Archive of Our Own

The soft grass underneath him tickles his skin, the breeze ruffles his hair and the silk material of his robes as he laid down with his eyes closed, trying to find peace within the forest and its inhabitants.

Underneath the shade of a big oak tree that stands just by the bank of a crystal blue lagoon, Manjiro finds a haven away from the hustle and bustle of his life as a God in the Heavens.

It’s not that he hates the people around him up there. He has nice palace servants who cater to his every whim and are undeniably loyal to him out of their own choice and volition. He also has an older brother who lets him do as he pleases so long as he doesn’t disrupt the general order of the universe, and a little sister who slips in some nectar, or on rare occasions ambrosia, to him on the days when he is feeling a bit low in spirits.

But sometimes he just needed to be away from all of that, from being a God and just be Manjiro.

Which is why he comes down to the mortal realm every now and then, finding a perfect spot where he will be hanging around all day long if he is lucky and his presence isn’t needed immediately in the Heavens.

Today, it is this forest and this oak tree and the lagoon just behind him, the gurgle of the water almost enticing him to dip his feet. Manjirou would have probably given in already if only the cool breeze wasn't lulling him to sleep even as it plays with his golden locks and makes them brush his face every once in a while.

With his eyes closed and whole body lax against the trunk of the tree, he listens to the sounds of nature as if they are his lullaby—the rustling of the leaves when the wind blows, the chirping of the birds as they sing their songs, the giddy laughter of a little girl as they–

Manjiro’s eyes snap open–laughter of a little girl….?

He bolts upright, and clearly hears the splashing of water to accompany the joyous sounds of laughter coming from behind him. Manjiro gets to his knees and peers from the side of the trunk, palms digging into the rough surface as he studies the scene before him.

There are two little girls sitting side by side by the bank of the lagoon, on the opposite side of the tree where Manjiro is resting. Their feet are dipped in the water, two sets of high-pitched laughter drawn out of them, hands held up in front of their faces to protect themselves from the sprays of water coming from a boy in front of them that has half his form submerged in the water.

His back is to Manjiro, toned muscles rippling as he wades through the lagoon and as he lifts his arms to splash water on the two little girls. Wet coal-dark hair cascades down his back, shining when the sunlight hits the water droplets hanging on the strands, looking almost like little gems.

Manjiro had seen hundreds of thousands of humans live and die in front of him and not once did he bat an eye to their existence. Keisuke and Kazutora are the most that he expressed interest in, but it’s about once in a blue moon, which is why his fellow gods have multiple companions in their Palaces that they chose themselves. Manjiro, along with Izana, only has two and he is intent on keeping it that way.

Until now that is.

He doesn’t know what makes this human special, when he seems just as average or normal as any other human in the mortal realm. But somehow, Manjiro is stuck staring at him from behind a tree, like a forest nymph spying on the gods bathing in a river, silently gushing with their secret and unspoken affections.

Manjiro feels surprised at the comparison, but that’s what it looks like and he should really look away and continue his sleep, but the boy throws his head back with a laugh, and the sound is so melodious that not even the music of the best musicians in the Heavens could compare.

It feels like he is struck with lightning, the thunder booming right above his head and he is just there, curiously staring wide-eyed as he stands and lets the storm happen.

The laughter halted, a pair of curious eyes catching him.

“Ken-nii, there is someone there, I think!”

A small finger points at him and the tall boy turns. Manjiro sees the furrow of his eyebrows, the dragon tattooed on his temple–dark ink stark against his fair skin.

It takes him a beat to realize the boy is staring back at him and Manjiro gasps, tries to hide behind the thick trunk that is enough to cover his whole form. Heat crawls up from his neck up to his cheeks and he is sure he is flushed a deep scarlet. With an embarrassed groan, he knocks himself once on the head with his fist before he speedflies his way out of the forest and back to his own realm.

*****

“Shinichiro is looking for you,” was what Keisuke said as soon as Manjiro reappeared in his Palace, and all he gives is a sigh, nodding his head and donning his robes to make himself presentable in front of the King of the Gods.

Everyone looked busy, wind spirits zooming past Manjiro every now and then as he took a leisurely pace along the wide and open halls of the Heavenly Realm. The spirits carry with them drapes of different colors and tapestries sewn with the various tales of gods’ greatness and heroes’ journeys.

