"𝘏𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢..."
A heavy, gut-wrenching sigh escaped him. He was tired enough to die from exhaustion, but his mind was in such a state of turmoil that sleep was an impossibility. Hitokawa lay slumped over his cold desk, his cheek pressed against the hard surface, his eyes—rimmed with deep, dark circles—narrowing as they darted aimlessly across the room.
The desk was a chaotic graveyard of paperwork.
Half of it consisted of damage reports from ghoul attacks. The other half was a collection of data on ghoul criminals: their habits, sighting locations, physical traits, and detailed analyses of their Kagune.
Except for the few hours they spent sleeping, Ghoul Investigators lived their lives constantly staring into the abyss of monstrosity. Sometimes, the monsters even followed them into their dreams, meaning the battle never truly ended.
It was a constant cycle of psychological warfare: the "war of nerves," where one had to endure the oppressive presence of the enemy; the "intellectual war," where one had to root out hiding spots and predict escape routes; and finally, the "war of slaughter," where mercy was discarded the moment blades clashed, and the fighting only stopped when one side was dead.
This was exactly why Ghoul Investigators were legally mandated to receive regular psychiatric counseling. A war against ghouls was no different from a literal battlefield. Hitokawa had seen countless colleagues retire, burdened by traumas they could never shed. Nearly forty percent of new recruits quit, unable to withstand the crushing weight of the job.
Hitokawa had survived it all, climbing the ranks to Rank 2 Investigator. He had found only one way to keep the pressure from breaking him.
Blind faith.
He had to believe, with a zeal bordering on brainwashing, that ghouls were the root of all evil. That humanity was miserable only because ghouls existed. That exterminating ghouls was the only way to set the world right.
If he didn't cast that spell on himself, he wouldn't last a day. He had built his life on that conviction as he hunted them down.
And then, today happened.
Eto is a ghoul.
He didn't know the circumstances, but the child his oldest friend had raised with such devotion was a ghoul. The chaos in his heart was beyond words.
Even in the middle of the most harrowing battles, Hitokawa had often found strength in a single, recurring memory:
Coming home after being ground down by the "paperwork war." Stopping by the shop where Koma worked. Ordering the manager's special oyakodon. The manager, always generous with a regular, would pile on extra eggs. And while he ate, Eto would appear.
She would throw herself into Koma's arms, chat with the manager like they shared girl-talk secrets, and treat Hitokawa with the cold, prickly caution of a stray cat... and then, she would smile. They would all laugh together.
He loved that normalcy. He wanted to protect it. It was for the sake of that very normalcy that he hated and hunted the ghouls who threatened to destroy it.
But now...
"Don't screw with me, damn it..."
He gripped his hair, filled with a mixture of rage and self-loathing at the fact that he had been so blind.
From above, a cold voice pierced through his spiral of misery.
"Ho... neglecting a summons from your superior is one thing, but have you developed a hobby for swearing and self-harm, Hitokawa-kun?"
"𝘎𝘢𝘩!? N-no, sir!"
Hitokawa snapped to attention on reflex. His superior, a man with a perpetually irritable gaze, tossed a thick envelope onto his desk.
"The materials we requested from the police station regarding the stolen pistol and Q-bullets arrived. CCTV footage from the robbery and a composite sketch of the suspect. This is your case, isn't it?"
"Ah, yes! Thank you, sir!"
"Isn't this usually a job for the Civil Affairs team, though? The combat teams are busy enough in the field."
"It's... a favor for a friend."
"Hmph. Just don't let it interfere with your primary duties. You've got bags under your eyes."
Despite his fierce appearance, the superior was known for looking out for his subordinates. He gave Hitokawa one last sharp look and walked away.
"Phew... right, I forgot about this."
The origin of the pistol and Q-bullets delivered to Koma. He had been so mentally drained that it had slipped his mind entirely. He still didn't have the bandwidth for it, but he figured he should at least check the suspect's sketch. Hitokawa reached for the envelope.
Just as he was about to pull out the photos and documents—
[𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘯𝘨!]
"Huh?"
The office phone rang. The caller ID showed the front desk on the first floor. Hitokawa set the envelope down and picked up the receiver.
[This is the first-floor reception. Is this Hitokawa Tomoru-sama? Someone is here to see you.]
