The survivors had settled in the ruins of what once had been a karaoke bar. The neon sign still clung to the wall, one letter flickering with a dull blue light that buzzed faintly, like the last pulse of a dying heart. They were exhausted. It showed in the slump of their backs, in the way the sisters curled up together on a strip of carpet, in Daigo's endless fidgeting with the bent pipe he carried.
The silence was worse indoors. Outside, at least, the city made noise: the groan of broken beams, the screech of Aggressors in the distance, the hiss of wind through glassless towers. But inside, silence pressed down like lead. It wasn't natural silence—it was Shitsubo's. The curse lay over the group like a second roof.
They ate little. Strips of rat meat roasted over a tin can flame. Moldy crackers someone had scavenged. Water gathered in a rusted bucket from a leaking pipe. No one complained. Complaints wasted breath.
It was Juro who finally broke the quiet. He sat with his knees drawn up, eyes fixed on the flickering blue sign above them. His voice was even, not loud, not mocking—just clear.
"This is no way to live."
Daigo sighed, already tense. "Not this again."
Juro's gaze didn't shift. "You call this survival? Eating scraps, hiding in tombs, praying the night doesn't notice you? That's not survival. That's waiting for death on delay."
The sisters kept their eyes low, but the old man scratched his beard and muttered, "He's not wrong."
Genji stirred. "You think talking about it changes anything? This is what we have. What else would you do?"
"Not this." Juro's head turned, finally meeting Genji's stare. "I'd stop pretending we're moving toward something better. There's no 'light south of the bay.' That's desperation, not direction. And I'd stop following him." His chin jerked toward Shitsubo. "Because every step we take in his shadow kills us a little more."
The room stilled.
Shitsubo sat apart from them all, back to the far wall, eyes shadowed, silence wrapped around him like a shroud. He didn't move, didn't speak. He couldn't. But the hunger inside him stirred with every word Juro threw. The sharp clarity of Juro's reasoning—envy, fear, truth—it bled into the silence, feeding it, making it thrum against Shitsubo's ribs.
Daigo bristled. "You'd rather what? Walk alone? You wouldn't last a night."
"Maybe not," Juro said. "But at least I wouldn't be lying to myself. At least I wouldn't mistake fear for faith. You think he protects us? He drains us. He feeds on us. We've all seen it." His voice sharpened, but never rose into a rant. "And you let it happen, because it's easier to tell yourself he's on our side than admit he's just another kind of Aggressor."
The sisters trembled. One whispered, "Stop…" but didn't finish.
Daigo pushed to his feet. "Enough. You're twisting everything. He doesn't want this curse. He didn't ask for it."
Juro's eyes glinted, hard and cold. "And that excuses it? If a man poisons the well by accident, does the water kill any less?"
The old man muttered again, voice dry. "Words worth chewing, that."
Genji shifted, his expression unreadable. He stared at Juro, then at Shitsubo, as if weighing scales only he could see.
The silence pulsed heavier. Shitsubo's throat burned with words he couldn't speak. He wanted to tell them he wasn't their enemy. That he wasn't Aggressor. That he didn't choose this hunger. But the truth dug deeper: he was feeding, every moment. Their fear, their envy, their fragile hope—his curse drank it in. He could feel it filling him like iron poured into a mold.
Juro leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You don't have to like me. Hell, you don't even have to trust me. But listen to what I'm saying. Blind hope will kill us. Blind faith in him will kill us faster. If we want to survive—really survive—we can't keep pretending we're safe just because the monster walking with us hasn't decided to hollow us out yet."
The words struck like nails hammered into wood. Rational. Clear. Unavoidable.
Daigo's hands shook. He gripped his pipe like it was the only thing holding him steady. "You'd rather face the Aggressors alone?"
"I'd rather face the truth," Juro snapped back. His eyes swept the group. "You think there's a safe haven? Prove it. Show me the light still burning. Show me this magical bay. Otherwise admit it's just another lie we tell ourselves to keep walking."
The sisters cried softly now, the old man stared into the floor, and Genji's expression darkened, though he said nothing.
Shitsubo rose. The motion was slow, deliberate. His silence deepened, pressing against the walls until the neon buzz faltered. All eyes turned toward him.
Juro didn't flinch. "Go ahead," he said, voice steady. "Do it. Hollow me out like the others. That's what you want, isn't it?"
The hunger inside Shitsubo roared at the challenge. His silence swelled, tasting the sharpness of Juro's conviction. If he reached out, if he let it, he could drink every ounce of defiance from the man and leave him a husk.
But he didn't move. Not yet. His fists curled. His eyes locked on Juro.
Juro met his stare, unwavering. "You hate me because I won't bow. Because I won't call you savior. Fine. Hate me. But remember this—monsters don't stop being monsters just because they keep worse monsters at bay."
The group held its breath.
Daigo whispered, "Shitsubo…"
Genji stepped forward, torchlight casting his shadow across the floor. His voice was measured. "That's enough for tonight. All of you. Rest." He looked at Juro last, his gaze cold. "Talk like that again, and you'll answer to me before my brother."
Juro smirked, but his voice was calm. "Truth doesn't vanish just because you threaten it."
They lay down in uneasy silence. The sisters clung together, Daigo muttered prayers into his arm, the old man coughed softly until sleep took him. Juro lay apart, staring at the flickering sign, lips moving as if repeating his words to himself.
And Shitsubo sat awake in the corner, curse thrumming, hunger gnawing, hatred coiled like a serpent in his chest. Hatred not because Juro lied—
—but because Juro hadn't.
Outside, in the dark, a distant Aggressor shrieked. The ruins answered with silence.