-Rexdeus, who had lost his name and identity-
This is bad.
That girl—Rurika—is dangerous. I need to stay away from her. But that word never truly stays still in my mind.
…stay away.
Her innocence is too "clean." Too pure for something that should never be touched by something like me.
I'm someone who always measures distance, always weighs threats… I should never have stood this close to her.
And yet, I did.
Why?
Because she gave me a name—"Shoka." That single name feels like something that should not exist.
I tried to erase it. I shouldn't have it. There's no place for something like that within me.
Because I am not someone who is meant to have a "soulmate."
It's written—not on my body, but in something older than I am. I remember those pages. Not clearly. Just fragments.
"A vessel of calamity is not meant to have a partner."
That's what Anathema history has always said. For seven thousand years. It doesn't feel like time. Just pressure.
Once… I went too far in search of answers.
A place even adult Anathema refuse to name—The forbidden territory.
No one goes there and returns whole. I almost didn't, either.
The souls left behind there can't even be called "dead" anymore. They move. They bite. They erase form.
One of them almost devoured me.
I still remember how it felt—not pain.
More like my identity was being pulled out of me, little by little.
And after that…
I don't remember what kept me alive.
——
Since then, my body has never truly been at rest. As if something inside me is always searching for an end.
And now I'm standing here. Alive. Not whole. Not fully Anathema like I used to be.
Maybe that's why…I've started thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about.
About Rurika.
No.
I need to stay away. I repeat it again—like an order. Like something that should be simple.
But that name still lingers.
Rurika.
**
"Shoka." That voice cut through.
She's the only one who calls me that.
I didn't even have time to stop myself.
My body moved before my thoughts could catch up.
I jumped down from the roof of the shack—
—and stopped right in front of her.
Too fast. Too automatic. Like a reflex I refuse to acknowledge.
…
Honestly, I didn't need to be called.
I came on my own. But it's not because I obeyed. Not because I wanted to.
My blood just moved faster than my mind.
And that's what I hate the most.
I don't know if this is still me… or something left behind by that "vessel."
And in front of me, Rurika just looks at me like she always does—as if there's nothing wrong with this world.
When there clearly is.
——
"What is it?" I asked.
"…Ah… u-um." She fumbled for a moment, then looked at me as if confirming something. "Shoka… are you okay jumping from somewhere that high? You can't use magic, right?"
It wasn't an important question. But I answered anyway. "There's a technique to it."
Short. Not for her understanding—
but to make sure she wouldn't try the same thing.
——
And for a moment…I realized it. I had just been thinking about her safety.
——
"I…" she started.
But I cut her off. "Don't even try."
"…I won't?" Her face was full of confusion.
That's when I realized—my reaction had been too much.
She continued, "…Um… Shoka didn't eat earlier. So I made something for you. Auntie said you don't need food… that you'll find your own. But still… I didn't want you to stay hungry."
From her bamboo basket, she took out a piece of bread—filled with layers of vegetables.
I didn't answer right away. The word food hadn't even fully registered in my mind—
when something else surfaced first.
…bread.
——
The image came without permission. Not as a thought I could ignore—but as something that had already happened inside my head.
My hand moved. Taking the basket.
The woven bamboo felt light. Too light. Not enough to match what was inside it.
…Or maybe that wasn't what unsettled me.
My fingers tightened slightly—and without any pause that could truly be called a decision—
I let it drop.
No hesitation. No restraint. As if it was simply what was meant to happen.
The basket slipped from my grasp and fell—and in a single second that felt far too long—
the bread hit the ground.
A soft sound. Barely audible. But enough to change its form.
The neatly layered vegetables came apart, mixing with the damp soil of the yard, clinging to its surface—ruining what had once been simple colors into something dirty… something no longer fit to be touched.
The contents scattered. No longer something that could be called "made." Just remains.
And in the middle of it—Rurika didn't move. She stood there, exactly where she was. Her hands still held their position, slightly extended forward, her fingers curved as if still holding something that…was no longer there.
As if her body hadn't caught up to what had just happened. Or maybe—she simply hadn't let go yet.
The morning breeze drifted between us, carrying the scent of disturbed earth, mixed with the faint trace of bread that could no longer be called food.
But she stayed silent. No step back. No sound.
Slowly—her expression changed.
Not like someone startled. There was no jolt. No clear shock.Not anger either. No rejection. No protest.
Just… something sinking. As if something inside her didn't break—but shifted.
Her blue eyes stayed open, fixed in the same direction.
Then—it appeared.
A thin layer of tears. Almost invisible at first.
Gathering at the corner of her eyes, holding on for a moment—before losing any reason to remain. And falling.
One drop.
Then another.
Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just… falling. Silently. Without a sound. As if even her tears… didn't want to disturb the silence between us.
——
Enough.
——
The image cut off abruptly—like something forced to stop before it could finish.
I was still standing. The basket was still intact. The bread was still there.
Nothing had happened.
…but the feeling remained.
I didn't want to see that become real.
Without saying anything, I took the bread.
***
We sat at a wooden table in the yard, under the morning light that felt far too calm for a world like this.
I took a bite.
There was no taste.
Nothing at all—just something passing through without leaving a trace, as if my body didn't even recognize it as something worth acknowledging.
And yet, I kept chewing. Slowly. Forcing it down—not because I wanted to, not because I needed to.
I just… didn't want to see her cry.
And that alone was enough to make something inside me feel… out of place.
My movement paused for a moment. Not because of the bread. But because of myself.
"Shoka… how does it taste?" she asked softly. Her voice wasn't pressing, wasn't demanding—just waiting.
I didn't avoid it. "…It has no taste."
She blinked, slightly confused.
"Because Anathema don't eat like this," I added shortly. "My body doesn't register it as anything meaningful."
Silence settled between us. Not heavy, but not empty either—like something that should exist there, but never quite formed.
"Then…" she tilted her head slightly, "…if you can't eat it, why are you still eating it?"
The question was simple. Too simple. So straightforward it left no room to escape.
My hand stopped. The bread was still in my grasp—half-eaten, meaningless.
I could stop. Nothing would change. Nothing would be lost. But I didn't. I had no answer I wanted to say out loud.
Rurika didn't press. She just looked at me like she always did—without suspicion, without fear, without trying to read something I didn't even want to admit to myself.
Then she smiled. Small and gentle. "Thank you, Shoka."
I lifted my gaze.
"For your kindness… for appreciating the food I made." Her tone didn't waver. Not even a little. As if what she said… was simply true.
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
"But…" she continued softly, "if Shoka can't eat it, you don't have to force yourself."
I looked at her. Her smile didn't change. It didn't ask. It didn't hold me there. As if what I had already done… was enough for her.
"…Yeah," I replied at last. Short and flat.
And yet, my hand still moved—taking another bite, slowly.
At least it won't go to waste.
The thought came on its own—uninvited.
I hated it.
…and what bothered me even more—
I was no longer sure which part of myself I was supposed to hate.