CHAPTER 1: ROTTEN FLESH

❝ 𝘚𝘯𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴. ❞
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𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 below her. The people that hoard and flood the streets above buildings and the moon bump into everyone they come across, busy with their lives either straight ahead to their next dead end job.

She swung her legs at the edge of the rooftop building, covered in bandages and layered with a magenta sakura-designed one-piece. Behind it was a grin that found amusement in her position and how petty they all were. 

Himura Yutsuko was the myth that people talked about to their neighbors.

'I heard bodies were brutally punctured with holes and were left lying on the pavement.'

'Did you hear how they spotted a small girl during the scene of the murder. Her face was covered in blood bur they couldn't catch her when she disappeared!'

The moon reflected the sunlight, the clouds moving away like curtains to a show.

It has been so long, nowadays.

All she knew was this bloody game.

She ventured all over Tokyo, greeting the foreign people in hopes in trying to find her own. But it was all so hilarious to the thought of finding herself fitting in to society. But alas, there were none that caught her interest between the alleys or the beautiful festivals that come around. The sophisticated people liked to think otherwise, how foolish they all are, blinded by their own comfortability.

So she came back.

"You know, I'm starting to miss them,"

She placed a finger on her bottom lip in thought, childishly swinging her legs on the edge of the building. 

How nice of a thought.

"Maybe visiting them wouldn't be a waste of time. Afterall--" She stood up and face her back to the moon and the ledge. The breeze accompanies her and let the green tips caress her cheeks. "-My source of entertainment."

Her kakuja sprung out of her back in a glorious fashion. It can't be seen by the naked eye, crystallized and raw, it projects the same color of the blood she consumes. And she swept through the shadows of the moonlight. with no other thought than this.

Muzan found his reflection on the glass wall of the restaurant he is in. The aroma of the sweetness as when the freshness of the air provided a nice place for the people to relax and dink with co-workers and family members. It was filled with rashness of the human kind. Demons would feast on their flesh like baked mutton and laughs would overpower the screams of their victim.

The restaurant now, to Muzan, was nothing more than a pig's pen. And he was the wolf.

Too bad there were shepherds with guns. 

Even trapped by the same "mortality" as the faux family, he shared detest on his position and wished burn them alive. He couldn't hide the disinterest as he stared off on his reflection by the glass wall as his "wife" and "daughter" wait for their meal.

"Hun! Do you want anything to order?" Asked his supposed wife as she tugged on the sleeve of his blazer.

Speaking of getting rid off.

His monotone disposition quickly turned soft, a closed eyed smile as he got rid of his chin over his palm to face them fully-- The one of the masks he holds as he limits himself to any choice.

It wasn't as if he was a human before. Unfortunately as when he became a demon he had not cared or learned any social cues and psychology. But he knew what the soup and the spices smell like. He learned the science of birth, and for sure he perceived everything there has to know - it's him not needing it anymore.

And that made a barrier, a desired station that placed him higher than the surrounding creatures.

"Daddy look!" His toddler told him. "What prettyful girl! I wanna be just like her when I grow up!"

It wouldn't be a surprise that he couldn't care less.

But since the purpose for tonight is to be with them and devoid them out of the remaining cynic from their system, he supposedly went and turned his head to take a quick glimpse at the person who interested his child.

And the initial thing he noticed was her hazel eyes. It was intense and alluring.

When she matched her gaze, eye to eye, it gleamed a certain color. their eyes greeted each other silently without anything else. And for Muzan it felt right.

She walked over to the other counter and cut Muzan off his stupor. He wine of her tray she delivered on the table of the drunk men who were another factor of his awful evening.

The glasses didn't even make contact with the table and the bastard already took it from her grip, cackling and dawning it onto their mouths with some of the access dripping from the corner of their mustached lip. Muzan didn't care. He shouldn't for all he cared.

He refused his mind to be jumbled by a measly thought of a young woman.

But when his ear detected the voice of the men near the table she was serving, he got conscientious.

"Hey, nice lady, do you want to sit with us for a while? Come on, it won't be too long, just a little chat! What's you say?" The man says.

His body was too big for his feet to handle and his clothes, which Muzan would assume were neatly folded like a businessman or a top CEO would- were all crumpled and tie-less. At least, for this era.

He observed her reaction. Her eyes turned upwards in thought, but turned back on into her previous smile before and sat in-between the boys.

Muzan's had veins popping out.

The men laughed and chuckled as she was the dog's bait. She didn't at all seem disturbed. Muzan was a smart person, and she was being what he thought she was-

A whore.

Muzan tapped his fingers and turned his head back to the glass and gazed outside while propping his elbow and rested his chin on his palm in indifference.

Although his wife begged to differ, as she was still worriedly peering out at the lady, her hand close to her lips, she furrowed her brows in concern.

"Oh, my... Poor girl..."

She did that to herself. It's not anyone's responsibility but hers if anything were to happen to her.

And he was right. He was awfully right.

"Hey honey, can you ask for that waitress to move to our table please?"

