alive," I say. "Wait, lemme check." For a split second I almost pretend to freak out about my heart not beating, but then I remember "Plan A, with a twist" was supposed to be nice, thoughtful and considerate. Ditching that idea. "Yep, still alive," I say instead. Lame. Whatever.

He doesn't laugh. Well, it wasn't that funny. "Give it to me," he says, hand outstretched.

"No way, man," I reply, holding my closed fist angled as far away from him as possible. His worrying is starting to get to me, and it's honestly freaking me out a bit too. If this stone's part of some black magic shit, marker of death or whatever, I ain't about to let anybody get near it. And fucking hell I'd let Hokushin get killed thanks to my dumbassery. "It's not doing anything now. What if something happens to you? You stand right there. I'll open my hand and you can check it out from over there. Over there. Right there."

He pauses, stopping about two metres away, then nods. "Show me," he says. I show him, spreading my fingers carefully.

He extends his neck to get a closer look, eyeing the gleaming thing lying in my open palm, checking it out from this angle and that.

"It appears to be a white pebble," he finally says.

"That's what I said!" I say, annoyed. And that's when Mister Stretchy Smartass with his rubber arm plucks the stone right out of my hand before I know what's what. Fortunately nothing happens, except me nearly flipping my shit.

"Fuck you," I say, after making sure my stomach hasn't exploded out of my mouth.

He's inspecting the stone more closely, his neck and arm back to normal people configuration. He holds it up to his eye. "You said you found it in your room? And there were others?"

"Yeah, just a couple," I say.

"A couple is two," he says. "Only two?"

"Uhh," I reconsider. "Guess not. There were a few of them. Here and there." He looks a little frowny. Guess I shoulda paid more attention.

"When did you first notice them?"

"A day or two ago," I say. "Maybe three. Max."

He's nodding now. Ooh, I got them details. Good job, Yusuke. That's why you're the king.

"Mm," he says thoughtfully. I can hear the I wish you had told me about this earlier behind that Mm. At least I don't hear a Your Majesty, why didn't you- in it. "What did you do with them?" he asks.

"Threw them out," I say with complete confidence. He gives me a Look. That's right, a Look with a capital L. What'd I say? Can't win. "What? I didn't know they were important. What am I supposed to be, psychic?" I pause. "Oh yeah." Ba-dum shhh. That's a rimshot, in case you can't tell from my killer repertoire of sound effects.

Hokushin sighs, his long, drawn-out Lord (100% not me)-Give-Me-Strength sigh.

"Let's go to your room," he says.

"If we're both going, that means I'm not grounded, right," I joke. He doesn't laugh. Zero for three. Geez, the audience is brutal today. I shrug. "OK," I say, and follow him out of the Archives.

"Forgive me, my Lord," he says as we walk. "The reason I am particularly anxious is because we had found some stones like these elsewhere in the tower and the garden grounds."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "What?" I say, outraged. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

He looks at me. "What would you have done?"

"Uh…" I say, lamely. "Thrown them out, I guess." Then I stop. "No wait, if you told me you were looking for weird little white stones, then I wouldn't have! And that's besides the point! Ain't a guy entitled to a little self-righteous high horse every once in a while?"

"Yes, my Lord, you are entitled to a little self-righteous high horse every once in a while," he says. He looks like he's trying not to crack a smile. I can tell; it's all in the eyes. OK good, at least I'm not making him question the meaninglessness of existence all the time. "We don't know what they are yet, so I didn't want this to weigh on your mind unnecessarily. However, you are right; I should not have kept you in the dark about this. Seizan has been looking into it, and will hopefully soon have findings for us."

"Indeed, I have just now completed my investigation," says Seizan, who conveniently crosses our path right at that moment.

"Oh hey," I say brightly. "That was fast." I admit it, Hokushin had a point about not boring me with everything. By the time I know about it, a lot of shit is already solved. Being king is great. (Later I realize it was so great that it even made me forget Hokushin said those three magical little words: you are right. Damn it!)

"My Lord." Seizan bows. "Hokushin. It is good that you are together. Here is the analysis of the pebbles that had been found." He hands Hokushin the report. Everybody knows I hate reading reports. Did I mention it's awesome being king?

Hokushin looks at it - I can see his eyes skimming it quickly - and then at me.

"Oh," he says.

"Yes," says Seizan.

"Oh what?" I say. "Yes what?" I look at Hokushin, and then at Seizan. I'm kind of wishing Seizan had handed me the paper now; both of them have those unreadable expressions on their faces, the kind that piss me off. Friggin' hell, if this were Touou and Nankai I wouldn't be having this problem. Touou would have made some sort of offhand remark that let you figure it out, and Nankai would eventually have just plain spilled the beans from excitement.

"Thank you, Seizan," says Hokushin, handing the report back. "This greatly eases my mind." Well, that's a relief. He turns to me. "Come with me, my Lord. We know who's been leaving these white stones."

"I'm all ears," I say.

"It will be easier to show you," says Hokushin. All righty then, lead on, my man. We don't get too far before he stops. We're standing in the hallway, just short of the long corridor leading to my room in the the Acorn.

"Here is our culprit," he says.

And whaddya know. It's big fluffy Puu, who's just waddled out of the Acorn.

"Puu?" says Puu, when he sees us.

"You!" I say, walking right up and poking the guilty party in his feathered chest. He squeals and then crows cheerfully. "What's the big idea, Puu? Why are you leaving tiny white rocks all over the place? You freaked the hell out of Hokushin."

"They're not rocks," Hokushin says from behind me. "They're eggs."

"Yeah, Puu," I say, jabbing again. "Why are you shitting tiny white eggs all over the- what the fuck did you just say?!"

