Ch.297If Side Story. Tokyo Slayers: Final Chapter (35)

The “Kurosawa” beyond the window tilted her head.

Her eyes still glowed red.

No, that wasn’t it.

Even in this darkness, Kurosawa’s eyes appeared too vivid and red to be visible by moonlight alone.

“Let me in.”

The thing resembling Kurosawa said.

Souta finally understood why Yuka had said “that is not Kurosawa.”

Something was different. Something was off.

Kurosawa would never speak so directly. Even now that they had become somewhat closer and she talked more than before, if she needed something, she would just stare at Souta from a distance and respond briefly only when he spoke first.

This wasn’t how Kurosawa would behave after suddenly disappearing and then reappearing—at Yuka’s house, a place she shouldn’t even know the location of.

“……”

Neither Yuka nor her grandfather moved. Neither did Souta.

Why doesn’t it come in?

Souta wondered.

Why doesn’t it enter? If it wanted to, it could surely break the glass. There were talismans on the glass side too, but this Kurosawa, unlike other yokai, wasn’t completely prevented from touching the barrier.

So, if it really wanted to, naturally…

Kurosawa placed her hand on the window and quietly gazed inside.

Her eyes moved slowly across the people inside. One by one, as if examining each face.

First, she looked at Yuka, but quickly lost interest and turned to Souta. She briefly looked at Yuka’s grandfather too, but didn’t linger there either.

Whatever this Kurosawa was looking for wasn’t in the living room.

“…It’s not here.”

Could she be looking for Ms. Kurosawa?

Kurosawa’s wide eyes moved again, this time looking at Souta.

The corners of her lips curled upward. A smile Souta had never seen on Kurosawa’s face before.

Surely, if he had seen such an expression normally, he would have been happy. Souta wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could change all his friends, but it would be fulfilling to see a normally expressionless child gradually discover emotions while spending time with him.

But Souta felt that this smile didn’t belong to Kurosawa.

Kurosawa slowly raised her hand.

Her left hand rose gradually and pressed against the living room window of Yuka’s house.

Blood stained the window. Apparently, blood had been flowing from that wrist all along.

And on that wrist was a pentagram. The kind of tattoo rarely seen on the wrist of someone Kurosawa’s age—Souta’s age.

The kind of playful-looking tattoo that would more naturally be thought of as something friends drew on each other as a joke.

But this tattoo didn’t look so simple.

There was a wound crossing the tattoo.

The tattoo was split open vertically, making it look like an eye that was open.

That eye-like shape was peering through the window.

“…Ah.”

Yuka exhaled at the sight.

It shouldn’t be Kurosawa. It couldn’t be.

But, it seemed the entity beyond the window was—

“I see,” Kurosawa said.

“Indeed, you’re not easily fooled by my words.”

Yuka’s grandfather’s expression remained largely unmoved, but for Souta and Yuka who knew Kurosawa, they couldn’t help but freeze at those words.

“Who are you?”

Souta found himself asking before he realized it. As Souta stepped forward, Kurosawa responded as if amused.

“I am called Kotone Kurosawa.”

“That’s impossible.”

This time Yuka spoke.

“You’re not Kurosawa. You’re…”

“As you suspect, I am not of this world.”

Kurosawa interrupted Yuka.

“However, well.”

Kurosawa tilted her head slightly as she spoke.

“I am certainly ‘Kotone Kurosawa.’ That is the name of this body, is it not? Since the vessel was named thus, I think it is appropriate to be called so. At least, those who summoned me here seem to think so.”

“…What is your purpose?”

Yuka’s grandfather spoke up.

He aimed his nocked arrow at Kurosawa beyond the window, glaring with fierce eyes. But Kurosawa didn’t appear particularly intimidated.

“That is not quite the right question.”

Kurosawa said with apparent enjoyment.

“It would be more appropriate to ask about the purpose of those who summoned me. Don’t you think?”

Kurosawa’s gaze moved again. Her eyes were fixed on the tip of Yuka’s sword.

“That sword.”

Kurosawa smiled and slowly backed away.

