Well-Adjusted Barely Traumatized Demon Slayer (Murata SI-ish)

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Murata watched the river. It flowed simply, not a care in the world.

His reflection stared back at him. This appearance was familiar, and not in a flattering way.

When Murata remembered the reason he kept his hair in such a manner, he cried to himself.

In a world of demons, this was the person he became?

Murata put his hands on his hair and groaned.

-

He was more than just Murata, but don't tell anyone that. It didn't really matter since no one would believe him.

Maybe his mother and father would, but they were long gone. It was only after he was rescued that a flood of life poured into his mind.

It wouldn't be wrong to say that a part of him died when an unnamed, unimportant demon slaughtered his family and friends. It just so happened that another life found itself imbedded in him.

So with two half-lives, he moved forward.

He moved forward towards certain death. He was training under a waterfall freezing from hypothermia.

Cultivators were rare, good ones especially so. To be completely fair, one had to be insane to survive this long as a demon slayer. An unfortunate side effect is that many of them went past the point of teaching. In other words, teachers trained their childish students to exhaustion.

In a world of supernatural abilities, it actually made sense in a morbid way. If you pushed yourself to the absolute limit, you could break barriers and reach the unseen world of strength and power. This is called plot armor because otherwise, you would just die.

He was Murata with something else, but the distinction mattered less and less. Two blueprints existed in this body. The original host and the parasite fused together to make something. Again, he was Murata, but not the same seen on the pages of a book.

While he was older than most children his age, it didn't help as much as he would have hoped when it came to knowledge.

Just because you knew something doesn't mean you could prevent it! Much less, affect events so as to change the world!

But he would try anyway. Because in a world full of unnecessary suffering, it was worse than doing nothing.

-

Breathing styles involved more than breathing. It goes without saying, but most people forget about that fact.

Take for example, Water Breathing. At a basic level, it mimics an aspect of Sun Breathing. All breaths do to a certain extent.

Water Breathing focuses on adaptability and ease of use. It became something more usable for anyone who wasn't Yoriichi.

However, besides breathing, one had to understand how to move their body. To be like water and to understand how the breath affects that process.

Water Breathing was seen as the most approachable breathing art due to water's nature. It flows and it's adaptable.

"You are terrible at this," Murata's teacher said. "I've never had a worse student."

Murata held back a complaint. He was his teacher's only student.

A punch to the abdomen, a smack to the back, and a kick to the leg.

"Your stance is off and your body's trembling. What was the point of all that physical conditioning? Are you naturally weak?"

He was only given a month or so of physical training.

Murata legs buckled and he fell to the ground tasting dirt. It was a familiar taste. Murata and the ground were about as good friends as comrades who've seen years of war together.

"After you get up, go back and down to the village. Guess we'll spend more time training before working on technique."

Murata could only nod as he began the hour long run.

-

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Murata's training sword broke as it collided with the dummy.

"Good try," Sato said. Surprisingly, Murata and his teacher shared the same last name.

Unsurprisingly, it's also one of the most common last names in all of Japan. Murata's lack of distinction was its own trait at this point.

Sato unleashed the first form against the second wooden dummy. Murata didn't even see the unsheathing of the blade. Only the remains of the dummy allowed him to realize something was done.

"If you get to my level, maybe you can make a difference," Sato said. Murata knows the man is impressive, but he's also bragging to his only student.

Murata spoke up. "When I get there, then I get to take part in Final Selection?"

"If you were that good, then there wouldn't be any demons left at the end," Sato said. "Instead, once you master the first five forms to my liking, then I'll allow you."

Murata nodded. Though, the timing on this was tough. As far as he knew, he participated during the same time as Giyu. When that took place, he had no clue.

If he trained hard enough, it might be possible to help Sabito. The dead boy was stronger than Giyu at that point, so maybe his potential was even greater.

"Why only the first five?"

Sato smacked him. "I'll be dead by the time you master all of the forms. Just stick to the core principles, and you'll at least stay alive."

Murata nodded and unleashed the first form with a new training sword.

-

Truth be told, Murata had a good cultivator. Sato, or old man Sato, as Murata mentally called him, had the ability but never became a hashira. He retired as a kinoe when a demon tore off his arm.

Murata was very lucky. It was a shame that he couldn't make the most of it. People might think being a demon slayer was all about training hard and being strong, but being stupid was more of a danger than being weak.