"A meeting? Who is it?"
[Well... it's a girl who looks to be about ten years old. She says she has something important to discuss and asked for you personally.]
"...!!"
A ten-year-old girl? A sense of dread pooled in his stomach.
"Could you... give me a description of her?"
[Mmm... she's wearing a boy's cap and red-rimmed glasses. Oh, and she has a bandage on her left cheek.]
A cap, glasses, and a bandage... That didn't match Eto's usual look.
'Come on. No matter how much of a kid she is, if she has even an ounce of sense, she wouldn't come here.'
He tried to soothe his nerves with that thought, but he grabbed his suit jacket and headed for the first floor anyway, leaving the envelope containing the suspect's photo and sketch abandoned on his desk.
When he reached the lobby and saw the "child" waiting for him, Hitokawa's cheek began to twitch rhythmically.
"...You really do love betraying people's trust, don't you?"
"If you're talking about last time, I have no excuse. But if you're talking about right now, you're the one who made the wrong assumption, Mister."
It was indeed a girl in a cap and glasses with a bandage on her left cheek. It just happened to be Eto.
Eto was the type to save her allowance rather than spend it, so she had a tidy sum of cash on her. She had stopped at a gift shop to buy the disguise—a hat and a pair of non-prescription glasses. As for the bandage, she had applied it based on something she'd read in a book: that a bandage on the face can disrupt a person's facial recognition.
Hitokawa let out a long, weary sigh and looked down at her coldly.
"Do you even know where you are?"
"The tiger's den."
Hitokawa's brow furrowed. Eto continued boldly.
"I came to catch the tiger. Specifically, you, Uncle Hitokawa."
"Why? To shut me up because I'm the only one who knows the truth?"
"Not through the violent methods you're thinking of, though."
Eto reached into a paper bag she was holding and pulled out a beautifully wrapped box, holding it out toward him. It was a box of handmade manju from a famous local confectionery.
"I came to talk. Dad and you need to talk, but I think it's just as necessary for the two of us to talk as well. This is a gift. You can think of it as a bribe if you like. Let's eat these and have a calm conversation..."
"Cut it out!!!"
𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘱!!
He swung his hand, knocking the box of manju away. The box tumbled across the floor, the elegant wrapping tearing as several pieces of the pastry spilled out onto the tiles.
"What is your angle?! Did Koma send you?! No matter what games you play, I will never trust your kind! Get out of here right n—!!"
The words "Get out!" died in Hitokawa's throat. He froze, silenced by the sight of massive, wobbling tears pooling in Eto's eyes.
"...I waited an hour."
"...What?"
Hitokawa's jaw hung open, his eyes blinking in confusion.
"I waited in line in front of the shop for an hour to buy that... A nice old lady even gave me her spot so I could get it... I spent all the allowance I've been saving up just to buy that..."
"H-hey, look, I..."
"𝘏𝘪𝘤. 𝘞𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘩!!"
Eto burst into a full-throated, wailing sob. Hitokawa was utterly blindsided by the unexpected reaction.
Suddenly, he felt every eye in the lobby drill into his back. The middle-aged man waiting nervously to report a ghoul sighting, the security guard standing at attention by the door, the cleaning lady mopping the floor—they all turned to glare at him like he was a monster for making a little girl cry.
The stares from the women at the reception desk were particularly lethal. They had been chatting with Eto while waiting for Hitokawa to come down and had clearly been charmed by her in that short time. Their icy glares were sharp enough to draw blood.
Hitokawa realized that this was exactly the kind of atmosphere Koma created whenever he got overprotective of Eto.
"...Hey. Stop trying to assassinate my social standing and help me out here. This is my workplace."
"𝘏𝘪𝘤! 𝘏𝘪𝘤! ...Will you talk to me?"
"...I will."
"...And the manju?"
".......I'll eat them."
Eto aggressively wiped her face and began to gather the box and the spilled manju from the floor. As he watched her from the side, Hitokawa caught a fleeting glimpse of the corner of her mouth curling upward—as if she hadn't been crying at all.
A memory surfaced of a drinking session with his superior, who had once remarked, "Sometimes, a woman who knows how to weaponize her own tears is more terrifying than a ghoul."
Koma, what kind of monster are you raising?