"Spirit beast eggs," say Hokushin.

I'm, I know it's hard to believe, at a loss for words.

"B-but..." I finally stammer.

Hokushin lifts an eyebrow. "Where did you think spirit beasts came from? You took the test."

"-But I thought spirit beast eggs were gold," I say. I quickly warm up to my argument. "And bigger. And egg-shaped." These were definitely not gold. They were super tiny. And they were kind of roundish shaped. I rest my case.

Or not. "They take on a golden sheen once they've accumulated enough ambient - free-floating - energy to be able to latch onto a single host," says Hokushin. "They grow on exposure to more spirit energy. They are generally round, but that shape can vary."

"But I'm a guy," I say. I can hear the whine in my own voice. Bleah.

"Yes, my Lord," says Hokushin patiently in his My-King-The-Idiot voice. "You are male. Puu is your spirit beast. Puu is a reflection of your soul, but Puu is not you. And spirit beasts technically have no gender."

"Oh," I say. Oh yeah. I always forget about that.

It's way easier to think of Puu as an extension of me, and that's pretty much what everyone thought of him - er, it - as from day one. The reality is, as Kurama explained to me once, and Botan and Koenma confirmed later, that spirit beasts are just spirit energy parasites. They're called spirit beasts because they're animals native to the spirit world, so the Reikai conveniently adopted them for its own use for stuff like those tests. Puu eats extra emanating bits of my soul (which is kind of weird and freaky to think about, so I don't) and my spirit energy, so his - its, whatever - appearance is a reflection of that, and Puu's awareness and temperament mirror my own, and if I get super down that affects Puu on a level nobody else can understand.

But that aside, you could beat the physical shit out of one of us and that'd be a separate thing entirely. I'm just a long-term food source with a lot of input on the fashion. That's cool with me. I'm glad to have the big blue bird around. Puu's really handy. He can fly and carry lots of people, he can generate protective shields, he cares about the same things - the same people - I do. Most of all, not a lot of people can say they've got somebody who 100% understands them all the time. It's pretty comforting, especially if you're somebody as screwed up as yours truly.

Anyways. So Puu's a grown up spirit beast that lays eggs. Little tiny white eggs with future baby Puus. Or baby whatever they would look like when they hatch.

"In any case, my Lord, congratulations," says Hokushin. He holds out the egg he had snatched from me so I can see it, shining in his palm like a tiny white jewel. "The normal spirit beast life cycle takes hundreds, if not thousands, of years. You may be the first host to have lived long enough, and to have provided enough power, to see eggs laid by your own spirit beast."

"Puu!" says Puu.

"Holy shit," I say quietly, staring at the egg. Damn. It's so tiny and so white. Barely bigger than a Koorime tear, smaller than a rurimaru. Sure can't carve anybody's names on that thing. I feel sort of dazed, kind of awed.

And then, I remember. And when I say I remember, I mean it hits me like the jolt of a fucking 800 ton lightning bolt from the sky. "Holy shit!" I yell, making Hokushin and Puu jump out of their skins. "I threw them out the window!"

I brush past Puu, race like a madman into my room, to the window, and jump. I threw them out. I fucking threw Puu's babies out the window because I thought they weren't anything important. Fuck me.

My feet hit the ground with a crunch and I immediately have a nightmare that I landed on one. I look at the bottom of one shoe and then the other, sweating bullets. Nothing, just some twigs. Thank god.

I get flat on my stomach, crawling the grass for anything that looks like tiny white gumballs. Sure, I'd spent a few weeks with a spirit beast egg in my spirit pants pocket, but I know dick all about them. Like I know dick all about most things because I'm a lazy, dumbass moron. I know they feed on spirit energy and that when they're ready to hatch they're big and golden and sometimes giant-eared blue penguins come out of them. The end. Fuck fuck fuck.

It's only been a few days. They look like rocks. They feel like rocks. Maybe they're OK from being tossed out of a tower like a thousand meters high and not shattered into a million pieces with baby Puu-goo oozing out of them or rotting into the earth somewhere. Fuuuuck.

I'm on my hands and knees digging through the dirt, praying to every god I know (which is like two, and one is incarcerated) and don't know (which is like all the rest of them), when I hear that familiar voice.

"My Lord," says Hokushin, "Are you all right?"

Puu puus worriedly, looking super distressed. Swear to god, I'm ready to cry. All my desperate searching - OK, all my five minutes of mentally screaming DOES THIS LOOK LIKE AN EGG at everything that vaguely looks like an egg - had turned up was one rock that was probably a rock, and one rock that was definitely a rock.

"I think I'm losing my fucking mind," I mutter under my breath.

I feel Hokushin's hand on my shoulder. I look up at him. "Don't worry," he says reassuringly. "Spirit beast eggs are very resilient. They take hundreds of years to hatch if there is no host to accelerate the process, so at present they are little different from stones."

"Yeah, but what if…" I think hard. Yeah, go right ahead, insert some joke about that hurting. "... What if one of the cats eats them?"

Hokushin considers. "It would probably pass through their system undigested. I'll have the garden staff and the veterinarians keep an eye out. We'll make notices for the visitors if they see anything that looks like little white pebbles. And I'll have our researchers investigate the rate of egg lay. I imagine the Reikai should have solid data; that will give us quite an accurate number of eggs needing to be accounted for."

Thank god for Hokushin. This dude thinks of everything. I look at him appreciatively.

"This is so fucking stupid," I say.

He smiles. "At least," he says, "it isn't an assassination attempt."

Chapter Text

On a day before

"Anyways," the king says, "let's check out the beach first. In case there's crap everywhere from people who wandered in and partied all over the place."

I bow my head. "As you wish," I reply.

