Chapter 8: Yes, He Is Special

Fukue was genuinely angry this time—so much so that her grandmother, Yuko Matsushima, had to call Utakaya to eat watermelon, but he refused to come. Even when they met, he simply hugged the watermelon and hid in his room.

But Utakaya believed his answer was perfectly reasonable—they had never actually been together!

Had they confessed to each other? No.

Had they engaged in any intimate interactions typical of a couple? No.

Even if there was something without a name, it didn’t count as being together.

As for whether there were feelings involved—yes, bro, there were...

After all, Fukue was so beautiful and captivating, not to mention that indescribable enchanting allure; any normal man would have feelings for her.

But the more so, the less Utakaya dared to delve deeply into those feelings.

Since Fukue had infused her cells into his body, saving him from the brink of death, Utakaya found himself unable to remain fully immune to her...

Therefore, he didn’t want their relationship to eventually spiral into the same obsession that consumed those other men—the compulsive desire to possess, then destroy her.

“Utakaya~”

Returning home from university, little Fukue sat obediently on the shoe cabinet by the entrance, waiting for him as usual.

Seeing little Fukue wearing the clothes he had hastily taken off a doll—clothes that were clearly uncomfortable—Utakaya smacked his forehead in frustration.

“There’s no class tomorrow; I’ll see if I can buy you some proper clothes.”

“Mm-hmm~ Hug me~”

Little Fukue spread her arms toward Utakaya, letting him cradle her as she pressed her face against his, rubbing gently.

“Stop rubbing, your face is all oily.”

Placing the little one in his chest pocket, Utakaya began preparing dinner.

His skilled chopping and prepping filled the air with the spicy scent of chili, causing little Fukue to sneeze repeatedly.

“Go sit over there.”

At the dining table, watching little Fukue painstakingly chew a single grain of rice after several bites, Utakaya suddenly understood why noble families in fantasy stories were so keen on raising little spirits.

Aside from the strange blessings, just watching such an adorable, beautiful little creature eat was a pleasure.

The only inconvenience was the utensils; he’d have to try his luck shopping for those tomorrow.

Early the next morning, Utakaya repeatedly refused little Fukue’s pleas to accompany him. With her pouty, sorrowful expression, he finally left the house.

“Careful, careful! If you break anything, you’ll have to pay!”

Hearing the voice, Utakaya turned his head to see a group of movers hauling some evidently ancient furniture.

Looking at the worn state of the pieces, Utakaya doubted they would survive this move intact.

Come to think of it, someone actually dared to move in next door. If he remembered correctly, the previous owner of that house had burned charcoal and committed suicide inside with his daughter.

Perhaps Utakaya’s intense gaze at the furniture irritated the scruffy male homeowner, who snapped sharply:

“What are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen people move before?”

Beside him, a woman dressed plainly but with a flirtatious air frowned.

“How embarrassing...”

“You!”

Though the woman was fairly attractive, standing next to her shabby-clothed husband made them seem worlds apart.

After sizing them up, Utakaya turned and headed to the bus stop.

While waiting for the bus, a girl with long, ink-black hair hanging low enough to almost cover her entire face stepped off the vehicle, repeatedly murmuring apologies.

He didn’t notice her because of curiosity or any other reason; it was just that her bowed head gave off the eerie vibe of a ghost in a horror film.

The girl wasn’t short—Utakaya was just over 1.7 meters, yet she was nearly half a head taller.

As she approached, Utakaya stepped aside to let her pass.

At the moment they crossed paths, he felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine.

Blinking, he dismissed it and boarded the bus to buy things for the little one at home.

Meanwhile, while Utakaya was out shopping, the specially installed gate for Fukue was opened from the outside.

Moving with familiar ease across the lawn, at the corner under the eaves, the visitor tiptoed and retrieved the spare key.

Fukue entered the house.

Inside, little Fukue, sprawled over Utakaya’s manga, heard the noise, turned, and upon seeing Fukue, raised her eyebrows and waved.

“Hello, Fukue~”

Fukue frowned slightly, watching little Fukue kicking her legs back and forth like a carefree girl lying atop a comic book.

“Idiot!”

Little Fukue knew the scolding was meant for Utakaya and frowned in displeasure but said nothing.

“No news after a whole night.”

“What to do~ I don’t dare ask directly. After all, if Utakaya found out that your and my memories were being transmitted in real time, he wouldn’t say some things.”

“Then what use are you? Might as well kill you now, so no one competes with me...!”

Fukue didn’t finish her sentence, but little Fukue clearly understood the unspoken part: lest someone else compete for Utakaya’s affection.

Both being versions of Fukue, little Fukue knew just how jealous, malicious, and vain she was.

“Killing me won’t help. You’re largely responsible for this situation. If you used even half the skill you once used to seduce those men, little Fukue would have come out ages ago~”

Fukue frowned at little Fukue’s accusation.

“Besides, what’s the use of you being angry? No confession, no real relationship—if it were me, I wouldn’t acknowledge us being together either. Given your current state with Utakaya, ‘ambiguous’ fits better than ‘together’.”

Little Fukue knelt on the table, flipping a manga page before lying down again.

“But there’s good news: Utakaya likes me.”

“Likes, me, yes, me!”

Fukue ground her teeth, each word a solemn, sharp rebuttal that caught little Fukue’s attention.

They stared silently at each other for a moment before little Fukue scoffed.

“Whatever. Our memories and senses are linked anyway.”

Fukue’s heart burned with frustration, but she couldn’t simply kill little Fukue—doing so would cause trouble on Utakaya’s side.

“Stop grinding your teeth. Instead of being angry with me, think about why Utakaya has always kept a certain distance from you.”

Little Fukue’s warmth made Fukue thoughtful. After a long silence, she sighed.

“Maybe he’s afraid—like those ordinary men—of killing me and then...”

Mentioning that, little Fukue fell silent.

Both Fukue and little Fukue keenly sensed that Utakaya harbored affection for them, yet he deliberately maintained a relationship that neither grew distant nor overly intimate.

“You’ve noticed, haven’t you?”

“Noticed what?”

Little Fukue’s sudden question startled Fukue. Seeing this, little Fukue sighed.

“The dark impulses. When we’re with Utakaya, those impulses are greatly suppressed, right?”

Fukue nodded thoughtfully. Just as little Fukue said, being with Utakaya significantly restrained her own cruel desires to toy with and torment others for pleasure.

“So, Utakaya is special, isn’t he?”

Looking at little Fukue, who had straightened up and sat facing her, the two versions of Fukue locked eyes for a moment before speaking softly in unison:

“Yes, he is special.”