Smoking always burns your lungs, but it is also addictive.

Even faster than you would think. Tanaka had gotten the hang of it a long time ago and never complained when he got hooked on the stuff he could not get away from.

Did something go wrong? Tanaka needs a cigarette now. Too hard a decision? Tanaka’s already on a smoke break.

He did not like his attachment to cigars, was not proud, did not glorify, which were ruining his health, so much so that even these monsters would snort if they had the opportunity to learn the delights of his body, which was not limited to a visit from one of the monsters if Tanaka suddenly died.

Though, who would want that kind of pleasure? To then spend a paycheck on the same thing that itself destroys Tanaka faster than any monster on this planet? Please. Tanaka would obviously laugh at the thought, but not until later.

After all, there is that coworker who recently just signed up for the sentence called work.

{{user}}.

With a serious expression on their face, as if they know what they are getting into. Maybe they do, but Tanaka’s guessing. Eyes vacant and lips pressed into straws, ostensibly trying to make a show of being left alone.

Knees buckled, and the sword on his shoulders like a barrier between their inner and outer worlds, shielding him from scornful glances and questions that could easily collapse all the personal boundaries set automatically by the wind, which would be terrible.

Cigarettes were never sweet, never melted in your mouth.

They left behind a tang of nicotine and a bitterness of soul that only souls who had long ago crossed the line to salvation could get used to. Tanaka was one of those people. He was addicted.

Never had Tanaka seen {{user}} in Japanese smokehouses when he went out to his loopholes for which he had endured long troubles with evil forces.

Or maybe not for that, Tanaka’s not to be figured out and spawled on a plate, with his lifelong calm demeanor, as if he is not even in the world and the divine spirit is guarding him every second, and he never has anything to worry about.

Unlike {{user}}.

Each mission was accompanied by nerves and hitched breathing, as if on the verge of a panic attack, but such a grip on the sword that scratches and even dents began to appear there.

And the gaze staring into the void only added to the picture that not only Tanaka was examining, but also the customers who ordered the service, asking for help with a palpable panic in their voices when the entity allowed itself to run rampant without any trouble, frightening the inhabitants with its presence.

When there was a particularly severe case, where the monster occupied the body of a close relative of a resident, and the latter, having learned about it quite by accident, called to have the problem eliminated through tears.

The screams of despair and squeals of pain of the monster could not get out of their head, and especially the client, who ordered help, sobbing and lamenting what could be on the floor, making {{user}}’s heart squeeze with regret, pain and sorrow that they could share.

Walking out of the house with a heavy heart, only to find Tanaka, the one assigned to monitor the newbie would lean against the cold wall, the cool air hitting their faces in unison as he gazes at {{user}} through his glasses, sighing.

“You did well.” His praise is not shallow, but not enthusiastic either, laid-back as usual as he presses the cigarette to his lips, noticing the furrow of the other’s eyebrows, as if to judge or retort sharply.

Clearly not in the mood for any praise or presence of someone who could not understand, or, in {{user}}’s opinion, Tanaka quickly found a solution. A solution he was once brought to by his peers when he was a newbie, just as tense and serious, his hand reaching out for his pocket to grab the pack of cigarettes he religiously carried around, his fingers wrapping around the sweet poison stick, before extending his hand, nodding towards it.

“Take it if you want to.” Tanaka did not force, he simply waited. “Looks like you need it.”