It was important to understand a proper course of action in any given situation. Proper planning, weighing risk and reward, protecting the general populace, basic first aid and survival skills, and much more.

It took especially long because Murata wasn't a special prodigy nor did he have an instinctual knack. He couldn't move his organs or smell the intention of others. He can't hear feelings or see through flesh. So, training took up most of his time.

Even the memories were fading. Details became sparse, and the memories of his lives blended together.

Though, it was because of this seamless integration that he had one advantage above other people:

He had experience. Not demon slaying experience, but life experience. It may not make him a giant but that small thing could make all the difference.

Murata unleashed the third form as he stewed in his thoughts.

-

Sato lay on his deathbed. He was sick, he knew it, and Murata knew it as well.

At first, it was a cough. Then a limp. Next, the constant fog in his brain. Lastly, his strength began leaving him.

Murata was not a special miracle. But he did surpass his teacher's expectations, managing to perform the tenth form. It was awful and left Murata weak for the next day, though the fact he could even do it was a testament to his efforts.

Murata cleaned his teacher's towels and prepared warm soup for him. Sato could not even muster the ability to smack his student. There were lots of things he wanted to say but not enough time to say it.

"You've done well," Sato said.

"I know."

"I think that of all the students I've had, you were the best."

"I was your only student."

Sato shook his head. "I had one son, and he wanted to prove himself to this old man. He would become the Water Hashira, and he wanted me to take care of the estate."

Murata froze. He watched as his teacher gained a clarity in his eyes.

"But he died. Fighting a Lower Moon. I thought, why is the world cruel?" Sato coughed.

"That was the wrong question. I should have asked, why was I not stronger?"

"But you are strong."

"Of course I am!" Sato coughed again. "But I'm also old and weak. Seeing you grow made me grateful. Even though this world is cruel, there are those who can't help but want to change that."

"It's for selfish reasons," Murata said. It was true. His parents and sister died to a demon attack, and it was Sato who saved him. Unlike a certain kind-hearted person, Murata would never stop hating demons. Nor has he found the inner strength to emit a presence of focused tranquility.

"That you do it at all is enough for me. Truthfully, I didn't think you had it in you. I still don't," Sato laughed.

Murata frowned.

"You somehow reached a level of Water Breathing I didn't expect. If it suits you, so be it. But don't be afraid to be different if it helps you survive."

"I am not like others. I cannot just make a breathing style."

"Of course not," Sato said, "that's not what I said. Don't be afraid to take things to new heights."

Pausing, Murata collected his thoughts. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that. Keep my sword. Take it to Final Selection."

"I will."

"I'm leaving everything here to you. Do you still want to become a demon slayer?"

Sato had everything necessary to survive. A built house, a small garden, and beautiful nature to relax in. All Murata would need to do is to find a wife, have some children, and he could live a life his parents would be proud of.

But not like this. This was the tragedy of a demon slayer. Not a single one was 'normal.' Even Murata, the man who would be mocked as 'pitifully average' by those who read about him, had a righteous heart and innate desire to fight against monsters that could easily kill hundreds of humans. Even with his unexplainable memories, that determination had not wavered.

"Even so, I'm going to become a demon slayer."

Sato sighed, then he cried. Murata stayed silent, allowing his teacher to grieve about the past and future.

"I…wish you all the best. Stand tall and help others. Those small actions can change the entire world," Sato whispered.

An hour later, old man Sato died. That night, Murata dug a grave for his teacher and offered his prayers.

If Murata cried, then no one was there to see it.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Murata prepared for Final Selection as best as he could. Even if the feeling of fear would never disappear, he must move forward.

He traveled light and mentally assured himself. He focused on his breathing the entire way, reviewed his plans, and triple checked his meager supplies.

Over a week of running, later, he could see the gates to Mount Fujikasane. He pocketed some wisteria and made his way towards the rest of the attendees.

He gazed at each one, trying to find a familiar face. Everyone looked either afraid, angry, or empty.

The last girl he looked at was short, had blue eyes, and wore a fox mask.

Wait, what?

Was Makomo after or before Sabito and Giyu? His mind filled itself with questions.

His thinking was interrupted by Lady Amane, who gave the opening speech.