I do not point out the obvious. Picking up litter is hardly a task for the king. In any case, there is never anything to dispose of. There are never any trespassers.

And, we always begin with the beach.

Morning.

Waves wash in, out. White flowers froth and melt into the sand. The shore is, as expected, pristine. The staff take impeccable care of this place. As vast as the private reserve is, with its security and association with the king, who would dare - or even be able to - trespass onto it?

Granted, the land does not belong to the king alone. But the other owners kindly and quietly consider it wholly his. They have each told me as much, in private, on separate occasions. Such statements are left unspoken to the king. He would argue loudly against them. Naturally, there have never been any formal changes in ownership.

It used to be that the owners would gather here regularly. As years passed, the list of attendees grew shorter. The time between reunions continues to grow longer.

We make our way closer to the water. Some years the king runs to it, kicking and splashing playfully. The king's spirit beast might join us, breaking from its own wandering of the reserve. Other years we stand at the edge of the shoreline while the king tosses flat stones and watches them skip into the distance. Last year, it rained. We waited it out under a canopy, grey pouring down around us and feeding the ocean.

This year, the sky is clear. The king sits down on a large piece of driftwood the colour of bone. His motion is both measured and abrupt. He might have sighed as he sat down. Between the sound of light fabric being swept aside and the gentle hush of displaced sand, I couldn't say for sure.

The king sits, and we look out at the ocean. Far away, white gulls swoop and dip. Every so often, a bird's cry pierces the sky. And the sky -

It is an unending expanse of blue, merging with the ocean.

Cloudless. Boundless.

Noon.

Incense wafts from slender sticks. Fragrant smoke floats over the white chrysanthemums, the bowls of oranges. The king sniffs the air, and pokes at an orange. For a moment I wonder if he is going to pick it up and eat it.

"Beats me why I keep doing this," he murmurs.

These words, or some variation of them, are spoken nearly every visit. I understand. He knows, far better than many, what is and isn't here.

All around us lie rows of white stone columns. Bare stone markers dressed in flowers and fruit, empty stone stations filled with dust. The trains long departed, hundreds of years ago.

The king gets back to his feet. I follow suit as he presses his palms together, bows his head and closes his eyes.

When he finishes, he turns slightly towards me and shrugs, as if in apology for dragging us all the way here.

"All ritual is meaningless," I say. "Save to those who partake in it."

The corner of the king's mouth quirks. "Guess we'll be coming again next year," he says.

Evening.

The moon is not quite full. It hangs low in the sky, a heavy pome on an invisible branch, framed by the open shoji doors. Night grass rustles; cicadas chirp. The attendant steps over with a light foot and refills the king's cup. Steam ghosts around the flow of tea.

Just before the pot is tilted back, we hear the distinct call of a cuckoo. The sound echoes in the trees.

The king seems to pay it no mind. He brings the cup to his lips and drinks steadily, without pause. Tomorrow we would be heading back through the forests and up the mountains. The king's spirit beast would usually be awaiting us at the peak, where the gate to the Makai sits.

"Nah," says the king, setting down his empty cup. "Let's go back tonight. It's more fun to run around when you can't see stuff." Before I can open my mouth to question his judgment, he adds, "And I dunno if I can take any more of this temple zen shit." He turns his face away from me, towards the night, the moon, the fading cry of the cuckoo outside.

Before we leave, he asks for a moment with the staff. "Thanks," he says simply. "This place always looks exactly like I remember it." They beam with pride.

Unburdened, we slowly make our way up the well-worn path. In truth, we could easily cover it in less than one night, at even half our full speed. The king is purposefully taking his time.

The air is crisp. Sharp. It would be a clear day in the mountains, tomorrow.

Chapter Text

I like you
as a demon,
your hair a long, wild mane
and the crown of a king, 
the dark ink of your heritage
running down your face, your neck,
every inch of your body,
lightning searing through
each bright drop of blood.

I like you
as a human,
your hair loose and falling
into your eyes,
a spirit unpredictable
and unbreakable, 
with the kind of strange dreams that can only spring
from an existence rooted in brevity,
like a flame burning boldly in the dark.

I like you,
as you.
Your hair brushed back roughly
the way you prefer it,
your eyes and mouth laughing,
your cares devil may.
Reflecting a light
both extraordinary and uncomplicated:
everything honest, everything true.

Chapter Text

“Mommy, I know him,” Manami said.

He was on again, answering questions from the reporters. The autotranscript of their banter flashed along the bottom of the screen. The video screens ran silent in the transit system so as not to annoy uninterested riders or interfere with public announcements.

“Of course you do, honey,” said Ayano indulgently. 

“No, mommy, I know him,” Manami insisted.

“Yes, sweetie,” agreed Ayano. “You see him on TV all the time. You wanted to see him in person, right? That’s why we’re here.”

“No, you don’t understand, mommy,” Manami said, and turned away. That was the end of that conversation.

Ayano sighed. She ran her fingers through the pale coral locks of her daughter’s hair, trying to get rid of the knots and cowlicks. Manami kept looking out the window, not moving, as Ayano dug around in her bag, found a brush and a hair tie, and wrestled her daughter’s thick hair into a more presentable, if somewhat stubby, braid.

At least Manami wasn’t throwing a tantrum. Ayano wondered what they were doing in daycare. Was every child this obsessed?

Certainly, “King ‘Wameshi”, as Manami called him, was a fascinating, remarkable man. His life was long and eventful and - unsurprisingly, considering his demon nature - still running strong. He possessed a magnetic, larger-than-life personality that made him perfect for the unrelenting, ever-present media of every age. Anyone who was, well, anyone had a story about the king, to the point where who knew what was true and what was sensationalized anymore. 