He had made quite a few of them himself, those of which are displayed in the highest position of honor in the throne room of the gods. Some, he gifted to Shinichiro during his feast days on Earth and some, he gave to Emma, as a token of his appreciation every now and then. After all, the Moon Goddess is a busy deity, she can’t afford to lug him around in her chariot as day turns to night but she allows him and that is something that Manjiro truly appreciates.

When he reached the Main Hall, he saw Shinichiro in the middle of all the busy wind spirits, a hand on his chin as he surveyed the decorations littering the room.

“You called for me?” Manjiro says in lieu of a greeting, his voice echoing against the lavish walls of the hall. It breaks Shinichiro out of his thoughtful reverie and he turns to look at Manjiro with a smile.

“I did,” he confirms with a nod. “It was nothing too urgent of a matter. I simply want to know how you’ve been doing, and to ask your opinion on what color we should go for the drapes in this year’s banquet. I’d ask Izana but I’m pretty sure he would only say red and we had red for the past two festivities. Something different would be good.”

“I’m well, thank you,” Manjiro answers simply as he stands beside Shinichiro to survey the rolls of cloth displayed in front of them.

He admires the patience his brother has for things like this, being hands on when it comes to arranging get-togethers and banquets for the Heavenly Realm. Sure, he has a lot of palace servants who are more equipped in doing the work for him while he does his own—listening to prayers and going down to the mortal realm to answer them—but he makes sure he is still present in every planning process and in the decorating as well. Shinichiro even makes sure he has the festivals listed in the mortal realm to celebrate them in the heavens as well, and for someone as high and mighty and powerful as him, the King of all the Gods, he is very down-to-earth and sincere.

Shinichiro seems more human than some humans Manjiro had seen on Earth, and it is interesting to see a deity who is above everything else have more of a heart than those created with one.

“I think this shade of purple would be nice,” Manjiro says, pointing to a roll of cloth with a deep color like that of the grapes hanging on the foyer of the Wine God’s palace.

“Ryusei is going to have one of his festivals in the South, is he not? I’m sure he would appreciate a banquet that is thoughtfully designed in his honor.”

That makes Shinichiro grin, “You remember.”

Manjiro huffs, but heat crawls up his neck at Shinichiro's joyful comment.

“Of course I do,” he admits as he crosses his arms in front of his chest in defense. “You talk about it every time and I am a Wisdom God, I remember things easily even when I don’t actually want to.”

“Alright,” Shinichiro responds, the tone of his voice sounds like he doesn't believe Manjiro at all. Manjiro decides not to comment on that anymore, knowing he will sound more defensive than he intends to be.

Shinichiro takes the fabric Manjiro chose and hands it over to one of the wind spirits, muttering a few more stuff that Manjiro didn’t care to listen into as he yawned and tried to muffle it behind his hand.

“Emma will be flying in a few minutes,” he informs Manjiro.

“The invitation is always open for you to accompany her on her nightly trip, of course. She is in the stables if you wish to come.”

Manjiro thanks him and gives a courteous bow before he turns on his heels to seek his sister in her stables, where she is found a few minutes before she flies, taking care of the horses that guide her chariot across the skies.

Emma is dressed in a silver robe that glitters like the stars that decorate the night sky, a dark blue obi belt tied around her waist to keep the lapels together. Her golden hair is kept in a braid that falls on one shoulder and she is the image of serenity as she stands next to one of her trusty white steeds, brushing the mane as she softly hums a song.

She perks up when Manjiro enters the stables and walks near the horse, caressing its back and pressing his face into its neck. The horse, Orion he is called, made a sound at the back of his throat as if acknowledging Manjiro’s presence, bumping his head softly on the god’s to return the affectionate gesture.

“He really likes you,” Emma says with a chuckle, her fond gaze switching between her horse and her brother. Orion had been Emma’s horse for years and out of everyone, he is the apple of Manjiro’s eye and the one rewarded with the most affection.

There is no outrageous story behind that. Orion was once Keisuke’s horse when he was alive as a mortal, something he rode to run his errands and make every trip to town and back home easier. When Orion died, Manjiro, who by then had already taken a curious liking to Keisuke, took his soul and made him one of Emma’s.

Now, the white horse is every bit grateful to Manjiro, found with him in his Palace whenever the stables aren’t enough for him to relax or move around. Sometimes, he will even be found in the mortal realm where Manjiro is, lying on his legs beside the god as they went about a relaxing day before they have to go back to the heavens for Emma’s flight.