“If you wish to duel with swords, I can accommodate that entertainment.”

Kurosawa slowly moved her left hand toward the sky.

The blood flowing from her wrist gradually surged upward. Droplets of blood rose and slowly spread, connecting to Kurosawa’s wound like threads.

And as if weaving fabric, something began to form from the top down.

It looked like—a sword.

A sword as red as blood—no, made of blood itself.

Kurosawa elegantly caught the sword suspended in midair with her right hand and gave it a flick.

“Truly, truly, it has been so long since I visited this world, so there’s no need to rush. You must have thoughts about this shell, so it would be good to savor this slowly.”

Kurosawa said this and swung her sword.

“Souta!”

Yuka immediately leaped forward with her sword—

Clang!

The sound of metal striking metal. But that sound was quite different from the usual sound of clashing swords.

It was like the sound of iron bars colliding with tremendous force. Yuka’s hand trembled.

“Excellent.”

Kurosawa said as she stepped forward lightly.

“Then, a brief entertainment. I would like you to play with me until I find the mirror. That sword will be necessary at the end.”

“What do you—”

But before Yuka could respond, several red lines danced through the air.

What she held was a red sword. But to Souta’s eyes, it looked almost like thread.

A strand of thread dancing lightly through the air.

Yet, it was still metal. It neither bent nor stretched. Though it should be capable of such movement, Kurosawa was merely swinging her sword.

The red light reflecting in the moonlight just made it appear like scattered threads.

Yuka’s sword moved to follow that red light, reflecting the moonlight. The white and red lines intertwining chaotically were momentarily breathtaking in their beauty.

Souta heard the sound of air being cut beside his head.

The arrow flew at an angle directly targeting Kurosawa’s head. In truth, Souta’s eyes lacked the dynamic vision to track it.

He only belatedly realized it because of the hand that intercepted it midway.

Kurosawa’s left hand was pierced by the arrow. Another large wound formed above her already severely split left wrist.

Kurosawa paused her sword strikes for a moment and looked at the arrow.

“Quite an effort.”

Kurosawa smiled.

“Ah…”

Such a sound escaped from Souta’s lips.

Kurosawa’s eyes, which had been looking at the arrow, turned to Souta’s face.

Her lips curled up slightly again.

Just like the shy smile of a girl learning to smile for the first time.

But it wasn’t awkward or strange at all, just beautiful—exactly the kind of smile Kurosawa might show if she were to smile for the first time.

But the very next moment, what Souta saw was the sight of two metals colliding.

Was it strange to think sparks flew?

“Hmm. This side is still—”

“You.”

Yuka muttered.

Her eyes glaring at Kurosawa were blazing.

“That body is.”

“Didn’t I tell you? This body is ‘Kotone Kurosawa’.”

Kurosawa smiled.

“If there are wounds inflicted on this body, naturally those wounds would belong to ‘Kotone Kurosawa’ as well. If you cut this body with that sword… I wonder if you know what would happen.”

Yuka gritted her teeth, but she didn’t stop her sword.

Souta couldn’t bring himself to stop her either.

The sword strikes entangled chaotically once more.

The three people’s footsteps slowly retreated.

Souta hurriedly unwrapped his bandage. Though his wound hadn’t healed yet, he thought it might help because of that.

When he removed the bandage, his hand covered in scabs was revealed.

“Grandfather!”

As Souta called out and turned around, Yuka’s grandfather handed him an arrow.

Souta took the arrow and stabbed his hand.

Self-harm he had done several times already.

Self-harm that never became familiar no matter how many times he did it, but still.

“Oh.”

Kurosawa looked at Souta and smiled.

“So you resort to that. Very well. I wonder how this body will react to that blood.”

Without fully understanding what Kurosawa meant, Souta splashed his blood toward her.

Red blood spattered across Kurosawa’s white skin.

In a normal situation, Kurosawa would surely have stopped. A normal yokai would certainly—

But.

“Hmm.”

Kurosawa murmured.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps this body doesn’t think of you that way after all.”

Kurosawa answered like that.

“……”

Souta gritted his teeth.