"Hmm... they really are 𝘘 𝘉𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴. Why the hell did these come in a delivery?! These are strictly prohibited for public release—both by the police and the CCG!"
"I'm here reporting it precisely because I know that."
Inside the CCG building, within the Civil Affairs Office—a room where civilians come to report Ghoul-related incidents or seek consultation—I sat across a table from Hitokawa. I hadn't come to see him as a friend today, but as an investigator.
The package delivered under my dead father's name. The revolver packed inside, and the crimson rounds. The embossed 'Q' on the side of the casings was the unmistakable mark of a 𝘘 𝘉𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘵.
As Hitokawa said, these were items that should never leave the hands of the police or the CCG. Yet, here they were, delivered to a civilian's doorstep. Hitokawa's expression turned grim.
"...It couldn't have been a misdelivery, could it?"
"It was addressed specifically to me, and it used my father's name—a man who died four years ago. It was sent with me specifically in mind. It's an incredibly provocative gift."
Using my father's name, and sending 𝘘 𝘉𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴 of all things... it felt like a pointed reminder of Eto's existence as a Ghoul. I felt a wave of nausea, as if someone were watching my every move. The worst-case scenario would be that this feeling wasn't just paranoia.
However, in the past few days, there had been no sign of anyone watching the house. Eto, with her superior senses, had confirmed it herself. No suspicious people nearby, yet a suspicious package had materialized nonetheless.
I wanted to know who sent it, but I lacked the resources to trace such an item. Thus, I turned to Hitokawa, the professional. When I asked if he could track it, he gave a slow nod.
"See the serial number at the base of the casing? It's small, but it's there. We can use this to track which district and branch the ammunition was assigned to. Since it starts with the prefix N6, it's definitely a batch assigned to the police."
"How long will it take to find out?"
"Maybe a day or two? I'm swamped lately trying to catch a certain Ghoul, but I'll have an answer for you by the day after tomorrow at the latest."
'...?'
Was it my imagination, or was there a slight tremor of dissonance in Hitokawa's words? Lately, the only Ghoul the CCG was obsessed with catching was the "Artist." Despite the CCG's attempts to suppress the media, the Artist's grotesque activities had leaked out, becoming a massive social issue. It was common knowledge that the CCG was mobilizing on a massive scale to find him, and Hitokawa himself had complained about the workload.
Yet, in his explanation, it felt as though he had intentionally avoided using the name "Artist." It felt like he was steering the conversation away from that specific topic.
It bothered me, but Hitokawa has plenty of professional secrets he can't share, so I decided not to pry. I stood up, grateful that he'd offered to help despite his schedule.
"Anyway, thanks."
"Don't mention it. Oh, and keep your doors locked for a while. Whoever sent this revolver... well, it's probably not an old classmate looking for a reunion. Until we know what kind of lunatic we're dealing with, I'd suggest staying indoors as much as possible."
"I'll keep that in mind."
I gave Hitokawa a light wave and left the room. I was on my way to work, and if I didn't hurry, the Manager's palm was going to leave a scorching brand on my back.
"I hope I'm wrong..."
Hitokawa's worried murmur was cut off by the closing of the heavy wooden door, never reaching my ears.
"We've got a group reservation today! You're working overtime!"
"I just walked in the door, Manager. That's a bit much, don't you think?"
"I'll make sure the overtime pay is generous."
"Fine. Let me just call Eto and let her know I'll be late."
The Manager's skills seemed to improve every day, and our little tavern had become a "hidden gem" among the locals. My workplace no longer felt like a small bar; it was a full-fledged restaurant.
"Anyway, that's why I'll be home late tonight. Don't wait up for me; eat dinner and go to bed, okay?"
[𝘕𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮! 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘛𝘰𝘵𝘰, 𝘵𝘰𝘰!]
Toto was the name of the cat we'd adopted when we moved into the new house. He was a three-year-old brown tabby who acted sweet and cuddly with Eto but turned into a spiteful little beast the moment he saw me. He wasn't even a stray, so why was he like this? When we first got him, he followed me everywhere, but eventually, he started treating me like a threat.
I'd even asked Hitokawa, who had experience with cats, for advice.
"His posture looks like he's in a life-or-death struggle," Hitokawa had said. "Did you ever threaten the thing?"
As if. I'd tried my best to show him affection, but I swear I'd never laid a finger on him in anger. If anything, I'd been so focused on the cat that I'd briefly neglected Eto. Come to think of it, back then, Eto used to watch me care for the cat with an expression like a child whose parents had been stolen by a new sibling.
"He's my Daddy… Eto's Daddy… That thief of a cat…"
Wait. Did a memory I should have kept buried just surface? Anyway, I had no idea why the cat hated me. I could only hope he'd open his heart again someday.
"Hey, Koma! Get this order out!"
"Ah, yes!"
No more distractions. I trusted Eto to keep the house safe and focused on the dinner rush. I was still worried about the mysterious sender of the 𝘘 𝘉𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴... but the chances of Eto being in danger while alone were slim.
