Kashimo wandered down the street, draped in shopping bags.
He had seven or eight bags hanging from each hand, his fingers turning white under the strain, while two unbagged jackets were draped over his elbows. He wasn't even using his hands for everything. He had the handles of three more bags clamped between his teeth, his head tilted back slightly to maintain his balance. He moved with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a predator carrying a massive kill back to its den.
Pedestrians couldn't help but stare.
A man over six feet tall, handso but dressed in a style that felt decades out of place, covered in shopping bags and looking perfectly unbothered by the absurdity of it all was a difficult sight to ignore. Young girls giggled behind their hands, salaryn did double-takes, and one child standing with a dog simply stopped and watched him pass, mouth hanging open in a perfect O.
Kashimo was oblivious to the attention, or more accurately, he simply didn't care.
Kenjaku had vanished the mont the card transaction was finished. She'd dropped a casual remark about getting his ring back as if she were just stepping out for a rice ball at a convenience store. Kashimo hadn't asked questions. He'd just nodded and watched the woman in the black top disappear into the mall's crowd.
He didn't care how she planned to get it back or if her husband would be difficult about it. Kenjaku had lived for a thousand years; she had her ways.
The June sun remained relentless, making the asphalt soft underfoot. Kashimo was wearing his new clothes: a dark gray T-shirt and black trousers Kenjaku had picked out. The fabric was light and breathable, a massive improvent over the rags he'd been wearing. He strolled toward the apartnt, the bags rustling with every step.
A light breeze occasionally caught the teal strands of his hair. He squinted against the glare, a muffled grunt escaping him through the handles in his teeth. He wasn't sure if he was annoyed by the heat or just thinking about the state of the world.
There was no rush. The apartnt was ready, the clothes were bought, and his gear was being retrieved. He had waited four hundred years; he could wait a few more hours.
As he walked, his mind drifted to more curious matters.
The more he thought about it, the more impressed he was with Jin Itadori. The man's ntal fortitude had to be legendary. Your wife dies, stays dead for years, and then suddenly walks back into the house with a stitched-up forehead? Most people would have moved cities that sa night. But Jin? He'd just kept going as if nothing had changed. He'd even...
Kashimo's pace faltered for a mont, the bags in his mouth swaying.
He'd even gone through with the sexual side of the marriage.
Applying his analytical mind to the situation, the logic was undeniable. Why was Kenjaku in such a hurry to get the ring back? A woman with her patience didn't suddenly act on a whim. If she was moving now, it wasn't because of a guilty conscience.
She was likely pregnant.
That was the only thing that could force her hand. Kashimo knew her well enough to know that very little could rattle a thousand-year-old sorcerer. Only internal changes, the uncontrollable hormonal signals of the flesh she inhabited, could force her to accelerate her schedule. She had sensed the shift and realized the window for her plans was closing while this body was still viable. The ring was just an excuse to visit.
Kashimo let out a sharp huff of a laugh through his nose, the air vibrating the bags in his teeth. A passing pedestrian gave him a wary look, but he ignored them.
Fine then.
He continued his slow trek, the thought still fresh in his mind.
"Mister, you're funny. Why are you carrying them like that?"
The clear, high voice of a child ca from his side. Kashimo looked down.
A young girl was standing there, looking up at him. She had short, sensible hair and eyes that were wide and bright with curiosity. She was wearing a school uniform and a small backpack, standing with the casual confidence of a kid who had seen sothing strange and decided to investigate.
Kashimo looked at her face: the eyes, the jawline, the slight upward curve of her lips.
His feet felt like they had been bolted to the pavent.
Riko?
Riko!?
His brain felt like it had just suffered an electrical short. He dropped the bags from his mouth and knelt, lowering his tall fra until he was eye-level with the girl.
He stared at her for a long ti. His handso face, marked with those violet sigils, twisted into an expression of profound, wide-eyed shock. It was the look of a man seeing a ghost.
"What's your na, kid?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Kashimo was a striking man, his deep blue eyes brilliant in the sunlight, and his sudden gentleness was enough to disarm the girl's natural suspicion. She didn't shy away. Instead, she tilted her head and gave him a bright, easy smile.
"I'm Shoko Ieiri. I'm thirteen."
Shoko Ieiri.
Kashimo felt like soone had hit the pause button on his reality.
He stayed frozen for two seconds before letting out a long, heavy breath. Thank god it's Shoko, not Riko.
He'd genuinely thought he was losing his mind. The face, the smile, even the way she tilted her head when she spoke: she was a perfect double. He'd almost convinced himself he was trapped in an illusion.
Wait.
Kashimo's eyes widened even further.
Shoko?
Shoko Ieiri!?
He remained in his crouch, his expression shifting through a dozen different emotions before settling into a look of absolute, twisted confusion.
The thirteen-year-old girl watched him, her brow furrowing as she took in his bizarre reaction.
"Mister, you're making a really weird face."
Kashimo opened his mouth, but for the first ti in two lives, he had absolutely nothing to say.
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A/n: Thanks for the power stones. New Goal: 400 power stones = 1 bonus chapter. Thanks in advance to everyone for the support.
For early access to 15 chapters ahead: p@tre~~/Demonic_Fiction (Link is in the synopsis and my profile).
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