“How are you, Manjiro?” Emma asks as soon as Manjiro takes a seat beside her on the bench.

“Anything interesting that happened today?”

Manjiro debates whether or not he will tell her about the humans he kind of encountered today, though it will also mean revealing the embarrassment that he was earlier.

Still, it is Emma and they tell each other almost everything, being each other’s primary and most trusted confidant in a realm where it feels like everyone is just kissing up to you for their own merits and benefits.

“Well,” Manjiro starts, pillowing his chin on his palm, “I ran into some mortals today. Kind of.”

“Oh, dear,” Emma says, sounding worried.

“It isn’t anything troublesome. I was just dozing by the foot of some tree in some forest when I heard some little girls playing by the lagoon a few feet from where I was. And, there was also a boy.”

“A boy?!” This time, she sounded interested and intrigued, her eyes gleaming as she looked at Manjiro, as if ready to catch every bit of gossip he was about to tell her.

Manjiro rolls his eyes but he laughs, “Yes, a boy. He was just a normal boy like any other human, and I do not think there is anything special about him….”

“But?” Emma prompts him. Manjiro raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean ‘but’?”

“Oh, is there nothing more to it?” she asks, the tone of her voice showing her disappointment.

“No. The boy is just a human and it is normal for gods to run into them once in a while in the mortal realm. There is nothing more to it than just that.”

Manjiro sounded as if he is convincing himself more than Emma that this human is nothing noteworthy at all for them to even bother paying some attention to. Judging by the doubtful expression on Emma’s face—a slight raise of an eyebrow followed by a single hum—she knows just the kind of thoughts running through Manjiro’s head right now.

He is just some human, Manjiro tells himself repeatedly as they gathered the horses and boarded the chariot side by side, reins in the hands of the Moon Goddess.

He is nothing like Keisuke and Kazutora who are both so tied together that they refused to part, even in death, or worse, in hell.

The sun sets in the horizon as Emma’s chariot journeyed across the sky, blanketing the reddish orange skies with  midnight black and replacing the sun with the moon and its stars.

So, what makes the boy from earlier special that he was able to catch my fleeting attention and hold it long enough for him to notice I was even there?

Manjiro just stares emptily at the mortal realm under them, the gentle golden glow of lamps lighting up one house after the other. His mind seems to be flying off alone that he didn’t notice the concerned look Emma threw his way as they almost finished their round for the evening.

He tries to ignore that part of his brain that reminds him of the human’s muscled back and the way they rippled as he moved, the sound of his laughter that shook Manjiro to his core and rendered him immobile as he just stared.

Manjiro tried to ignore the curiosity that is starting to well up inside him, as if he is a bottle being filled slowly by his thoughts of the mortal boy from earlier. When it spills, there is nothing to stop him from seeking out the human once again just to know more and gain answers for the questions he is asking himself.

Another voice, a deeper yet quieter one at the back of his mind, tells him that in the eventuality that he succumbs to his desire, another conflict between gods would just arise, maybe not in the near future but sometime more, just like what happened in the past, but Manjiro ignores that too.

*****

Personally dealing with mortals proved more trouble than it is worth for as long as Manjiro had existed in this world.

It is precisely one of the reasons he managed to only have two palace attendants of his own choosing from the mortal realm, but even that almost cost him not only the peace of his own palace, but also the peace of the entire Heavenly Realm. Izana is not exactly one you would want to stand against when it comes to crucial and sensitive matters, but Manjiro, despite his wisdom and logic, isn’t one to back down when faced with the War God. He just knows when it is worth it to fight him and when it is not.

Fortunately, they only had to go at it once, and since then, they tried to be out of each other’s hair as much as they could, save for the few instances when Izana is feeling provocative, but Manjiro rarely entertains him and does not rise to his bait.

Since the last time they were at each other’s throats, Manjiro swore off dealing with mortals in general. He is too busy to even pay mind to the trouble that they may cause and there are too many mortal-related issues going on in the Heavenly Realm as it is.

But it is also one specific mortal-related issue that makes him unable to sit still on his throne and pay attention to the prayers being sent to him by his followers. It is also this one specific mortal-related issue that makes him sit on the patio of his palace, staring longingly at the mortal realm beneath them and wondering if he should slip out of his duties to take one brief peek to satisfy his curiosity.

It is only his pride stopping him from doing it after all.

