Chapter Text
Masato. Ah, yes, that was his name. Given to him by a mother in a time way beyond this strange, new era that was bleak and unchanging. His real mother. Not the fake, dainty mother dressed in pearls and long dresses to please high society. Or lavished in kimono to brag to the locals.
He never knew HER name. It was too long ago.....he has been immortal so long, he could scarcely even remember the era he had been born into. Was it a warring state? A feudal era? Or something more sinister that even the textbooks would like to forget.
The boy with short brown hair wanted to cry. He was strong. Immortal. Yet he was weak. He was trapped in the body of a young teenage boy. A young, teenage, Japanese boy. "Half" by the looks of it, they didn't like the look of him, with his pale skin, and eyes larger than normal. A demon, to most. But that's what he was, wasn't he? After eating the eternal flesh of the mermaid, he had made a pact of immortality. He was a demon. No better than an Onii.
Bruises littered his pale skin. They'd heal quickly. Everything always did. And he'd be back to the porcelain doll they expected him to be. Stubby pale legs in khaki short shorts and knee-high socks. The good boy.
He should not be here. Not in this time, this place. He belonged in a different time. A time where things like cars didn't rove around the streets like ants. So many years he had endured..he'd seen wars, and the fallen. Yet he still cried...he still felt childish, unloved, unneeded.
Yukie tried. Masato supposed that the kind woman sincerely tried. They tried to become his friend, to smile, to tell him everything would be "OK" Mana and Yuta definitely didn't try. They only wanted to make ammends with another immortal. And in the process he lost her. He always loses her.
Maybe he could go swim. He could go find that putrid mermaid and tell them to end his suffering, make him fully human, fully accepted.
Ouch. Masato stood up, his legs buckling like a fawn. I never realized it hurt so much. I've died countless times, but never had my head cut off. How am I still even here, breathing, bleeding, feeling numb. The numb sensation shot up his legs and to his groin.
If only mother could see me now. They'd see that I've become something much more fearful. Maybe they'd even compliment me. No. They would never do that.
He wiped away a stray tear and walked to the family car. Time to get some fresh air.
(...Don't ask.)