I knew that ever since the incident with the Ghoul dressed as a cop two years ago, she had been secretly training herself. If some thug tried to break in, they were the ones who would be in danger.
"I just hope she doesn't eat them..."
Muttering to myself, I grabbed the dishes the Manager had prepared and began weaving through the crowded tables.
Time blurred by. The bustling crowd eventually thinned out, and it was finally time to close up... but...
I mentioned this place used to be a tavern, right? We still sell a lot of alcohol. And because of that, we occasionally get those customers. The ones who refuse to leave even when you're dying to go home.
"𝘒𝘩𝘩𝘩𝘩𝘩… One more bottle~!"
"Ma'am, it's really time for us to close."
"I don't care! I'm so lonely I feel like I'm gonna die~! I'm lonelier than a rabbit~! Are you trying to abandon me too~?"
This was hopeless. She was completely hammered. She was a woman, but her long hair hung over her face like sun-dried seaweed, making it impossible to tell her age. Her voice, however, was a beautiful, clear soprano. It was a shame such a lovely voice—one that belonged on a stage or in a recording studio—was being wasted on drunken ramblings.
"Seriously, Manager, do something."
I wanted to kick this last one out and clean up, but she showed no sign of moving. I didn't want to get rough with a drunken woman, so I asked the Manager—our all-purpose problem solver—for help.
Don't underestimate her just because she's an older woman. Her 'Spine-Straightening Swat' is legendary for its ability to make a dying man stand up straight. With high expectations, I turned to her, but...
"Tsk, tsk… Did some man break your heart? Here, have another drink."
She was joining in?!
Manager! I want to go home! Eto's already asleep! But the Manager, who was now drinking straight from the bottle, was blind to my pleading gaze. Instead, she shouted, "Drinking is better with more people!" and dragged me over, forcing me into the role of the emotional support for the heartbroken woman.
"Hehe~ You're actually not bad looking~. Do you have a girlfriend~?"
"I don't have a girlfriend, but I do have a daughter."
I tried to emphasize that I was a father to set a clear boundary.
"A married man! That's even more exciting~!"
"𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘺?!?"
For some reason, her interest intensified. I couldn't tell if it was the alcohol talking or if she genuinely had those kinds of preferences. Through the mess of her bangs, I caught a glimpse of her eyes—they looked like a predator stalking its prey. I started looking for an exit.
Suddenly, the Manager held her bottle high and roared.
"Forget about men! Men are everywhere! It's easy to find a new one!"
"Manager, coming from someone who's never been married at your age, that's a bit…"
"You wanna die?! Here, drink up!!"
"𝘗𝘧𝘧𝘧𝘧𝘵!!"
The excited Manager shoved the neck of a bottle into my mouth. The liquid burned its way down my throat, searing my insides like liquid fire. What the hell was this?! Why was it so strong?!
Already tipsy, the sudden influx of high-proof alcohol hit my stomach like a bomb. My head spun, and the world began to tilt.
"Tonight, we drink until we die!"
"Wow~! This lady is a firecracker~!"
The two alcoholics, seemingly determined to fulfill that promise, slammed their glasses together. That was the last thing I remembered before my memory cut out.
𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣! 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣!
"Ugh… my head..."
When I opened my eyes, I was in my own bed. I had somehow escaped those two drunkards and made it home. I was relieved I hadn't woken up on a sidewalk somewhere, but the hangover currently murdering my morning was far from welcome. I'm never drinking with the Manager again.
Anyway, what time is it? The sun was already high enough in the east for it to be mid-morning. As I sat up to look for a clock, I realized there was a 'foreign object' in my room.
"..."
𝘙𝘶𝘣. 𝘙𝘶𝘣.
I rubbed my eyes. This was strange. My vision wasn't blurry, yet I was seeing things. This was wrong. This was very wrong. What did I do after I finished drinking? Think! Work, you damn brain!
But my brain, still half-dead from the alcohol, simply protested that it knew nothing. I was going to lose it. I had to do something before Eto saw this. If she saw this, she'd completely misunderstand—
𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬!
"Daddy~! It's morning! Wake u—"
And like a perfectly timed scene from a play, Eto burst into the room with a bright smile to wake me up. Is the genre of this play a tragedy? Yes? A tragedy?
𝘊𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬.
Predictably, Eto's sunshine-bright smile froze within a second of her opening the door. Her expression didn't change even a millimeter, yet every ounce of warmth vanished from her face.
"Daddy."
"Y-Yes?"
"Is the lady over there a friend of yours?~"
Eto's gaze fixed on the 'foreign object' in my room. A woman in her early twenties, curled up like a baby and sleeping soundly. It was the woman from the tavern last night.
Why was she in my bed? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember.
Eto... can we put the 𝘒𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘯 away before we talk? Wait, aren't those only supposed to appear when you're hungry or extremely emotional?
Are you hungry? Is that it?