In reality, it had only been an instant.
From Wakaba Mutsumi’s perspective, the monster had barely managed to straighten itself up out of the rubble — and then the next second it had simply locked up.
That torn-wide mouth was still frozen in the shape of whatever it had been screaming.
But the entire body had started peeling away from the outermost layer of its skin inward, as if it were being scorched by an invisible fire.
Then, before it could let out even a single dying cry, it crumbled completely into the air — dissolving into a shower of fine black ash that drifted lazily down to coat the walls.
Gone.
The monster that had cornered her into absolute despair not two minutes ago had simply ceased to exist, clean as a breath.
Uchiha Ayato stood quietly in place.
A pain like something being stirred through the inside of his skull radiated out from his eyes.
His vision rapidly filled with blurring smears of color.
The outlines of things began to double.
Two thin trails of something warm and sticky ran down from the corners of his eyes, tracing down his pale cheeks and dripping to the floor.
[Chakra: 150,000 / 700,000] Hss…
Ayato swore internally.
Forcing a Three-Tomoe to drive a Mangekyō technique — the backlash had real teeth, he had to admit.
Not only had the pre-doubling chakra been drained by over half, redirected into fueling the eye power — his vision had even taken a temporary dip.
A haze had settled over the entire world.
He wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve, let the red light in his eyes recede, and they returned to plain black.
“Pain in the ass.” He muttered.
But when he turned around and faced the girl — crumpled against the wall like a seedling after a storm — that tiny flash of mild irritation was instantly replaced by something light and easy.
Uchiha Ayato put on the warm, perfectly-calibrated smile that made everyone who saw it feel like they were basking in spring — blood still drying in two tracks down his face — and took a step forward.
“Sorry about the mess.” He crouched down, working to refocus his blurry vision until it settled on the pale, small face of Wakaba Mutsumi.
“You’re not hurt anywhere, are you, Miss Guitarist?” “If anything feels off, please say something.” Wow, Mutsumi just sitting there like that is honestly too adorable.
The words reached Wakaba Mutsumi.
Her body gave a small shiver.
It seemed like her hearing had only just come back online along with everything else her eyes were taking in.
His voice was clear and easy, carrying an odd sense of being completely at ease — like he’d just batted away a mildly annoying fly.
Mutsumi looked up.
In her eyes, she held the reflection of this boy — blood on his face, smiling like nothing was wrong.
The extreme violence of a deity descending from the heavens a moment ago, crashing directly into this almost disorienting gentleness now — it shorted out her already-sluggish social processing completely.
The fear of nearly dying, the feeling of being pulled apart by the curse — the moment she registered those two trails of blood, it somehow, impossibly, transmuted into a cocktail of guilt and safety she hadn’t expected at all.
That was…
for me…
What happened to his eyes, just now?
“Guitarist?” She murmured the word back.
The way he’d used it, in this moment, in this context — it felt strangely, almost absurdly out of place.
Uchiha Ayato nodded.
“Yeah.
Happened to catch your live once.” “The band’s overall level was pretty average, but that song called Haruhikage and your guitar were actually interesting.” “At the time I kept thinking — with guitar playing that aggressive, why is it being used to carry something so gentle?” He paused, then affected a look of puzzlement.
“Yesterday night in Ikebukuro, I saw your keyboardist running off crying.
Did your group have a falling-out?” The mention of the guitar.
The mention of that already-scattered band.
Wakaba Mutsumi’s body pulled taut.
Guitar…
Aggressive…
Sakiko…
“The band…” She started slowly, her voice barely audible.
“Doesn’t exist anymore.” “Is that so.
What a shame.” Uchiha Ayato gave a small shake of his head, offered a single word of condolence, and didn’t push any further.
Then, to Mutsumi where she’d crumpled in the corner wreckage, he extended his right hand.
“Can you stand?
It’s a bit cold on the floor.” He smiled — warm, considerate, the perfect amount of social distance, nothing to find fault with.
In his head, Ayato had it mapped out — this girl, with her personality, would probably quietly take his hand and get up, then go back to being silent, same as ever.
Settle her down temporarily, hand her off to the Windows team for cleanup, and his job was wrapped up.
But what actually happened was not what Uchiha Ayato had planned for.
Mutsumi’s gaze lingered on the hand he’d extended.
She didn’t immediately reach for it.
She dropped her eyes, and with a still-faintly-trembling hand, began quietly searching through her pocket.
What she produced was a plain white handkerchief with a small embroidered cucumber flower at the corner.
She didn’t take his hand.
Instead, she pushed against the floor with both palms and, fighting through unsteady legs, half-knelt upright.
The distance between them collapsed immediately — close enough for Ayato to catch the clean detergent smell from her collar.
Mutsumi tilted her chin up slightly, pressing her lips together — dry from the tension — and slowly raised the hand holding the handkerchief, bringing it toward Ayato’s face inch by inch.
Her fingertips were visibly shaking.
Like she was reaching out to touch a predator that might lash out at any second.
But she didn’t stop.
Soft cotton, through trembling fingertips, pressed gently against Uchiha Ayato’s cheek.
With the utmost care, it dabbed at the two dried, glaring trails of dark red — wiping them away, little by little.
“Your eyes…” Wakaba Mutsumi’s voice was still small.
“Are they alright?” “?” Uchiha Ayato stood there, completely thrown.
The sensation of the handkerchief against his cheek was very real, and the scent it carried kept intruding on his thoughts.
She hadn’t followed the script he’d written for her as a simple person being rescued at all.
Instead, she’d crossed the line called “fear” and was sending care back in his direction — clumsily, from her end.
…Was that the right call?
Are you trying to embarrass Uncle Ayato on purpose, like that pink-haired menace?
Mutsumi had no idea what Ayato was thinking.
Her lashes fluttered.
Her eyes held the reflection of his slightly thrown expression.
The gentle motions of her hand didn’t stop — careful, inch by inch, impossibly attentive.
[Social Mission: The Crow and the Writing-Desk — Fully Capture Uchiha Itachi.
Reward: Dōjutsu — Izanami] Author’s Note: In the early arc, Ayato actually has some genuine psychological issues and avoidant tendencies.
He needs a process before he can figure out who he really is and fully become the unstoppable little gremlin we all want him to be.
To be continued…