Ayano admitted she’d bought into some of the mania as well when she was in high school and university.  But for a three year-old? It seemed a bit much.

Granted, her daughter wasn’t often like this. As a first-time mother, Ayano frequently compared notes with other parents. Manami was sometimes loud, sometimes shy, sometimes stubborn as a mule, sometimes inexplicable. It didn’t seem that she was that much louder, or more shy, or more stubborn, or more inexplicable than other children her age. She had started talking fairly early, and was maybe (in Ayano and her husband’s probably biased opinions) a bit more coordinated than most. And she also sometimes had a single-minded focus on odd things, things that would have bored most children, or even some adults, much more quickly. But there was nothing that seemed especially standout or alarming.

Ayano couldn’t tell exactly how this whole King Urameshi thing started. Looking back, she supposed Manami did seem to perk up and pay attention whenever he appeared on the news, her eyes tracking his movements. Ayano had simply chalked it up to the fact that the king was, well, the way he was. Kids were naturally drawn to noisy, cartoonish things, right? 

But it was nothing like this. When her husband had casually read out the announcement that King Urameshi would be in town, and commented that they were actually close-ish to one of the public meet-and-greets, it was as if a pipe had burst. Manami had been driving the two of them crazy ever since. They finally got a shadow of peace and quiet by promising that yes, they would definitely, absolutely, no doubt-about-it go see King Urameshi. Not a day went by that Manami didn’t remind them of their promise. Ayano managed to get the day off work; her husband was not so lucky. Or, depending on how Manami’s temper went over the course of the day, perhaps he was lucky.

So now, here they were, riding the train to the meet-and-greet site.

The commercial break was over; the king was on again. Oh, wait, no, he wasn’t; it was just some footage from the last Unification Tournament, the king body-slamming his opponent into the ground from a dramatic angle. Ayano actually remembered this match. She’d been busy and didn’t catch it live like almost everybody else in the city, it seemed, had. But her coworkers had shown her the highlights the next day. Her workplace always ran a betting pool during the tournament, and she usually bet on King Urameshi whenever he came up. It was partly for nostalgia, but mostly because she didn’t actively follow Demon World politics and usually had no idea who most of the others were. Although, admittedly, since they were all demons, the key figures didn’t really change much from when she was a kid. She did have kind of a vague general memory of more candidates than she thought she would. Regardless, it was fun.

King Urameshi’s hairstyle was a little different lately, she noted, but otherwise he looked and acted exactly as she remembered him from her school days. The carefree days of her youth, she thought in private amusement, although in honesty she’d been a relatively reserved teenager. She had never seen him in person - she wasn’t that into him that she was going to brave the crowds for hours on end, though some of her girlfriends could surely be found screaming in the backgrounds of the archival footage. And not that she was old now, but she was certainly an older, hopefully more mature person, plus a happily-married wife and mother.

Meanwhile, the king was there on the screen with his eternally boyish face, and that irreverent attitude that made him so popular - equal parts sincerity and unpredictability. 

Ayano smiled as she watched him interact on-screen with a class of kindergarteners. He was really good with kids. He came off very natural and animated, and simply great fun to watch. 

She glanced at her daughter, still staring intently out the window. There would probably be a lot of people, and it would likely go quite quickly, Ayano imagined. Manami would have her 10 seconds with the king, then they’d go for ice cream, and then they would head home and finally have some peace and quiet. Maybe, once the euphoria of meeting King Urameshi wore off.

“Sorry, ma’am,” said the security guard, patting the rope. “We cut the line off already just under two hundred people ago.”

“Oh,” said Ayano. She found herself wishing they had gotten on an earlier train. She hadn’t thought Manami would be able to get up so early, but she’d been proven wrong when Manami was actually the one to wake her up at the crack of dawn. Sadly, they hadn’t taken advantage of that.

“Move along, no loitering if you’re not in line,” he said.

“Um …” Ayano looked at him pleadingly. “My daughter’s been dying to see King Urameshi. Is there anything we can do?”

The guard shrugged. “Try some stilts.”

Ayano sighed. She hated causing scenes. “Thank you.” She took her daughter’s hand, and left.

“Mommy,” said Manami. “Where are we going?”

“I’m sorry, honey,” said Ayano. “There’s too many people. We tried, sweetie. Do you want some ice cream?”

Manami looked away.

Ayano sighed again. She knelt down so that she could look her daughter in the face. “Manami, sweetie-”

She stopped.

She had never seen such a look of immense disappointment on her daughter’s face.

No, never on anyone’s face. 

Ayano felt like someone had stabbed her in the chest. She couldn’t live with herself without getting her daughter some glimpse of the king in person.

She stood back up, hands clawing a bit at her temples. Good lord, no matter how much she wanted to, what on earth could she do? She was nobody, an office worker, just an ordinary person. And they were just two people in a sea of at least hundreds, if not thousands, of others in the city who wanted to see the king.

For a brief, desperate second she considered the wild stunts that her more adventurous, risk-taking friends used to pull to sneak into venues. But no, she had never been inclined to that sort of thing even in her younger days, refusing even to play the role of lookout. And besides, she had her daughter with her. Not to mention the fact that King Urameshi and his entourage weren’t just entertainment celebrities or sports superstars - they were also politicians, technically. Security was likely well beyond what she could imagine.

She thought for a bit, then took out her phone and looked up the map of the meet-and-greet area. She zoomed in along their announced route, a kind of mini-parade to enable more crowd interaction. She looked for landmarks in the unfamiliar neighbourhood that might offer a better, higher vantage point.

As she searched, she kept thinking how this was silly. This was dumb. This was not worth it. This was a waste of time, and their odds were terrible. She should take her daughter out for ice cream and then to a shopping mall and buy her anything she wanted, and distract her for the rest of the day, and then they should go home. 

