Yukio Okumura x OC | Born to protect is what he and she have in common; he swore to protect the spawn of Satan, and she's cursed to protect the world. In reality, they are opposites, yet they came across each other and they became good companions.
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// Yui's point of view:
My mother found my old diary back in the day. I was able to read to first few paragraphs. It started when I first attended my first class with my teacher in exorcism, assuming it was Shiro Fujimoto. It was stated that sensei was a friendly guy but, a scary teacher. I was relieved because I had been accompanied by a boy, I called him Yuki in my diary, despite all of the kids who were cruel to me, he was kind to me. He was also attending exorcism classes but he was ahead of me.
Reading it had me remember bits of my childhood.
The kids back then would tell me to go away, I could recall them calling me bad names. I could tell from their faces that they were scared of me and some of them would cry if they see me walking toward them. There was probably an odd thing about me, as a child. Either way, I still can't remember who that boy was.
"Don't cry, crying can make you ugly."
"What are you... talking.. about..?" I asked him.
"I'm -----.."
Some other time, after that, I remembered a moment.
"So you can see them too," he asked.
"Yeah, these tiny cat-eared bugs are everywhere." I pointed it to the demons.
He laughed. "Tiny cat-eared bugs?"
"They're called coal tays, tiny demons lurking around the dark places."
Who might that be?
Well, I'm still in the process of returning my memories. It shouldn't take long. There is a part in my diary that had me think twice. It was a connected moon and cross, it wasn't suspicious if you'll look at it for the first time. Not until you search it on the internet find out what that means.
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I sighed.
Why did I draw that?
// Present time, True Cross Cafeteria.
"My mother pulled out some of my diaries back when I was a kid, though, it didn't really make me remember everything, but it helped me remember bits of it." I took a bite of my salad before I continue what I was saying.
I continued to tell stories based on my diary. But deep inside, I know nothing about myself, I tried everything but, it seems all of my efforts are just for nothing. My heart aches every time people want to know me better; I want to know me too. And I hate the fact my parents just let me go on my way if I want to remember everything. They were happy when I left America! They were excited as hell and they even told me to tell them what I will find.