With a defeated sigh, he relents to his desires and installs a clone of himself to stand in his place. He has enough spiritual energy to make an exact and functional copy that could do his work for him and it is one of the perks of the whole being a god thing that Manjiro likes to use liberally.

He flies down to the mortal realm, easily finding the forest and the specific tree where he stayed a few days ago and subsequently encountered the human boy in the lagoon.

There is no assurance that he will see him again, given that the forest is big and it’s not like the boy will be there all day to wait for Manjiro, when he likely does not know Manjiro even exists as a faux human until he saw him that day. Still, Manjiro feels his chest sink a little when there is only silence that resonates back at him, the surface of the water still save for the few small waves that come when the wind blows.

Manjiro treks around the forest, the lush green forming an umbrella above his head and embracing his feet as he walks. It’s not often that he does this, always electing to pick a shade and lie down for the rest of the day, so it feels like a new experience but just as peaceful.

Only a few would dare venture to a forest as big and wide as this, and just when Manjiro thought he is all alone, he is once again proven wrong.

The sound of a branch snapping makes Manjiro stop in his tracks and tense where he stood, senses on high alert as he listens to and waits for what would follow.

Another snap makes his sword materialize in a scabbard hanging on his waist, as a bow in his hand with an arrow already lodged and a dozen more in a case strapped to his back. He slowly circles on his spot, sharp eyes tracking every movement in the forest.

There is a heavy tension palpable in the air. In the quiet of the forest, a needle could drop on a pile of leaves and it would still be heard loud and clear as it breaks through the silence that is as fragile as a thin sheet of ice on top of a lake, slowly breaking away at the end of winter.

Manjiro takes a step back and he hears a barely-heard crack that makes him jolt, at the same time that his ankle pushes against something rough. He jumped away just in time for a large net to spring up from a pile of leaves on the forest floor, catching none and Manjiro, who would’ve been prey, breathed a sigh of relief as he stood straighter.

He doesn’t let loose the arrow in his bow, but he turns and bares it on the offender that was waiting to attack him, a pair of obsidian black eyes widening as he catches sight of Manjiro.

The tip of the arrow is pointed just at the jut of the mortal’s chin, and not even Manjiro’s own surprise could make him lower the weapon nor his guard in front of the mortal that he had been looking for since earlier.

“What are you doing?” Manjiro asks him suspiciously, his voice cold and even. The mortal looks at him and lowers his weapon on the ground before raising his hands beside his head in a gesture of surrender and to wordlessly say that he means no harm.

“I was hunting for my family,” he answers, bowing his head in apology. “I have been in the forest all day and I thought I finally caught a rabbit or, if the gods would ever bless me, a deer so I sprang up in my excitement. I didn’t know it was also a human that stepped into my trap by accident.”

Manjiro doesn’t let up nor does he respond, staring at the mortal and studying the sincerity of his apology and the rest of his words.

It is only then that it dawns on Manjiro that the boy spoke to him in such a deep voice, like the distant boom of a thunder across the skies,

“I promise I bear no ill-will,” he adds in reassurance. “I just hope to go home with something to feed my family with.”

Manjiro slowly lowers his arrow until it is pointing towards the ground.

“Hunting, huh?” he mutters softly. Then, without looking, he shoots his arrow on the opposite side from where he is, effortlessly snagging a squirrel that just crawled out of his hole to climb the tree.

The arrow flew by fast and closed the meters of distance in just a few seconds. The mortal raises his head at the sound and blinks his eyes in surprise, standing frozen as he looks at the squirrel caught easily in just the span of seconds.

Manjiro feels smug seeing the wide-eyed expression on the human’s face and continues his trek, side-stepping the traps he now knows are laid out everywhere.

“Come on,” he tells the boy. “It will be night time soon and the forest is not the place for you to hang around when the moon is high in the sky.”

Manjiro hears the rustling of clothes and leaves as the boy picks up his own bow and arrow and follows after him, the two of them falling beside each other in every step.

It is only now, as Manjiro addresses him, chin tipped up so he can get a good look on his face and the dragon inked on the side of his head, that he notices just how tall the mortal is and how the mortal form he took only reaches up until the boy’s chest.

“What’s your name?” he asks, feeling his almost useless and nonexistent heart thunder against his chest despite how casual he sounded.

“Ken,” the mortal replies. Then, he turns to Manjiro and in return, also asks, “How about you?”