Then she made the mistake of looking at her daughter again.

It broke her heart.

She sighed. King Urameshi, you better be worth it.

“Manami, dear,” she said. “Come with mommy. We’re going to take a look around and try a few things.”

She did try a few things, but so far they had all been failures. It wasn’t as if she were the only person with a map of the route, and there were plenty of people with the same brilliant ideas. At least Manami had been nothing but cooperative and uncomplaining, following her closely and not wandering off or getting distracted at all.

Ayano was carrying her daughter now, trying to give her little legs a rest from all their walking, as she looked up at a fire escape poking out from the side of a building. The building was not too far from this section of the main route, separated by both elevation and high steel fences. 

She glanced from the escape to the crowds behind her. Only a short distance away was a dense wall of people trying to peer through the steel fencing.

She didn’t exactly have other options at this point. The crowd was chattering excitedly, the air buzzing with noise. The entourage was going to pass by soon, possibly any moment now. 

The escape wasn’t the most visible from street level, which might’ve explained why it was empty. But maybe there was a reason nobody was on it...

Well, she had to at least try it.

“Manami?” Ayano stroked her daughter’s hair.

Manami lifted her head from Ayano’s shoulder and looked at her.

“I’m going to put you down, OK?”

Her daughter nodded, and Ayano strode into the alley and lowered her daughter to the ground. 

“Stay where I can see you,” she said, one hand on the railing of the escape. “Mommy’s going to test these stairs first to make sure they’re OK. If you don’t stay where I can see you, I’m coming right back down and we’re not going up, and we’re not going to see King Urameshi.”

Manami nodded again.

Ayano headed up slowly, gripping the bars with care and testing their stability. So far, so good.

She could see the crowds - gosh, there were so many people - and could hear the cheers erupting in increasing volume in pockets around the fencing. It seemed the entourage had either arrived or was pretty close - she wasn’t high enough to really have visibility yet.

But she also noticed that the paint on the escape was peeling quite a bit, and there were clearly rust stains, obscured until now since they had blended in so well at a distance.

It also bothered her that there was a creaking sound nearly every other step. The crowd sometimes drowned it out, but the noise only seemed to get louder the more she progressed up the escape, and if she was being honest with herself, the platform wasn’t the steadiest.

She frowned. The cautious, practical personality in her took over.

Manami would be disappointed, but better safe than sorry. Ayano steeled herself in anticipation of her daughter’s expression, and turned around to go back down.

“Manami, mommy’s coming down,” she called as she descended. “Stay right where you are. Good girl. Sorry, this one didn’t work out either. It’s not a safe spot to see-” 

Then her foot slipped.

And her grip failed her.

Ayano cried out instinctively as she tumbled down the rest of the escape.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, but there wasn’t much she was actually able to do about it, other than observing that she was falling down, her arms and legs were hitting parts of the railing, scraping against the side of the building, and the ground was getting closer and closer. She did somehow manage to at least turn her body, somewhat, to not land in a face-forward pile.

She lay there, blinking, in silent shock at the entire thing.

She had no sense of time. Just lay there.

“Mommy!”

At Manami’s distressed shout, Ayano became fully aware of the present and of her surroundings, and the fact that she was sprawled gracelessly on the ground.

“...I’m OK, honey,” she said, lifting her head, just as she also became aware of running feet against the pavement and the presence of people around her, and voices asking, “What happened?” “Are you all right?”

“Manami,” she said to the voices, and sat up. She immediately regretted the vertigo that resulted. “...Manami? Where’s my daughter?” 

“Don’t worry, she’s here,” someone assured her.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Ayano said, turning to thank the stranger. Whose voice, come to think of it, was rather familiar -

Ayano froze. 

King Urameshi was looking down at her, hand outstretched. “You OK?” he said, sounding exactly the way he did on TV. He looked very polished and cool, dressed in a sleek white trench coat with designer sunglasses perched on his head.

Ayano stared.

And as she stared, three things occurred to her.

One: Around King Urameshi, and her, was his entourage. As well as a fairly sizable crowd.

Two: In order to get to her so quickly, the entourage must have jumped the steel fence around the route.

Three: The moment she lost her footing, the last words in her sentence had been “King Urameshi”. Which meant that her last words when she fell was “King Urameshi”, but vocalized as a scream of terror with a rising pitch at the end.

Ayano covered her face with both hands. “Oh my god,” she mumbled. “I can’t believe- I just- oh my god. This is so embarrassing.” This was going to be on the news everywhere. 

King Urameshi crouched down next to her. He laughed. It was a very natural, friendly, open laugh. Just like on TV.

“Tell me about it,” he lamented. “I fell flat on my face once opening the live lottery results for the Unification Tournament. Splatted right off the damn stage. They caught it on HD and 3D from every single angle, and it turned into the running background footage for the whole tournament. Instant replay, reaction cuts to commercial, slo-mo… I heard it was looping on the Energy Antenna too.”

The king made a face at the memory. “You can find it real easy. A hundred years later, still a top download in the public archives. Meme fodder ‘till the end of time. It was great.” He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly to show how ‘great’ he actually thought it was. 

Ayano pictured the king’s spectacular faceplant playing over and over, several stories high on the side of the Gandara Library.

She couldn’t help but laugh. 

The king smiled, and then looked her over briefly. “You don’t seem too bad, but sometimes it looks worse than it is. Or- er, vice versa. Anything hurt?”

Ayano paused. It might have been the immediate shock of the fall and the events after, so she had thought it was mostly a blow to her dignity than anything else. But now that the initial excitement had wound down, she realized she had some pretty nasty-looking scuffs on her forearms and elbows, and-

“My leg-” Ayano started, and automatically shifted her weight.

