Deep within the recesses of memory, there was only solitude. A dilapidated, desolate shack served as his entire world. Only his name remained etched into his soul: Yoizumi. It felt like a gift from someone precious, yet the face associated with the name remained a blurred void.
"I hope you will be as dazzling as the sun, and as clear as a mountain spring."
The voice of a young woman echoed in his mind—soft, melodic, a blessing meant for him.
Who was she? Family? Every attempt to reach for the memory resulted in a hollow ache.
His current reality was far from dazzling. He couldn't even endure the touch of the sky. The memory of the searing, bone-deep agony remained vivid—the sight of his skin festering and bubbling under the smallest sliver of daylight. Even days later, the phantom pain lingered.
He looked down at his palms. They were smooth, pale, and unblemished. He recalled the moment he had retreated into the shadows; the horrific burns had knitted themselves back together with terrifying speed. Confused by this unnatural vitality, he had gripped a jagged stone and dragged it across his forearm, feeling strangely detached from the sensation of pain.
Drip. Drop.
Crimson pooled on the floor, but within heartbeats, the gash closed, leaving the skin as pristine as before. It was then the realization took hold. He was a creature that could not touch the sun. A creature with monstrous resilience.
A monster?
Yoizumi found that he didn't particularly care.
As night fell, he finally ventured out, settling onto the weathered porch. He sat in silence, bathed in the cool evening breeze, staring blankly at the sprawling tapestry of stars. He felt a tether there—a pull toward something distant, as if he were searching the heavens for a missing piece of himself.
The moonlight was piercingly clear tonight, turning the bamboo grove into a sea of rustling silver.
Out of the silence of the mountain woods, a pleasant, melodic voice drifted through the air.
"Oh my... there's another one here."
Suddenly, a flurry of motion filled his vision. A girl descended from the sky like a celestial butterfly, her white haori—tinted with the colors of a rainbow at the hem—fluttering like wings. In her hand, she gripped a slender blade.
"Insect Breathing, Butterfly Dance: Caprice."
Yoizumi did not move. He did not flinch. He remained seated, his gaze fixed on the stars, not granting her so much as a glance. Surprised by his utter lack of aggression, the girl checked her strike mid-air and landed softly beside him.
"Good evening, Mr. Demon. Whatever are you doing?"
...
Yoizumi remained silent, refusing to turn his head. Seeing that the creature wasn't responding, Shinobu Kocho felt a strange sense of familiarity; this demon's temperament reminded her of a certain someone in the Corps.
She spoke again, her voice laced with an artificial sweetness. "Mr. Demon, what is your name? I am Shinobu Kocho. I've always wanted to get along with demons, you see. Let's try to be friends."
Despite her words of friendship, her white-knuckled grip never left the hilt of her sword. Should he make the slightest sudden movement, she was prepared to decapitate him without mercy.
Finally, Yoizumi moved. He turned his head slowly toward her. Under the moonlight, his features were striking: golden hair that seemed to hold its own light, eyes like polished blue sapphires, a sharp bridge of the nose, and soft, crimson lips.
Shinobu felt a momentary flicker of surprise. Most demons she encountered were grotesque, warped caricatures of humanity. This boy, however, looked perfectly human, save for the dark, unmistakable aura of a demon clinging to him.
"Yo... izumi..."
The name left his lips in a clumsy stumble, like a newborn learning its first words. He hadn't used his voice in a long time.
"Oh my. Mr. Yoizumi, what are you doing out here?"
"Looking at the stars."
"I see. So you're stargazing."
Shinobu maintained a gentle, practiced smile, but Yoizumi felt the hollowness behind it. It was a mask, worn only because she willed it so.
"Then, Mr. Yoizumi... do you know what a 'demon' is?"
"Demon?"
So, he hasn't even realized he's no longer human, Shinobu thought. She looked at the golden-haired youth; he appeared to be roughly her age. In that case, I shall be the one to set him free.
"Yes. A demon is... something exactly like you."
She stepped closer, her blade already pressed firmly against his chest, right over his heart.
"Mr. Yoizumi, you have become a demon."
Her voice dropped to a soft, haunting whisper. "Did you know? Demons have no hearts. They trample on life, steal away precious people, and devour the ones others love most."
As she spoke, the image of her sister, Kanae, flickered in her mind. Kanae had always wanted to coexist with demons, to pity them. Shinobu had argued against it countless times, yet in the end, her sister had been slaughtered by the very things she tried to love.
A demon? So I really have become the monster she speaks of. Yoizumi lowered his head, staring at his hands. In a sudden, jarring hallucination, he saw his palms drenched in thick, warm blood. He began to tremble. Voices began to shriek within his skull.
"You monster! Monster!""You killed him! You're a devil!"
Shadowy figures made of dark lines stood before him, pointing their fingers in accusation. In the vision, he stood silent, watching the blood drip from his fingertips onto the earth.
The images clawed at his nerves. His breathing grew heavy, and he whispered a broken plea. "I didn't... I didn't!"
Shinobu watched him, her smile never wavering. Her voice remained soft, an anchor in his rising panic. "Mr. Yoizumi, it's alright. Becoming a demon wasn't something you chose. I know."
He snapped back to reality. He felt as though someone had said those words to him once before.
"Yoizumi, it's alright. It wasn't your fault."
He looked at Shinobu. Her smile was the same as before, yet he could feel the rage vibrating beneath it—a hidden storm behind the calm.
"You... you're angry," he murmured. "You say... demons have no hearts. But I have one. I haven't... I haven't eaten anyone."
Gently, Yoizumi reached out and took Shinobu's hand, pressing it against his chest. She felt it—the warmth of his skin and the steady, rhythmic thrum of a heartbeat. She withdrew her hand with a cold, practiced grace.
"Yes, Mr. Yoizumi certainly has a heart. Which is why, before you turn into one of those things... I am going to kill you."
The slender stinger of her blade sank into his chest, piercing his heart. Yoizumi raised his hand instinctively, but then let it fall limp.
Is this what it means to be a demon? Then it is better to simply die.
He closed his sapphire-blue eyes and lay back slowly, waiting for the end.
Shinobu watched his lack of resistance, her lips thinning into a hard line. She injected the lethal wisteria poison into his veins. Perhaps this demon was the kind her sister had spoken of—the kind one could truly get along with. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't forgive them.
Giving him one final, lingering look, Shinobu turned and walked away into the shadows of the bamboo.
"I hope that in your next life, Mr. Yoizumi, you won't be born a demon."