"Welcome to Final Selection. After seven days in the mountain, return here. If you find yourself coming back here before then," she gestured around herself, "then you failed, but can try again later. Do not be so quick to lose your life."

The kakushi flanking her stepped forward and bowed.

"The kakushi will tend to your injuries, whether you pass or fail. I wish you all the best of luck."

The participants began running into the dark forest after the brief announcement.

-

Final Selection was a seven day initiation that was more of a survival course than an actual demon slaying test. At least, that's how Murata saw it.

After all, you could kill not a single demon but still pass as long as you survived. It still tested one's ability to slaughter demons, especially if you were proactive. But the option to just hide somewhere in the mountain was available.

Other things that were tested included sleep deprivation training and survival skills. The mountain was covered in trees and the sky could be covered with clouds, so any opportunistic or reckless demon could still hunt for you during the day. Sleeping could be fatal, but it was necessary to perform well.

That was probably the most dangerous part of the test. Most people, after days of paranoia and exhaustion, would be easy pickings for some of the stronger demons on Mount Fujikasane.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Murata sliced the head off his first demon.

"Curse you…!" The demon crumbled away.

He sighed and prepared a sleeping spot at a nearby tree. The test started in the early morning, so the first day was essentially a free pass.

Murata continued his breathing and mentally reviewed his forms as the sun rose.

Old man Sato made Murata think twice about Water Breathing. Yes, he was able to use each form. However, it didn't mean he could do them well.

Anything past the fifth form was questionable, and the tenth form, while powerful, left him defenseless for a time.

To surpass hundreds of years of knowledge and advance his technique to new heights?

It's not like he could just come up with something to suit his physicality. That required a deep understanding of self and a ridiculous amount of talent.

Maybe one day, but not today.

-

The next few days and nights became a rhythm. He would rest during the day and hunt during the night.

He only had to administer his bandages once. The poor guy fell down a tree, its limbs tearing him up as he ate dirt.

He directly saved someone else's life from a demon attack. Apparently, their sword broke and they were trying to return to the wisteria clearing.

It was not as impressive as say, Sabito, but it wasn't bad at all.

On the last night of Final Selection, Murata had the unfortunate luck to find the hand demon.

Worse yet, Makomo was fighting and losing badly. One arm limped and blood was staining her clothes.

The demon's eye swirled with madness as the arms slammed the dirt repeatedly.

"The last one was extremely tasty! Her cries were so satisfying."

Makomo cried in rage and rushed at the demon. It was a trap and the demon grinned at her mistake.

Murata could only pray for his future self as he did the only thing that would save her.

Water Breathing, Tenth Form: Constant Water Flux

Murata closed the distance, cut through the hands, and tackled Makomo away from the demon. Her rage was stifled immediately and he whined in pain.

The tenth form was taxing on his body. A culmination of several techniques, it was dangerous to pull off successfully.

The hand demon charged at them, still grinning like a monster. Watching the shambling demon was nightmare fuel. Seeing Makomo's reckless intent to attack again made him want to scold her. Murata took out the grounded wisteria from his pocket and threw it at the demon as he wearily ran towards them.

"That burns!"

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

After prying herself out of Murata's grasp, she launched herself at the demon.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Murata summoned his last vestiges of strength, weaved towards the demon, and cut the arms closest to the ground.

The demon lost its balance, causing his arms to flail wildly and expose his neck. Makomo sliced off its head.

Murata held his breath until the demon completely crumbled away.

Then, he fell to the ground, tasting the dirt. He could hardly move his body.

Makomo whirled on him like a tsunami.

"That was incredibly dangerous!" She told him. Hypocitically too, Murata thought.

He passed out. Not only did he exhaust himself but that encounter would give him enough nightmares for a while.

-

Murata woke up to the sensation of the hard ground. It felt cool and stiff.

In a way, it was relaxing. The ground would never leave him. It was a familiar friend in a world of pain.

He pretended to stay asleep because of his exhaustion.

"Wake up! I know you're awake," Makomo prodded him with her foot.

Whining, Murata took his time standing up. Makomo continued walking away.

"I had to carry you across half the mountain! You're very lucky demons didn't find us. I would've left you," she mumbled the last part.

Murata rolled his eyes. He couldn't help but a little offended at that, yet he thanked her for the courtesy of carrying him.