As soon as she did, boy did she feel it. She winced slightly, grimacing.

“Don’t move,” said the king. “Can I-?”

Ayano gritted her teeth and nodded, curious in spite of her discomfort.

The king reached over, his hand hovering mere centimeters over her ankle. His other hand grasped her elbow carefully. 

Both hands seemed to glow without any light, and Ayano felt - something like warmth but not quite like heat, and then the eeriest pulse penetrating deep through the flesh of her ankle. She felt nothing, and then there was a sudden rush followed by intense jabs of electricity, like the feeling of your limbs coming back to life from falling asleep, when the blood starts rushing again. Finally - a strange lightness. Her arm tingled as well. 

It was the Spirit Wave technique, she realized. 

“That’s amazing!” Ayano exclaimed loudly without thinking. She stared at her leg, and then turned her arms to look at them. Her limbs looked as if she had never done an awkward idiot tumble onto them.

King Urameshi laughed again. “It was just a sprain and some cuts. Not like you broke every bone in your body and your stomach is falling out your side or anything.”

“Thank you so much, Your Majesty,” she said, rubbing her elbows. She felt a little lightheaded. 

“Oh yeah,” said the king. “What’s your name?”

“Shimizu Ayano,” she replied automatically. “I’m so sorry about all the trouble. My daughter- Oh! My daughter!” Ayano covered her mouth with her hands, and jumped to her feet. “Manami!”

“Mommy!” Manami darted to her side, and clutched Ayano’s pant leg as Ayano put her arms around her. She noticed that Manami had been standing near the king’s entourage - actually, they had been standing in a bit of a protective semi-circle around Manami, herself and the king. It seemed they had immediately located her daughter when they came to her, making sure that Manami wouldn’t become separated or lost.

She looked up at them. There were four of them, dressed in coats of a style matching the king’s except in dark turquoise, almost blue-black. These were the warrior monks, Ayano realized, and she actually managed to remember their names.

There was the ever-present chief of staff, Hokushin; she definitely recognized him. She recalled a hilariously silly argument with her best friend in high school about who was more handsome, the king or his chief of staff, and as a grown woman it cracked her up to think of it now. The giant with the intimidating face, that was Touou. Seizan was the tall, thin one who always seemed perfectly calm and tranquil - the monk’s monk, the Spock of monks, she and her girlfriends had nicknamed him. And Nankai, who looked the closest to the king in terms of outward age. 

Rest assured, all of them were definitely much, much older than they appeared.

“Thank you,” Ayano said gratefully to the nearest monk, who turned out to be the chief of staff. He bowed his head elegantly in acknowledgement. 

All right, Ayano conceded to her past high school friend. She was right, he was very handsome.

Ayano knelt down, pressed her forehead against Manami’s. “I’m OK, honey,” she said again, and then stood up, behind her daughter, clasping Manami’s little hands in hers. “Your Majesty, this is my daughter, Manami. She’s a big fan of yours; she really, really wanted to see you, but we came too late for the meet-and-greet line. I was on the fire escape trying to find options for a better view when I, uh, fell down. Manami, say hello to King Urameshi.” 

Ayano looked over at the king. He was not that tall, she realized - barely a little taller than her. She remembered reading somewhere that when someone had a big personality, you always assumed their stature was greater than it actually was.

She looked back down at her daughter, fully expecting a happy explosion of “King ‘Wameshi!!!” followed by her daughter bouncing all over the king as if he were the local theme park mascot. 

To her surprise, Manami only stared at the king silently.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Ayano said, baffled and concerned at this sudden about-face in her daughter’s behaviour. She bent down. “Didn’t you want to meet the king?” 

Manami ignored her, let go of one of her hands, and took a step closer to the king. “You helped my mommy,” she said, looking straight up at him.

“Yeah?” said the king, his tone casual, his manner amused. “What about it?”

“You did a good job,” Manami said. “And you’re doing OK.” The second statement sounded like an observation in general, not a judgement. 

Ayano blinked. This was not what she had been expecting at all.

The king grinned. “Glad you think so.”

Manami sighed, a little child’s sigh that mimicked an exasperated adult sigh. “But you’re still a baby,” she said, sounding judgemental this time.

Ayano’s mouth dropped in dismay. “Manami-” she began.

The king laughed. “Fighting words!” He bent down on one knee to better match Manami’s height. “No, I’m not,” he disagreed emphatically. “I look young, but I bet I’m way older than you.”

Manami shook her head, unconvinced.

“Way, waaaay older. Older than your mom, your grandma, your great-grandma, your great-great grandma,  your great-great-great grandma! Just ask your mom.”

“No,” Manami said. 

“OK, don’t ask her. But seriously! Demons live a long time, you know. What would you be doing if you lived forever?”

Manami frowned. “No,” she repeated.

“No what, honey?” asked Ayano.

“I don’t want to live forever,” said Manami. Her little face was set in disapproval.

King Urameshi laughed again. “Wow. You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” Ayano said, sighing. “She’s not usually like this… she was honestly very excited at the chance of getting to meet you. She barely slept, and my husband and I didn’t get a moment’s peace till I promised her we were going to come. I don’t know what’s come over her.”

“It’s all right,” said the king. “Some kids are just shy. Actually, Manami, you remind me of somebody I used to know. You’re almost the same height as her too!” He grinned cheekily at her. “Did you leave me something a long long time ago?” he teased. “You want it back?”

“Why?” said Manami.

“Well, I still got it. You remember what it is? It’s kinda this circular blobby hot sun-like thing, it can power a whole city, it-”

Manami was completely unimpressed. “You didn’ find anybody so I hafta do your work? Don’t be so lazy, you dimwit.”

