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Akira's apartment was visibly small.
It was the simplest layout: one living room, one bedroom, one kitchen, one bathroom.
The front door opened straight into the living room; the kitchen was on the right, the bedroom on the left, and diagonally across stood a shower-and-toilet cubicle barely big enough for one person.
Akuto felt as if he'd wandered into Lilliput.
"Make yourself at home." Akira stepped out of her high heels and her delicate feet, sheathed in sheer black stockings, settled softly on the wooden floor.
She crossed the entryway, leaving a trail of tiny, charming footprints.
"Looks like Second Class Investigator Mado's got sweaty feet," Akuto said with amusement.
Akira's stride froze; her fingertips tightened around the heel of her pump, the tips of her ears flushed faint pink, then the colour was crushed beneath a cold, hard mask.
"…Shut up." She briskly slid the heels onto the rack.
Akuto noticed it was crowded with every kind of stiletto.
She shut the shoe-cupboard door, half-stepped back to avoid his gaze, and the toes inside her black stockings curled reflexively.
"It's just combat sweat—nothing to joke about." When she lifted her eyes they were as icy as ever.
"Don't touch anything, especially the cabinets."
She paused, then added sharply, "Tomorrow CCG will arrange temporary housing for you."
"Tonight you sleep in the living room."
Akuto merely shrugged, unconcerned, and sat on the sofa to open the folder Akira had given him.
It was a mountain of documents, mostly about the finger.
Still, this finger sculpture… Akuto sighed; he couldn't explain the matter too clearly.
Otherwise, you ended up with fiascos like the Exorcism Society.
If someone hid one, it would be a nightmare.
After consuming three fingers, Akuto could faintly sense the others, but the feeling remained hazy.
Relying on instinct to track them was still nearly impossible.
Sheet after sheet, the daylight faded.
Fresh from the shower, Akira glanced at him—and the glance made her freeze.
His profile, chiselled as if by blade and axe, was almost beautiful under the glint of an ear-stud.
Add to that the white T-shirt stretched across explosive muscle and the mysterious runes inked on his skin.
She stared longer than she realised; when she came to, her ears were hot.
Expressionless, she flicked on the light and disappeared into the kitchen.
Clatter and clink.
She emerged carrying two bowls of noodles, set one before Akuto, and sat cross-legged on the floor herself.
Akuto looked up. "Instant noodles?"
"What else?"
Damp strands from her shower clung to her neck, her cold-pale skin making her gaze look even sharper.
"I live alone—no spare groceries." She tucked stray hair behind her ear, let her glance flick across his tight white t-shirt and its runes, then snapped back to the noodles.
"If you don't want it, cook something yourself."
Akuto shrugged.
'I can't cook."
''Then don't complain.''
"You've got no ID—no job, no home, no phone—no social ties whatsoever.''
"Are you a NEET?''
[ Note: "NEETs: the acronym for people who don't study, don't train, don't work, don't try." ]
Akuto grinned. "If I'd worked all these years just to afford a place like this, I'd rather quit.''
Akira's face reddened for an instant; then she snapped, "My goal is to exterminate Ghouls; creature comforts are for the weak.''
He gave a soft laugh, "Luxury and ghoul-extermination aren't mutually exclusive.''
"When a billionaire says he doesn't care about money, maybe he means it.''
''When a pauper says the same, it's just bravado.''
"I've got nothing to say to a materialist like you.''
She pulled her bowl closer and turned away, though the tips of her ears burned, "Eat or don't—nobody's begging.''
Unbothered, Akuto lit a cigarette, leaned back, and watched the traffic outside. ''I've met your type too often."
"Convinced you're carrying the world, the future, friendship, love, vengeance."
"Perpetual grim face—at heart it's just escapism."
"People who won't even cherish themselves spouting grand love or revenge—doesn't that strike you as laughable?"
Akira wanted to retort, but her mouth opened and closed in silence. She could only slurp noodles.
"To me, it looks like losers punishing themselves."
At his words, her fingers trembled.
"Essentially it's no different from the weak who give up on life for love, or shut themselves away.''
"The strong stand amid flowers and crowds; even if they die, they die in a sea of blossoms.''
A tear slipped soundlessly into her bowl. She inhaled, forced the surge of feeling down, and spoke with icy resolve,
"Convictions differ; you don't have to measure me by your ruler.''
Head lowered, she ate more slowly, the steam tightening her throat, "Your definition of strong has never been mine… not for me."
Inside, something stabbed—his words had struck the corner she deliberately ignored. The exhaustion of countless nights, the pressure no one heard. And the faint, fleeting wish for an ordinary life—all shoved deep down.
Silence.
She set her fork aside; the noodles had gone cold. "Get some sleep after you eat."
She rose, spine still straight, but her steps were slower, voice carrying a hint of hoarseness, "Say another word and I'll throw you out tonight."
She shut the bedroom door, dove under the quilt, and tears fell unseen.
Outside, Akuto shook his head. "Ridiculous quest."
To him, others' lives, the world's fate—none of it mattered.
He wanted only to live brilliantly.
Cars, houses, cash—illusions all.
Human existence was no different from a stray dog, a bird overhead, a mayfly born and dead in a day.
What counted wasn't the length of days or possessions.
It was whether the story was splendid, whether there was regret.
If every day blazed, he'd close his eyes tomorrow with a smile.
Of course, money was the ticket to dreams.
He simply refused to let it become life's sole destination
–
Next morning.
Akira opened her eyes; tangled hair clung to her neck, her pale cheeks flushed, her eyes faintly red.
Morning light poured over her.
It lent her an almost holy aura.
Like an angel spun from gold.
In her nightgown, she stepped out, remembered a stranger was present, and looked up.
Akuto lay half-reclined on the sofa, coat draped over him.
That flawless profile remained perfect even in sleep.
Her gaze drifted helplessly; the sunrise traced the stern beauty of his face.
Lashes cast faint shadows—sleep could not dull the edge of his looks.
She tiptoed two steps, deliberately scuffing the floor, voice hard and carefully steady:
"If you're awake, get up.''
When he didn't stir she sharpened her tone. "The sun's on you—stop lazing around."
All the while she grumbled inwardly, "Even asleep he's a nuisance. Hurry and wake up, pack, and leave—so I can feel at home in my own flat."