He remembered a calm and thoughtful child, so why was this girl the complete opposite of that?

Did becoming a spirit change her entire personality? Or maybe she was high-strung from Final Selection. Maybe the fact that he saved her life soured the act of avenging her teacher's students.

Perhaps Murata was the type of person people couldn't help but antagonize a little bit.

Shaking his head, Murata continued walking. On the other side of the clearing, Makomo kept an eye on him.

The most average looking person she's ever seen saved her life. He even did a good job at it, considering his lack of external injuries. But, he overestimated himself and used more strength than was healthy.

Don't get her wrong though! He had potential, maybe.

"My bandages!" Murata cried out. His small bag was completely empty.

Makomo laughed to herself, wincing in pain as the bandages on her body shifted.

-

Lady Amane greeted the survivors at the base of Mount Fujikasane. Not everyone made it in one piece.

More morbid was that only five of them would become demon slayers. The other survivors failed the test by leaving early. Whether they would become kakushi or try again later remained to be seen.

Murata put on his demon slayer uniform and picked out his ore for his future sword. He had no way of knowing what looked 'powerful' or 'special,' so he just chose the biggest rock.

Makomo chose the second largest.

His crow arrived immediately and sat on his head. It did a little dance with its feet, scratching the scalp on which it was perched on.

"Stop that!" Murata swatted at his bird.

This bad behavior didn't deserve a reward so Murata would not give his bird a beautiful name.

It mattered little since the crow named itself.

"Nobunaga!"

"No!"

"Nobunaga!"

Murata sighed. Why couldn't he get an average crow to suit him?

-

Arriving at Sato's home, Murata set down his belongings and thought to himself.

It was his home now so what was the next step?

One had to wait for their swordsmith to come by, so in the meantime, Murata practiced and cleaned.

He cut the wood, moved the rocks, and tidied up the small house. He practiced breathing, exercised to exhaustion, and thought about the future.

The world he lived in has stayed the same for hundreds of years. The secret war against demons and demon slayers has seen ups and downs, but neither side overwhelmed the other.

It was out of apathy on Muzan's part and lack of ability on Ubuyashiki's side.

Until Tanjiro's presence, things stayed much the same. Though, wasn't it a coincidence that by the time Tanjiro became a demon slayer, Ubuyashiki had gathered the finest group of hashira since the Sengoku era?

Murata certainly thought so. But thinking more on it, the Demon Slayer Corps could've had an even bigger advantage.

The deaths of promising children like Sabito, Yuichiro, and many others were a tragedy.

Even people like Tanjiro's younger brother could have saved dozens of lives. If Tanjiro and Nezuko had such amazing capabilities, then how about the third oldest sibling?

Such examples brought tears to Murata's eyes. He could only do so much but no matter what, he must move forward one step at a time.

It was impossible to do everything but that was no excuse for not trying.

Murata was brought out of his head when Nobunaga screeched at him.

"Swordsmith!"

True to word, a swordsmith walked up to Murata's home. They shared small pleasantries and a cup of tea.

Unsheathing the blade, Murata watched as it changed color.

At first, it did nothing, then specks of very light blue scattered itself on the length of his blade.

The change felt so miniscule though! At a faraway glance and under certain lighting, it looked no different than an unchanged blade.

The swordsmith's pipe released a huff of steam.

"I've…never seen this happen. I can't even tell if this is a good or bad thing," the swordsmith shrugged. "But the fact it did change even a little bit is good. At least you have the ability to use breathing arts."

Murata mentally wept.

Didn't the color of the blade help determine your breathing style? Did this mean he would be a weak water breather? Did it mean he would have to come up with something different?

Was old man Sato onto something? Though he never explicitly said anything to that effect.

Murata couldn't even feel elated because it meant that either way, he would have to work even harder to understand himself.

He bowed in appreciation. "Thank you for your hard work, swordsmith."

The swordsmith waved him off. "My name is Tetsuido. If you ever need the sword repaired, then send a message through your crow."

As Tetsuido walked away, Murata was left with a loss.

Who even was Tetsuido?

 

[MorbiIIionaire]

Won't this mean that Tanjiro won't learn to cut properly now that his ghost senpai's aren't... well ghosts?

 

[SmallMediumAtLarge]

Won't this mean that Tanjiro won't learn to cut properly now that his ghost senpai's aren't... well ghosts?

