Zenkichi exhaled sharply through his nose. The fact that Hamuko didn’t budge, that she didn’t recoil or backpedal the way he’d been hoping, only set his teeth further on edge. That impenetrable, infuriating understanding—like she was seeing something in him he had no interest in acknowledging—only made the irritation twist deeper.
And yet, it was that one line that caught, that dug in harder than the rest.
"Even if you and Akane aren't human, you are still people."
His jaw tightened.
To Zenkichi, him being an Unhuman was both a release and a punishment. A release, because it meant he no longer had to carry the burdens of a man who had failed—who had lost his wife, who had left his daughter in the hands of a corrupt system, who had sold his soul to a cause that had chewed him up and spat him out. And a punishment, because it meant he would never again be worthy of the things that once made him human. He had been a man who couldn’t even take care of his own family. Who had broken every promise he had ever made to the people he loved. And so, he was something else now.
Not a person.
Not a man.
Just a weapon.
And Hamuko—this girl, this impossibly naïve girl—wanted to tell him otherwise?
He let out a laugh, low and sharp and humorless. Not malicious, no—but something bastardly about it nonetheless.
"You're delusional," he told her flatly, shaking his head with something that might’ve been amusement if it weren’t so bitter.
He wasn't angry anymore, not exactly. Just... tired.
"I won't speak for Akane," he continued, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "But you're gonna be real disappointed when you realize I don't follow through with your little hopeful narrative. Really, it's just gonna be embarrassing for you at this point. Save yourself the trouble, yeah?"
His smirk was razor-thin. "Or don't. I won't stop you from setting yourself up for failure."
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And yet, it was that one line that caught, that dug in harder than the rest.
"Even if you and Akane aren't human, you are still people."
His jaw tightened.
To Zenkichi, him being an Unhuman was both a release and a punishment. A release, because it meant he no longer had to carry the burdens of a man who had failed—who had lost his wife, who had left his daughter in the hands of a corrupt system, who had sold his soul to a cause that had chewed him up and spat him out. And a punishment, because it meant he would never again be worthy of the things that once made him human. He had been a man who couldn’t even take care of his own family. Who had broken every promise he had ever made to the people he loved. And so, he was something else now.
Not a person.
Not a man.
Just a weapon.
And Hamuko—this girl, this impossibly naïve girl—wanted to tell him otherwise?
He let out a laugh, low and sharp and humorless. Not malicious, no—but something bastardly about it nonetheless.
"You're delusional," he told her flatly, shaking his head with something that might’ve been amusement if it weren’t so bitter.
He wasn't angry anymore, not exactly. Just... tired.
"I won't speak for Akane," he continued, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "But you're gonna be real disappointed when you realize I don't follow through with your little hopeful narrative. Really, it's just gonna be embarrassing for you at this point. Save yourself the trouble, yeah?"
His smirk was razor-thin. "Or don't. I won't stop you from setting yourself up for failure."