⚬|𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭|⚬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 5

"I still don't understand how you did it." The thirteen-year-old girl interrupted, tugging her backpack open and pulling out a notebook and pencil. She settled on the floor, her legs crossed as she began to work on her homework.

"I told you—I just talked to him. He's quite the reasonable man," Y/n replied, throwing herself onto the small mattress they would share for the night. She turned her head to glance at the scribbles the girl was jotting down.

"I don't believe you," the girl said sharply, her glare cutting through the dim room.

Y/n averted her gaze and stared at the faint, flickering light bulb hanging above them. "Then don't. But you should know by now that your father is surprisingly reasonable when it comes to making deals."

The girl's hand froze mid-stroke, her pencil falling and smudging the clean white paper. "You made a deal?" she asked, stunned by how carelessly the woman before her spoke of something so dangerous.

"Yukiko, didn't you learn when you lived here? You never make a deal with our father. It's reckless—he never keeps his end of the bargain." Young Y/n's voice was stern, yet there was a flicker of worry beneath her tone. Realizing how much she had revealed, she quickly fell silent.

"Just don't get me involved," due proceeded to mutter, picking up her pencil and resuming her writing.

Y/n studied the girl, marveling at how quickly she detached from the world around her. She had learned to live with pain and indifference, a child sculpted by survival.

The night before, contrary to her expectations, their father had finally returned home around five in the morning. He had been sober—an unusual state for the man—and yet his hollow, starless gaze revealed his cruelty still burned unchecked.

His first impulse was to strike her. The umbrella, always perched by the door, was in his hand within seconds. But as he raised it, he froze, his body rigid, his face pale.

"K-Keiko?" he stammered, lowering the umbrella as he took an unsteady step forward. "You came back?"

"No," Y/n replied coldly, her tone at odds with the warm, serene smile on her lips. "I'm Yukiko. It's been a while, Father."

"Yu-Yukiko?" he repeated, and as the name passed his lips, something deep within him seemed to shatter. His dormant anger awoke like a beast unchained. "What are you doing here, you little shit!" he screamed, his voice reverberating off the cracked walls.

The attack began before Y/n could respond—a slap, followed by kicks to her stomach. He yanked her hair, dragging her across the floor as he spat venomous curses.

"You think you can waltz in here as if nothing happened?" he roared, grinding his boot into her left hand. "If I don't kill you, it'll be a miracle."

But when he raised his foot to stomp on her face, Y/n moved. Her reflexes—honed through years of training with Satoru—were sharp. She grabbed his leg, twisting and pulling until he fell, his head striking the ground with a dull thud.

Before he could react, she straddled him, pinning his arms with one hand while pressing the sharp point of a hairpin to his throat.

"I'd listen if I were you," she hissed, her voice low and steady. "Unless you'd like to say hello to Granny."

Her father's face twisted with a mix of fear and rage, but he stilled beneath her grip. Y/n's strength surprised even herself. The kicks to her stomach had been powerful, yet she barely felt them. Her mind remained sharp, calculating, unclouded by panic as it once had been.

She didn't relish the violence, but it was necessary. Eventually, after a few more "convincing" blows, he relented. Their deal was struck: she could stay, and in return, she wouldn't kill him.

Now, lying beside her past self on the old mattress in her childhood room, Y/n feigned sleep. Her mind was already elsewhere—focused on her true mission.

She slid out of the blankets with practiced stealth, careful not to wake the girl beside her. The room was dark, but her body remembered how to move silently, avoiding creaky floorboards and slipping through the window at the end of the hall.

The cold night air greeted her as she landed on the fire escape, her feet barely making a sound. Memories stirred as she ran down the rusting stairs, her movements fluid and precise.

When she reached the ground, she paused to steady her breathing. Something was wrong—body felt drained, sluggish. Perhaps it was the strain of adjusting to this new timeline, she reasoned.

She prayed it was nothing more. Without her cursed energy, she was little more than a vulnerable human—a dangerous liability.

The streets of Shinjuku stretched before her, a labyrinth of neon lights and suffocating shadows. She ran through the alleyways, dodging drunks and avoiding the pools of light spilling from shop windows. She wasn't sure if she was going to find the location, yet the moment she took a left turn and overtook the old book shop, just like Satoru had told her, she was shocked by what she saw.

Her destination loomed ahead: a building marked by its garish, glowing sign—Star Religious Group.

The colorful letters nearly made her laugh. A red arrow pointed toward the entrance, as if guiding lost souls to salvation.

"This is the hide out? Not quite as hidden as I thought it was going to be."

But as she approached, the building exuded an eerie stillness. The windows were dark, the doors locked. A small pamphlet taped to the door read: ON VACATION in bold capital letters.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, irritation prickling at her.

"Suguru Geto where the hell are you?"

"If you're looking for that lovely gentleman, he'll be back in a month," a voice slurred from the shadows.

Y/n turned, startled, and saw a drunk man wobbling toward her. His empty bottle glinted in the faint light.

"I see," she said smoothly, masking her annoyance. "Thank you, sir. But why such a long vacation?"

The man shrugged, taking a swig from his bottle before realizing it was empty. "The poor man works tirelessly," he muttered. "Open day and night, even during Christmas. He's a saint, really—a kind soul." His bloodshot eyes roved over her. "And quite popular with the ladies, I hear."

Y/n forced a polite smile, suppressing the urge to laugh. "I'm sure he is. Thank you for the information."

As she turned to leave, she was surprised to see a small curse on the man's shoulder.

With a quick flick of her fingers she tried to make the weak fourth-grade spirit disappear. A habit she had developed, useless now that she had drained completely all of her curse energy.

The man stared at her, startled by her sudden closeness, before she nodded toward his bottle.

"It's been empty for a while," she said, walking away.

She found a quiet spot in the shadows, leaning against a crumbling wall. Her body trembled as cold shivers swept over her. Her body was far too weak—dispatching even a minor spirit was impossible.

Her vision blurred, and her legs buckled beneath her. As she fell, she braced for the harsh impact of the ground—but it never came.

Strong arms caught her, their warmth piercing the icy void of her fading consciousness.