Click to shrink...

Meh, he's still got Sabito. Besides, having the Hand Demon gone might mean he'll have non-ghost senpais to teach him, or a mentor that doesn't sabotage him due to considering himself a failure.

 

[TheDanny]

Won't this mean that Tanjiro won't learn to cut properly now that his ghost senpai's aren't... well ghosts?

Click to shrink...

Now he has actually alive former students to help him, instead of just relying on his advanced schizophrenia.

Murata took out the grounded wisteria from his pocket and threw it at the demon as he wearily ran towards them.

"That burns!"

Click to shrink...

Spoiler

The most average looking person she's ever seen saved her life.

Click to shrink...

Welp, glad she actually gets to grow up this time around.

Spoiler

 

[Contract_Of_Sorrow]

This looks interesting. Watched.

 

[freelook]

Cool premise. The SI needs to try out Galaxy breathing one time atleast.

He should look upon the stars and ponder it's secrets. Maybe just maybe things might click.

Jokes aside. I hope this continues. Don't drop this quickly it looks like it has potential.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

"Northeast!"

Nobunaga circled around Murata as he jogged closer to the village.

Japan was just too large for a single person to traverse in a reasonable amount of time. And because of the ban on carrying swords, it was easier to avoid the large cities altogether than to risk being arrested.

Most demon slayers were assigned to specific regions to avoid this problem. A very unlucky demon slayer could have a mission in Hokkaido then have to make the journey down to Kyushu.

That was incredibly unlikely but not impossible. So, each demon slayer was assigned a specific region, while their crow would relay missions taking place within that region.

Sometimes, they could take place in different regions depending on the distance, but the crows were trained to understand that.

As for how the crows were trained? Murata did not have a single clue.

Murata, meanwhile, was in Chubu, which served perfectly well for him. It was where he lived with old man Sato, and his village was not too far from his deceased mentor.

Murata kept a steady jog, maintaining his strength while training his body. He really couldn't avoid this part of life. His lack of a supernatural or mystical ability meant he shouldn't slack off on physical conditioning. It could make the difference between life or death.

Not everything was off the table though. He's committed to several theories regarding the mark, but nothing to prove any of his ideas.

Catching his breath, Murata found himself in a village similar to the one he used to live in as a child.

With his meager savings, he bought a meal and a room at the only inn. The sun remained high in the sky, so he would sleep and investigate at night.

-

After leaving the inn, Murata set out around the outskirts of the village with a lantern.

Every shadow, every wisp of wind, and every unexplained noise ate away at his tranquility and increased his paranoia.

One hand remained twitching at the hilt of his sword, while the other gripped the lantern tightly.

The half-moon remained weak, its light barely helping his vision.

Suddenly, a scream echoed out in the forest.

Turning quickly, Murata instantly rushed towards the trees.

Reaching the source of the sound, he saw a disgusting demon.

Granted, all demons were disgusting in a moral way, but this one, just like the hand demon, was just disturbing to witness.

Numerous legs wrapped around a tree while the head was poised to strike at the unlucky girl, similar to a snake chasing a mouse.

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Murata slashed the only two arms the demon possessed while pushing the girl behind him. He set the small lantern at his waist, allowing both hands to hold his sword.

"Run away. Go back to your home!" Murata told her. The girl did not hesitate. She ran as tears trailed down her face.

Fortunate, because a frozen or panicked civilian would make things more difficult.

The demon centipede scrambled and screamed in anger. Standing tall as a dozen legs supported him, he towered over Murata.

"I'll eat you alive! I'll grind your bones, I'll-"

While the demon rambled stupidly, Murata threw a vial of alcohol in its mouth.

"That's disgusting!" The demon spat out the shards of glass puncturing its mouth.

Turns out man-eating monsters don't like alcohol.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Dicing through several legs, Murata rushed for the kill, only to be kicked back by another limb.

A nearby tree broke his fall. Murata's back spiked with pain, but he immediately began climbing the tree.

The demon laughed as it crawled faster than Murata expected.

Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel

Jumping off a tree limb, Murata aimed for its neck.

The demon twisted in time, but not before getting half its face cut off.

Landing on his feet, Murata rolled away to refocus his stance.

