SHINYA | 深夜 • KNY various x Reincarnated!Reader

ACT II • Yūgen VIII

Surprise everyone.

I bet you thought you saw the last of me. 

No, for real; I'm sorry for the super prolonged inactivity. Life has mysterious ways of throwing someone off or gracing us with the inability to get over writer's block. Slowly but surely, I'm getting back into writing, especially for "Shinya." Maybe thanks to the new season, yet it will happen in a baby steps. So please do not expect regular updates of 50 pages, but more so, 20 pages per chapter. Also, I want to thank my loyal and new readers who have been commenting on my story.

The story is definitely not abandoned.

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"—Michikatsu?"

Your voice is barely audible, and you can't even identify the hoarse, urgent whisper that escapes your mouth like a plea.

Over a decade ago, you lost him. Three years ago, you left for him, searched for him, and even lost a part of yourself to have the chance to encounter him and get closure. You remembered every single moment, every detail, every pain. But you kept searching, kept looking, never giving up, and now—

Now, here you are.

It's all too much, too fast, and your brain is lagging, struggling to keep up with the sensory overload and the adrenaline that's still coursing through your veins but starting to wane as the seconds pass.

Michikatsu is standing before you, tall, muscular, and imposing. Towering and gazing down at you as if he were some deity. He is so imposing, so dominant, so in control that it's unnerving, to say the least. Your eyes flutter as you take in his features, his long dark hair cascading down his back. The sharp, defined angles of his face, the new pairs of eyes adoring his face, and the intensity of his gaze, boring into yours, never wavering, never blinking, never changing. It's like staring at a mirage. You can't get a good look, but you can still recognize the sharp, defined angles of his face, the new pairs of golden eyes adoring his face, and the intensity of his gaze, boring into yours as if searching for something, for anything, trying to read your mind and find answers to questions you can't even form.

The faint whisper of your name lingers in the air, teasing your senses with the possibility of its existence. Uncertainty grips you as you question whether he remembers you or if your presence is simply inconsequential to him. But you wonder how long he has been standing there, watching you fall apart. He should not see you this way. He should never have seen you this way, so fragile, broken, and vulnerable.

As you feel desperation flooding your veins, you cannot help but lift your gaze upwards, searching his face again, hoping to find some sign or answer.

His jaw is set, his muscles tense as he takes you in, trying to figure you out, trying to understand you, and there is something there that you can't place, but it makes your skin crawl and your nerves flare; maybe he is even figuring out if he needs to kill you or if you're not worth it. You feel like a bug under a microscope, a butterfly pinned to a corkboard, and you want to squirm, to get away, to hide, but you can't move; you're pinned in place by his stare, by his presence, by the weight of his gaze on you because this demon is an apex predator, an embodiment of strength, power, and confidence.

A tiny part of you genuinely wonders if he finds you disgusting, or perhaps sad, a feeble little creature, fragile, pathetic, weak, and useless. That thought alone is mortifying enough; maybe it was all a part of some cosmic joke or torture, a twisted fate, or perhaps just your karma from another lifetime.