“Manami!” Ayano was appalled. She glanced at the king worriedly.

King Urameshi looked like someone had hit him in the face with a bag of bricks.

He blinked. Twice. 

Then the king took his sunglasses off his head and lowered his gaze, as if he had to look away and compose himself. His long bangs fell into his eyes. 

Ayano couldn’t help but stare. With his eyes obscured, the elaborate occult tattoos on his body became that much more prominent, the only things she could focus on, and it made her even more aware of his demon heritage.

From everything she had seen and read about the king, and from meeting him in person right now, Ayano didn’t think for a minute that he would ever hurt them. But it made her realize, in a searing, visceral way - this was a demon king, administrator of the largest territory of the Makai. He was more ancient and more powerful than she could comprehend. He could probably destroy the entire city, maybe the entire world, if he really wanted to. What was a human being to something like that?

Irrationally or rationally, Ayano felt a chill deep inside her, freezing her cold at the thought of the potential wrath she and her daughter might have incurred.

Then she realized the king was trembling.

No, he was shaking.

From laughter.

King Urameshi lifted his head and, with some difficulty, got to his feet, where his guffaws escalated quickly. Soon he was positively roaring with laughter, in complete stitches. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard tears were running down his face, streaks staining his cheeks alongside his intricate battle god tattoos. 

His laughter was so honest, so full-hearted, so bold - and so ridiculously contagious. Despite how mortified and nervous she was, Ayano felt a smile cracking across her lips, and she soon found herself laughing as well. She still couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, but from the waves of sound around her, it was clear everyone else was laughing with them too. 

It was with great difficulty that she finally ripped her line of sight away and looked down at her daughter. 

Manami was staring calmly at the king, her expression inscrutable.

It was incredible. Was this really her daughter?

“Oh man,” King Urameshi choked out when he could finally speak. He half-collapsed against his chief of staff, draping himself on the other man in a comically-exaggerated fashion. The chief of staff only smiled patiently, waiting a few moments before gently pushing the king upright and handing him a piece of cloth. The king took it, practically grabbing for it blindly, and scrubbed at his eyes.

“That,” he gasped, “that was perfect.”

He handed the crumpled cloth back to his chief of staff, and squatted down in front of Manami again.

The king crossed his arms. “Okay, Manami,” he huffed in mock dismay, ”You got me. I’m a godforsaken lazy ass of a dimwit. I swear I meant to look for somebody suitable last year, ten years, a hundred years ago, and I just didn’t get around to it. But honestly, I... I didn’t bother looking.” 

King Urameshi’s voice had dropped to a normal volume, slightly below a normal volume, clearly meant for Manami alone. Ayano, standing right behind her daughter, could hear every word of course. Out of the corner of her eye she could see others straining to listen in. 

“Honestly?” said the king, his voice hushed now. “I’m scared. I’m a crap student and probably a crappier teacher, I’ve got no damn patience, I’m barely worth shi-er, doodoo, as a king, not without Hokushin and everybody's help cleaning up after me all the time. Plus I don’t think I should be giving it away to just anyone. It was- when it was transferred to me that time- it was awful. I don’t wanna hurt somebody by accident. And…”

The king took one of Ayano’s tiny hands in his own. Ayano started inside, but her daughter didn’t react.

“... I feel like,” the king continued, “... like it really belongs to the person who made it. I feel like I’ve just been safeguarding it, holding onto it for the time being. And I feel like, it was created by a human, it should go back into circulation with humans, ya know?”

Manami tilted her head slightly, still looking at him. She didn’t say a thing, only patiently took in the king’s torrent of words. Ayano wondered what was going through her daughter’s mind.

“Anyways,” said the king, “when the time comes, when you’re a lot older, if it’s yours and you’re sure about it, you can come and get it. If you don’t want it, fine, I’ll man up and start looking. I promise. Whatever you decide, I don’t care. I know you got your own other life now. But whatever you decide- at least… lemme know. Please. And if you decide you just wanna drop by, you can do that too, you know? For tea or candy or whatever you eat now. OK?” He uncrossed his arms, bit his lip and reached a hand out, the little finger extended in a small hook.

Manami looked at his hand. 

Everyone was staring. After a long silence, during which Ayano thought her own eyes were going to dry up and shrivel into raisins from the intense laser stare she was applying to the two figures before her in this drama, her daughter’s tiny hand reached out. 

A tinier pinky hooked onto the king’s.

“OK,” Manami said.

Ayano exhaled.

There was a collective whoosh of air around them. Ayano realized practically everyone had been holding their breath, united in the unspoken sense that something very special was happening.

“Now wait,” said the king, as if he were just noticing the audience around them. “Waaaaaaait.” He got up and looked around, then raised both arms, hands palms out in a hold it gesture. He waved at everyone. “I wanna make something super ice-cold beer crystal clear to everybody here. This is just shit coming out of my mouth, OK? Er, edit that. Sorry, mom,” he said, nodding at Ayano. 

She smiled and shook her head.

The king looked down at Manami. “You don’t wanna repeat that,” he said to her. “Not ‘till you’re at least fourteen. Anyways,” he continued to the crowd. “I’m just saying stuff. Nobody bother these people, OK? No questions, no interviews, no chasing, no research, none of that crap. If anybody gives these people grief in any way about any of this, I will find you. I will seriously hunt you down and give your ass the ultimate kicking of its life. And you will wish you never came into this existence. Got it?” 

The crowd murmured in understanding.

Ayano blinked. Was it just her or had the sky literally seemed to darken ominously during his words? She looked around; everything seemed normal.

“Great,” said King Urameshi lightly. “Glad we’re on the same page. OK, let’s mosey along now. C'mon. Shoo.” 

