005

It was just any other day.

You were watching over a criminal patient in the recovery room, half interested in whether he lived or choked on his own tongue.

He was a robber. Or maybe a loan shark. Honestly, you didn't care. You’d already tested your newest lie on him, wide-eyed and trembling, “He hit me when I tried to help” and now he was looking at you like he wanted to say sorry.

You swung your legs off the counter, back and forth. Slow. Lazy. Your heels thudded lightly against the cabinet below.

The sound was nice. You wondered if you could swing hard enough to dislocate something. A kneecap? A hip?

You were deciding whether pity or pain would be more fun today when the door creaked open.

Your head turned.

Footsteps.

Not Mori.

White hair. A calm, firm posture. The man moved like he’d been trained not to make noise.

You recognized that kind of stillness. Controlled. Alert. Sharp.

Mori met him near the front, sat on his chair. They spoke in quiet voices.

You peeked out from behind a curtain, eyes narrowing.

They knew each other. Or at least, Mori knew him.

The doctor smiled in that particular way he used when he was trying to make someone like him.

Smooth. Pleasant. Like a hand on your shoulder just before the knife slipped in.

The white haired man didn’t return it.

He just stood there. Stoic. Watching Mori with narrowed eyes, like he was calculating risk.

Then two more men entered.

One was limping, supporting another, unconscious, bleeding. Gunshot wound from the look of it.

You recognized them. They’d visited before. Not often, but enough.

Mori clicked into motion, ushering them inside like a conductor cueing a symphony. He snapped orders, calm and precise. They followed.

Normally, this is where you’d follow too.

Watch the surgery. Learn something. Offer help just to see if he’d praise you for it.

But not this time.

Because your eyes had caught on the stranger again.

The white haired man. He hadn’t gone in with the others.

He stood just outside the operating room, arms crossed. Still watchful.

You slipped out before Mori could notice.

The floor was cold under your bare feet. You padded across it like a cat, silent and curious.

The man noticed you before you spoke.

Of course he did.

His gaze flicked to you, unreadable.

You tilted your head. Innocent. Sweet. But sharp behind the eyes.

“Mister,” you said.

“Who are you?”

He didn’t answer right away.

So you took another step closer.

“What’s your relationship with Mori-san?”

There it was. A flicker of discomfort. Not fear. But unease.

You’d seen it before in good people who didn’t like to think about what happened behind locked doors.

His eyes dropped to your clothes. Too clean for the blood slick clinic. Too alert for a patient. Too young for this place.

You could see the thought pass through his mind.

What is a kid doing here?

You smiled faintly.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, voice just the right shade of reassuring.

“I’m allowed to be here.”

His mouth tightened.

Still no answer.

You leaned a little closer, like sharing a secret.

“Mori-san likes me,” you said. “He says I’m special.”

A beat of silence.

He didn’t respond. But his eyes searched yours like he was looking for a fracture line. Something small and splintered that could explain you.

There wasn’t one.

Only curiosity.

You smiled wider.

“So… who are you?”

You stood there, watching him for a long while.

There was something about the way he looked at you, like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, but was determined to figure out.

That discomfort in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. You almost enjoyed it.

The silence stretched for a few moments before you tilted your head to the side.

"So... who are you?" You asked, voice light and innocent, despite the sharpness behind your gaze.

The man didn’t answer immediately, his eyes flicking over you again.

You could see him weighing you, assessing you, like he was trying to decide whether or not to engage with you.

Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but firm. “Fukuzawa. Fukuzawa Yukichi.”

You nodded slowly. Fukuzawa. The name didn’t mean anything to you, but you could tell it was significant to Mori, who seemed to know him. “What do you do, Mister Fukuzawa?”

He glanced at you, but this time there was a flicker of something like caution.

“I’m someone who deals with people like Mori. People who believe the world owes them something."

You raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Mori-san doesn’t think the world owes him anything. He thinks he can take what he wants.”

Fukuzawa didn’t respond to that, his expression neutral but unreadable.

He was still trying to figure you out, just like everyone else. But something told you he was different. He wasn’t easily swayed.

Before the tension could stretch too far, you heard Mori's voice from across the room.

"Fukuzawa-dono, if you’re here, you must have heard the news."

You glanced back at him, then at Fukuzawa, who gave you a short nod before turning toward Mori.

You could feel that subtle shift in the air, the weight of the moment passing between them.

You stepped back, fading into the background once more, but not before you caught Fukuzawa’s eyes once again.

He wasn’t done with you yet, and you weren’t done with him either.

That night, Mori wasn’t there when you returned.

The clinic was eerily quiet, the usual hum of activity missing.