The demon angrily stomped the ground as the force of several dozen legs rumbled like an earthquake. The dirt loosened, the trees shook, and the nearby critters ran away in fear.

Murata shuddered. He'd rather fight a demon moon than this abomination. At least most of them looked vaguely human.

They danced together. Murata, like a praying mantis, went for precise strikes while the demon centipede relied on pure physicality.

Murata received more cuts and bruises as the demon regenerated its own wounds.

But, while hiding atop a tree, Murata committed a final plan of attack.

"Found you!" The demon laughed.

Its teeth tasted Murata's leg, offsetting the timing of his jump. The tree groaned, both from the demon's weight and from the force of Murata's jump.

Tumbling to the ground, Murata positioned himself carefully and watched as the demon sadistically slithered towards him. His back faced the opponent but Murata could feel its smile.

"You caused me too much grief tonight," the demon's tone turned calm, as if holding itself back. "I can't believe one of you brats decided to-"

First of all, never monologue in front of a downed foe.

Murata threw a burning vial straight at the demon, causing its entire face to catch aflame.

The demon screamed, its roar shaking the earth. Next, the tree that Murata sloppily jumped from fell on the demon, causing it to be trapped momentarily.

Water Breathing, Sixth Form: Whirlpool

Murata leapt towards the demon as his sword violently sliced and diced its neck off.

Watching it turn to dust, Murata collapsed to the ground, trying to keep his breathing measured.

His attitude soured quickly. Not only did he have to immediately use his questionable vials of alcohol, but he sustained more injuries than anticipated.

The former meant that he had to find another way of acquiring alcohol without spending his money. This was impossible mostly because he didn't have any, and he would not resort to stealing.

The latter meant he needed to find a wisteria house so that he could rest peacefully, without charge. Again, because of his lack of money.

"South! South!" Nobunaga cried out.

–

Nobunaga was at the very minimum considerate, since the directions led him towards a wisteria house.

He rested for two weeks before setting off again.

He also received pay. His first ever as a demon slayer.

It was enough for a traveling swordsman and quite generous considering his age.

On the other hand, he was a child soldier fighting demons that could obliterate a town of normal people. In other words, it was honestly not enough for the type of work he was doing.

But most didn't join for fame or riches, and the Ubuyashiki family only had so much, even as rich and influential as they were.

It was certainly enough for alcohol, which he couldn't help but try a little.

"It tastes like shit," he cried. Some things remained the same, no matter the time or place.

-

Two years passed since joining the Demon Slayer Corps.

Murata was, at the very least, grateful that he has survived to this point.

A flow of boring, yet achievable missions saw to his small victory.

Though, he desperately needed someone more experienced to teach him. Water Breathing was approachable because it was adaptable, but the best spurts of growth occurred under the supervision of a superior.

Murata noticed how little his forms have changed or improved in the last year. This was dangerous not only because it would make him complacent, but because he was still not strong enough.

One could only practice by themselves for so long before stagnating.

In addition, he wasn't a fast burner.

He was at the Kanato rank. If Murata remembered correctly, he was a Kanoe during the Rui situation, which was the immediate rank above. However, neither were even close to Hashira or Tsuguko status.

There were exceptions to the rule, but Murata certainly was not one of them. In the Demon Slayer Corps, rank determined your pay, the difficulty of missions, and the number of people you might have to work with.

"East!"

Stirring out of his musings, Murata approached a road leading to a village by the sea.

As he ranked up, he was shifted to missions in the Kansai region. It was located just west of Chubu, and it boasted Osaka.

Murata reached the village, noting its sparse, quiet atmosphere.

It unnerved him. He remembered the streets of his own village being full of people and bustling with activity.

The nearby inn proved to be useless. The owner, seeing Murata's uniform, turned stern.

"No, I have not seen anything. Stay out!" The woman shut the door on his face.

Likewise, whenever he would try to introduce himself or ask for hospitality, the people turned suspicious, fearful, or angry.

As a result, not only was he homeless for the night, but he had no leads on where the demon could be.

The next day, as he watched the ocean waves flow, a girl came up to him.

Seeing her outfit, and the small mask hanging at her waist, Murata was pleasantly surprised. But not before giving a small glare at his crow for not informing him of a joint mission.

"Makomo?"

She nodded, surprised at his memory.

"I hope the best in our mission."

 

[Trace7187]

Trainer acquired