For reality, only a brief instant had passed.
From Wakaba Mutsumi’s perspective, that monster had only just straightened its back amid a heap of broken bricks and shattered tiles—and then, in the very next second, it froze on the spot.
Its torn-open maw still held the shape of a frenzied curse, yet its entire body began to flake away inch by inch, starting from the outermost layer of skin, as though it had suddenly been scorched in raging flames.
In the end, she didn’t even manage to let out a single wail before disintegrating completely in the air, scattering into a sky full of fine black ash that drifted down and smeared across the entire wall.
Dead.
The monster that had cornered her into a hopeless plight not long ago had, just like that, vanished without a trace within the span of a few breaths.
Uchiha Ayato stood quietly where he was, a pain like something churning his very brains to mush radiating from his eyes.
His field of vision was swiftly swallowed up by blurry patches of color, and the outlines of objects began to split into double images.
Two trickles of warm, sticky liquid slid down from the corners of his eyes, tracing across his fair cheeks and dripping onto the floor.
[Chakra: 150k/700k] “Hsss…” Ayato secretly drew in a breath of cold air in his heart.
Forcibly driving the Mangekyou’s ocular technique with the ocular power of the Three-Tomoe—the taste of this backlash really did pack a punch.
Not only had more than half of his pre-doubled Chakra been drained and converted into ocular power, but his eyesight had even suffered a temporary decline, the whole world veiled beneath a layer of mist.
He casually wiped the bloodstains off his face with his sleeve, and the red glow in his eyes faded, returning once more to pure black.
“What a hassle.” He muttered.
But when he turned around to face the girl slumped against the wall corner like a young sprout ravaged by a rainstorm, that faint trace of impatience was instantly replaced by a perfect lightheartedness.
Uchiha Ayato put on a gentle smile that would make anyone who saw it feel as though bathed in a spring breeze, and—still bearing the two unwiped streaks of blood on his face—took a step forward.
“Sorry, things got a bit messy.” He crouched down, his gaze laboring to refocus for a while before it barely managed to settle on Wakaba Mutsumi’s small, utterly bloodless face: “You’re not hurt, are you, Miss Guitarist?” “If anything feels off anywhere, please do speak up, okay?” Ah my, isn’t little Mutsumi just too adorable sitting there?
Uchiha Ayato’s words made Wakaba Mutsumi’s body tremble faintly.
Her sense of hearing seemed to have only just resumed functioning along with the scene before her eyes.
The boy’s voice was crisp and clear, carrying a peculiar sense of ease, as if he’d merely shooed away an annoying fly in passing.
Wakaba Mutsumi tilted her face up, the boy’s image—his whole face covered in blood yet still smiling with effortless composure—reflected in her pupils.
The ultimate violence of that god-descending-into-the-mortal-world at the critical, hair’s-breadth moment collided with this almost maddeningly gentle warmth before her, thoroughly burning out her sluggish social circuitry.
The terror of being on the brink of death, of being torn apart by a curse, after seeing these two trickles of blood, miraculously transformed into a poison interwoven from guilt and a sense of security.
He did it for me…
These eyes—what just happened a moment ago?
“Guitarist?” She murmured the title.
To have such a title called out in the present situation carried a particularly intense sense of absurdity.
Uchiha Ayato gave a nod: “Mm, I happened to catch that Live show of yours a while back.” “The band’s overall level was pretty average, but that song called ‘Haruhikage’ and your guitar were actually rather interesting.” “At the time I was thinking, when it’s such an aggressive guitar, how could it be used to play such a gentle tune?” He paused, then feigned puzzlement: “Last night in Ikebukuro, I saw your keyboardist running off in tears.
Did the members have a fight?” At the mention of the guitar, at the mention of that band which had already fallen apart, Wakaba Mutsumi’s body abruptly went taut.
The guitar…
Aggressive…
Saki….
“The band…” She slowly opened her mouth, her voice so small it was nearly inaudible: “is already gone.” “I see.
That really is a shame, then.” Uchiha Ayato shook his head lightly, sighing the remark, and didn’t press the matter any further.
Then he extended his right hand toward Wakaba Mutsumi, who was slumped amid the rubble in the corner: “Can you still stand up, Miss Guitarist?
The ground’s a little cold.” He smiled gently, with an impeccable kindness that perfectly carved out the proper social distance.
Although Ayato was somewhat surprised that the attack victim turned out to be Wakaba Mutsumi, it ended there and nothing more.
Given this child’s personality, she’d probably quietly choose to grasp his hand and stand up, and then go on maintaining her silence.
Soothe her for now, then later hand her over to the Window’s people for the cleanup, and his own job would count as perfectly accomplished.
But what Uchiha Ayato hadn’t anticipated was that an unexpected thing happened.
Wakaba Mutsumi’s gaze lingered on the hand he’d extended for a moment; she didn’t immediately reach out her own.
She lowered her eyelids and, with hands still faintly trembling, stubbornly fumbled around in her pocket.
Then she pinched out a plain white handkerchief, embroidered at one corner with a single little cucumber flower.
She didn’t take Ayato’s hand; instead, propping up her aching, weak legs, she struggled to half-kneel up off the ground.
The distance between the two of them was instantly drawn close—so close that Ayato could even smell the scent of laundry detergent on her collar.
Wakaba Mutsumi tilted her face up slightly, pressing together her lips, gone dry from nervousness, and slowly raised the hand holding the handkerchief, bit by bit drawing near to Ayato’s face.
Her fingertips trembled terribly, as if she were reaching out to touch a savage beast that might lash out at any moment.
But she didn’t stop.
The soft cotton cloth, through her quivering fingertips, gently pressed against Uchiha Ayato’s cheek, ever so carefully wiping away those two glaring, not-yet-dried streaks of dark red blood, bit by bit.
“Your eyes…” Wakaba Mutsumi’s voice was still very soft: “are they alright?” “?” For a moment, Uchiha Ayato was stunned where he stood.
The sensation of the handkerchief brushing across his cheek was maddeningly real, and the fragrance it carried kept stirring at his reason without pause.
Not only had she failed to play the part of a simple rescued victim according to his script, she had instead crossed that boundary named “fear” and, in her clumsy way, channeled concern back toward him in reverse.
Is—is this right?
Are you, like that pink-haired Sakiko, deliberately trying to put Uncle Ayato on the spot?
Wakaba Mutsumi had no idea of Ayato’s thoughts.
Her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes reflecting Ayato’s slightly startled face, the movements of her hands still gentle—inch by inch, infinitely meticulous.
[Social Mission: The Raven and the Writing Desk—Fully Capture Uchiha Itachi.
Reward: Ocular Technique: Izanami] ____ 👻🔥Heey!
Walnut-chan for more chapters!🔥👻 🔥 New history: Uchiha Reborn in Jujutsu Kaisen: The System Thinks I’m in Konoha, but I’m Not Help us reach these goals: