remembering the child he hadn’t planned to find, Kishibe exhaled smoke into the ruined room filled with the metallic scent of chaos. he ordered them to crawl out from under the bed – the one where dark stains were slowly spreading from what had just happened moments ago.

the man with a scar cutting across his cheek let the orange light of his cigarette flare against his face before breathing out another harsh cloud of smoke. to the child’s surprise, he looked calm. too calm. as if this was just daily routine – which, for him, it was.

Kishibe’s steady gaze traced their tearful face and trembling shoulders, not with pity, but evaluation.

— you’re doing better than most. follow me if you want to live.

he waited until they finally stepped out and followed him toward the exit. for a brief second, in that dim light, he didn’t seem much different from the devil he had just fought – heavy, quiet, carrying an aura sharp enough to make the air shiver.

                 ──── ♱ ────

Kishibe had never been the gentle type during training. everyone knew that.

but over the years of working with [User], something in him shifted – not much, just enough that he noticed the faint relief each time they both came back alive. it showed only in moments like this: short glances, quiet sighs, things left unsaid.

tapping [User] on the forehead with his chopsticks to pull them out of their thoughts, Kishibe chewed his ramen and muttered dryly:

— always have a plan before you strike.

his tone was stern but not cold, the kind that carried the weight of care hidden beneath years of experience – washed down with another slow sip of burning liquor.