Even his wife was concerned with the fact that she was being harassed by the men.

"She looks like she needs a little help. I'm worried about what they might do to her."

What are you worried about, woman? She clearly likes-

He turned his head in irritation to the female that he saw once again and saw that she had this shiver on her hair that Muzan could see from a mile away. Her lips trembled. His eyes widened by a fraction.

But why was he so adamant to give her help? Like it hurt him when she is?

"Hey, do you mind if?-"

The drunken man beside her didn't even finish when Muzan called out to the waitress her name.

It was something that Muzan never thought would leave his mouth.

The green-haired girl's lips turned into an O-shaped, before standing up and patting invisible dust from her clothes peacefully.

The drunkards gave a sync 'aww' from her parting.

She had this aura of tranquillity that didn't waver.

She made her way to the table, and she asked what they wanted to order.

"Can I have uhm,"

Muzan said calmly, darting his eyes onto the covered menu for something to order. One particular caught his attention.

"Can I have the red eye please?"

She wrote it down on her notepad.

He wondered what's wrong with him. He noticed how her eyes lit up in amusement, the way her lips would smirk at the littlest little details he had.

"Is that all?"

He nodded, and he watched her as she left.

The ringing noises and water touching oil are heard inside the kitchen. She walked past them with no one noticing.

Until someone did.

He called her name. She turned to the person involved.

He was wearing the usual white uniform with the chef's hat on his head. He ran towards her despite his heavy large build. He was a usual chef in this industry while having family problems and really cranky when things don't go his way. Pretty annoying. The plump on his cheeks rose with his laugh.

"Kurori! Are you going on a break?" He asked excitedly.

"Yes, Mr. Shirano. I haven't been the most relaxed lately." She responded with a polite greeting.

The man scratched the back of his head, a small nervous chuckle left his mouth.

"Would you mind if I asked a favour?"

"Hm? What's that?" She tilted her head with a pout.

"I just need a minor change, is all," He said, looking away. "I want you to ask the manager if he will get me a raise to earn a living for my children. See, one of them is at the hospital and he's having a real time-"

She watched him as he talked while his hand was still on his head, rather lazier than the first one, now relaxed as he focused on explaining. Her eyes drifted to how his mouth talked, the sound not coming to her ears. She stared boredly, not noticing the seconds past.

"-Has been beating the shit out of me quite a lot. So what do you think?"

He turned back to the girl. Her eyes lightened up immediately to closed eyes smile, with a nod.

"Of course! Would you throw the trash for me, please?"

"Well, okay."

The man said before walking out of the back of the kitchen. Her face dropped and followed the man out.

Muzan sighed. He was tired watching the humans walk back and forth around the glass wall he had been staring at for the past minutes. This was a mistake, he thought.

But before he was going to stand up, the waiter placed a plate in front of him. He glanced towards him and realised that they weren't her. He sighed and adjusted back to his seat.

"This is your order?" his wife asked.

"Yes."

The waiter walked away. He glanced towards it and raised a brow. "This..."

But before he said the other word, a sudden whiff of familiar scent flew through his nostrils.

It was humid. And it was too settle. But the smell couldn't get past him.

He slowly took the fork and knife and cut through the steak. It was well made as well. It was better designed and was presented with correct details. But it did not fool Muzan. And that's why he's going to taste the serving that's in front of him.

He took the meat on the tip of the fork and placed it on his tongue.

He closed his eyes.

He was, in fact, correct.

He stood up. Startling his wife and daughter.

"I need to go outside for a bit of fresh air."

"Are you not going to finish your meal-?"

"--Do not. Touch it." He took the plate and carried it with him until he was outside the doors, leaving his family to wonder in fright about what had gotten into him.

The wife comforted the little one of her father's sudden outburst.

Back to Muzan.

He walked to the streets. The look in his eyes was forward as he knew what he was going to do.

The people on the streets obliged to not walk in front of him or bump him in either way since his movements suggest otherwise.

He got to a sacred place, and in the shadows he hid. The scarlet in his eyes glowed in the darkness as it stood as a warning for the two people aware of his presence.

The smell hit back on his nostrils.

It was like the ones he was holding right now.

He dropped the plate and walked over to the same smell, and discovered a dead body poached over the back of the restaurant.

He stood disgusted over the dead body.

Its rotten flesh had been cut clean from the neck and to the stomach.

One leg was missing while the layers of the cuts were wide open, as if the creator was trying to turn the flesh inside out.

Flies flew around it.

"When did this happen?"

Two demons kneeled behind him. "A girl with wild green hair."

Who might have been seeking food at a busy city like this? Surely he would have smelled them is sensed them from a mile away, considering this is a. large restaurant, but still...

He tilted his head.

"Check."

The woman, with cut bangs and yellow tips, quickly rushed towards the meat Muzan had laid down and ate both it and the dead body.

Her mouth spilled blood at the bottom of her lips as she did so.

She finished it with a swallow. "It's human, sir."

"Find me that green-haired girl."