He turned his head to his left slightly. “Hokushin,” he said, so quietly that Ayano almost missed it, even though she was right in front of him.

The chief of staff came closer, standing right behind the king. Then the two of them... 

Simply stood there. In total silence.

Confused, Ayano looked from one face to the other. Both men wore calm expressions. It wasn’t much difference for the chief of staff - he always seemed calm and dignified - but to see the king looking so focused and serious was unusual to her. They weren’t frozen - they were still clearly blinking normally, and the king’s eyes in particular were darting around a bit. It was like they were listening to something no one else could hear.

She’d heard about the mental exchanges that psychics could have, and she was pretty sure that’s what they were doing right now. She wondered what they were discussing in private that couldn’t risk anyone eavesdropping on. Something about Manami, certainly. She swallowed, wondering what on earth she had gotten her daughter into.

Then, as suddenly as the king and the chief of staff had started their silent conversation, they finished it. The chief of staff nodded, once, and the king said, softly, “Great, thanks.” He sounded satisfied. 

He turned back to Ayano, and his face grew animated again, as if nothing had happened. He leaned in towards her. 

“Listen,” he said, squeezing her shoulder warmly. “It's still too early right now. There's still lots of confusing, conflicting body and brain things going on. If your daughter remembers something-” he stopped, and started again, emphasizing the word. “-When she remembers something, if she wants to come see me, only if she wants to- please- let me know. And if anybody bothers you guys, or you ever need any kind of help, let me know. Contact T1 administration. Hokushin’ll make sure it gets to me.”

"...Thank you." Ayano touched the tattooed hand on her shoulder shyly. “Is…” She hesitated. “Is Manami… the... reincarnation of someone?”

The king dropped his hand and looked at her. His expression didn’t change, but something about his features seemed to cool, sharpen, harden subtly.

“Your daughter is herself,” he said. Firmly.

Ayano felt her stomach drop a little at the reproach, and she could feel her face flush just the slightest bit. The king appeared to notice her embarrassment, and his features warmed up again, faster than she could open her mouth to apologize.

“Hey,” he said, gently. “If she wants to see me then, she can. If she’s like ‘screw that crazy old demon dude, I don’t wanna see that loser again ever,’ that’s fine too. Let it be up to her.” 

Again, his expression didn’t change, and he maintained a cheerful, even joking tone and manner. But somehow it seemed to Ayano that his spirit dipped at the potential prospect of a decision in the negative.

He’s well over a hundred years old, Ayano realized, but he looks like a sad, lonely little boy. 

She forced the corners of her mouth into a comforting, confident smile, and nodded. “If Manami wants to, I’ll do everything I can to make sure it happens,” she said determinedly.

“Cool,” said King Urameshi, smiling. “I appreciate that. Thanks for taking me up on my offer, Manami,” he said to her daughter. He lifted a pinky at her, and winked. “Don’t forget.” He pointed at her in mild accusation. “You promised!”

Her tiny little three year-old daughter looked up at King Urameshi, battle god, demon king, ruler of Territory 1, and nodded solemnly.

It’s a deal, Ayano thought.

And then it was over. Everyone said polite goodbyes, and the entire entourage - including the trailing cameras and media personalities - made way to return to the original designated route. Only a little bit behind schedule.

The chief of staff gently brushed her arm. “Do not worry,” she heard him murmur as he left. His voice was deep and even more calming in person. “Your family’s privacy will be maintained. Pardon my rudeness...” She felt something being pressed into her hand.

And they were gone.

The rest of the day was remarkably unremarkable, all things considered. She took Manami for ice cream as planned, but it was a strange affair. Manami was exceptionally well-behaved, but didn’t say a word the entire time, only stared quietly into space. No one disturbed them, although Ayano did catch a few people pointing and whispering. Several particularly well-dressed individuals with nice hair and makeup - reporters, she thought - would look at them, then turn away, then look at them again as if they desperately wanted to go up to them and explode with questions.

But they didn’t.

As they made their way further from the centre of the hubbub, no one seemed to be noticing them at all. Though, every so often, she had the strange feeling that they were being watched. But when she looked around, nothing seemed amiss. Even that gradually faded by the time they finally boarded the train home. 

On the train, everything felt normal.

Ayano looked out the window as the scenery went by, Manami snuggled in her lap.

The whole affair seemed like an odd dream. She had put what the chief of staff had handed her into her purse - it felt like a business card, but she’d resisted the urge to look at it closely. She wanted more time to process the whole thing. And she wanted to tell her husband about it. She wondered how her husband would take it. She couldn’t imagine him not believing her, as unbelievable of a story as it was. They always had long, honest conversations about everything, always confiding in each other in big and small things. That’s why their relationship was so strong. She knew she’d feel a lot better being able to share the experience with him. Hopefully together they could be more objective about it.

“Mommy,” Manami said suddenly, touching her face. 

Ayano looked down at her daughter. It was the first thing Manami had said since they had met the king and the monks.

“Yes, dear?” said Ayano, trying hard to make her voice as normal as possible.

“I like King ‘Wameshi,” was all Manami said. 

Ayano smiled. “I like him too,” she said. “And the monks.”

Manami nodded. “They’re funny,” she said, and then scuttled out of Ayano’s lap to sit in the empty seat next to her.

Ayano reached out, patted her daughter’s cheek. “You can tell Daddy all about it when we get home.” She paused. “I think we’ll see the king again? What do you think, sweetie?”

Her daughter smiled, then turned to look out the window of the train. It seemed to Ayano like a strange, enigmatic smile, one that looked like it was far too knowing for a child so small.

She spent several moments reflecting on this before she realized- 

Manami hadn’t answered her question at all.