You could tell something was wrong right away.

The familiar mess, the signs of Mori’s operations, was absent.

You felt a sense of unease settle over you.

You walked through the clinic, running your fingers over the cold, sterile surfaces.

Small hints lay scattered around the place, like breadcrumbs leading you somewhere.

Your eyes narrowed as you followed the subtle trail, barely perceptible, yet it was there. Someone had been here. Someone had left traces.

It didn’t take long before you reached the outskirts of the clinic, where a nondescript building stood, surrounded by armed men.

Your suspicions were right. Something had gone wrong. This was where Mori had gone, or where he had been taken.

You could feel the pulse of tension in the air.

There was a sense of urgency, a pulse of adrenaline that coursed through your veins as you prepared yourself for what was to come.

The hunt was on.

You shifted your weight, a chill running through you.

You knew what needed to be done. And with your ability, it was easy.

You teleported from shadow to shadow, a whisper in the night. One by one, you took them down. The men never saw you coming. Even when they did, they couldn’t stop you in time.

The silence of the night was broken only by the quick, brutal strikes of your teleportation, cutting down men who couldn’t even react fast enough. It was... effective. Efficient. And, if you were honest, exhilarating.

Why did you want to save Mori?

Because he was the one who could answer your questions. The twisted, dark questions that clawed at your mind.

He was the one who’d treated you like someone worth something, even when no one else did.

His calm, his confidence, his... affection.

He had always made you feel like there was something real underneath it all.

You didn’t care for anyone else, not really. But Mori? Mori was different.

In the middle of your work, you felt a hand wrap around your wrist.

Without thinking, you teleported away, already planning your next move when you stopped in your tracks.

It was Fukuzawa.

He was glaring at you, brows furrowed, like he was about to scold you. But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked at you with a mix of disbelief and frustration. And for a moment, you wondered if you had done something wrong.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He didn’t let go of your wrist, his grip firm, his voice sharp.

“A child shouldn’t have to dirty their hands no matter the circumstances.”

You stared at him, processing his words. The idea that a child shouldn’t kill. It was a simple, almost naive belief.

You couldn’t understand it. Why did age matter?

You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing as you asked.

“If adults can, why can’t a child? Why does age matter?”

Fukuzawa didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he just stared at you, eyes searching, before he suddenly let go of your wrist and drew his katana.

In one smooth motion, he sliced through a few of the remaining enemies, his movements fluid and practiced.

“Woah,” you said, your voice filled with a twisted kind of amusement.

“You're cool!”

He didn’t acknowledge your words, focusing on the enemies in front of him. But his expression was hard.

“This is not something a child should be laughing at.”

You grinned wider, undeterred by his tone.

“Then I’m not a child. Adults once told me I’m a devil.”

Fukuzawa’s eyes twitched at that, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something in his gaze.

He saw you, truly saw you, for the first time. And he didn’t like what he saw.

Before you could say anything more, he reached down and scooped you up, wrapping one arm around your waist as he began running.

“Don’t look,” he muttered, as you limped slightly in his hold.

The sound of enemies screaming faded into the distance as he sliced through them with ease, his movements sharp and deadly.

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but watch him, fascinated by the way he moved.

But then, just as you were about to speak, he gave you an answer to the question you had asked earlier.

"Age matters because there is a line between right and wrong. A child hasn’t learned enough to fully grasp the weight of what they're doing. Adults, though flawed, should at least know the difference, or they should try."

Typical.

Another answer dipped in morality. You'd heard it before. Again and again.

You asked the question no one seemed able to answer properly.

“What defines right, what defines wrong?”

He answered like the others.

“When you're unsure,” he said, “ask yourself. Does this protect others or hurt them? Does it bring harmony or suffering? That is where your answer lies.”

You stared at him.

Your smile faded.

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Words like “harmony” and “suffering”. What did they mean to someone like you?

Still, you hadn’t expected more.

You never did.

Because you knew.

Those who can truly understand you are rare. And at the moment, only Mori gave you an answer you felt was "right".

The truth.

"Right and wrong?" Mori repeated while scribbling on his notes.

"Those are ideas made for the masses. People who need rules to feel safe," He placed his pen down, turning to look at you.

"Most people cling to morality because they’re afraid. But you’re not afraid, are you?"

"Just remember, the cleverest men don’t break rules recklessly. They bend them to serve their purpose."

Mori made you understand that there is no true right and wrong for everyone.

Only those who have power can affect others' morality. But not everyone.

The only true right and wrong...is your own answer.

Creak...

Before you realized it, Fukuzawa had already breached the building, already cut down the last guards, already pushed open the door.

Mori was inside.