Manjiro hums thoughtfully before he answers, “Mikey.”

Ken looks at him strangely. “You don’t seem too sure.”

“I am sure,” Manjiro–Mikey–nods, more to himself than to reassure Ken’s apprehension, as if satisfied with the little alias he just made.

“Go get the squirrel now, Ken-chin. We have a lot more hunting to do so you can feed your family for about a week or two.”

“Ken-chin?”

“Yes, you are Ken-chin now.”

The mortal–Ken, Ken-chin–huffs beside him and it is more amused than annoyed, a smirk inching its way up one side of his cheek as he looks at Manjiro.

The God could feel himself answer it with his own grin, a sense of satisfaction and joy welling up inside him at being able to get this human’s name and attention. It is a strange feeling, the sides of his face pulling up in a smile, having lived centuries with little to nothing worthy of excitement.

But he goes down to Earth one day and sees him, and Manjiro still doesn’t quite know what about him is special or noteworthy. Maybe it was the strength of a fighter in the toned muscles of his arms and the speed of a runner in his legs; maybe it was the skill and discipline of a seasoned soldier as he aims his arrows to strike one of his targets down; or maybe it was the wisdom hidden behind his dark set of eyes, the same pair that looks at Mikey like he knows who he is exactly yet not, but trusts him still to lead him to where the bounty is.

And that trust–that blind trust and belief–is dangerous. It makes Manjiro feel dizzy as if he were drunk on bottles of ambrosia, chest filled with a giddy sort of excitement. It is dangerous because it makes him want more, and it is likely that by the time he knows he has ventured into this curiosity too deep and too far for the good of everyone around him, it is entirely too late.

Manjiro’s laughter rings in the air as he catches a deer by the neck, whispering a blessing to its soul in honor of the God of Wisdom, and gifts it to Ken-chin. A god’s offering to a mortal, the first of its kind after the humans were given the gift of fire, and the forest and its spirits became the witness to such a wondrous exchange.

Sitting on top of a tree branch obscured by the shadows from one’s vision, a black crow that easily blends with the darkness, only one of its kind in this forest, becomes an audience too in such a spectacular event.

*****

“Hey, Ken-chin,” Manjiro calls from where he is lounging lazily on a thick branch of a tree, his foot dangling in the air as he stares at the crown of leaves above his head.

There is nothing interesting about the leaves at all, nor is the little bit of sunlight that peers through the gaps, but Manjiro is too comfortable to even move so he can at least look at Ken-chin who is leaning against the trunk below.

Ken-chin grunts to acknowledge Manjiro and thoughtlessly he asks, “Do you know the 48 positions?”

“Huh?” Manjiro could only imagine the frown on Ken-chin’s face to come with the confused tone of his voice. When he turns his head so he can see Ken-chin’s expression, he snickers to himself as he is proven correct.

“Do you know the 48 positions?” he reiterates.

“No,” Ken-chin answers.

“How unfortunate,” Manjiro shuffles on his branch, creating a rustling sound as his clothing rubs on the rough surface, and he looks down a few feet below him where Ken-chin is, his eyes still closed.

“Why? Do you have any idea what they are?”

Manjiro has. He is the one to inspire the brain behind such a notable piece of literature, after all. And said work also happened to be scattered on the floor of his palace earlier when Keisuke and Kazutora were trying to clean.

But he answers with a shrug, “No idea,” even though he had memorized all of the images painted in the bounded pieces of parchment.

He shuffled on his branch even more, rustling the leaves in his movements, until he was almost hanging on the edge, the rough surface of the branch serving as the stopper so he wouldn’t fully slide down.

Then, he shouts, “Ken-chin, catch!”

Ken-chin’s eyes shoot open, alert, and he shuffles to his feet just at the same time that Manjiro pushes himself off the branch and lets himself fall.

He lands smoothly and safely in a pair of muscled arms, but when Manjiro looks at the face of his savior, Ken-chin is frowning at him, which he only countered with a smile before he hops off him and turns his back, confident that Ken-chin would always follow behind him without further prompting.

Manjiro saw and watched him chopping wood earlier when he went down to visit—robes tied to his waist, sweaty and naked torso glinting under the sun, muscles rippling as he raised the axe and brought it down with a loud thud.

The God just stared, transfixed. Even the simple action of  Ken-chin wiping the sweat off his forehead proved to be a wondrous sight for Manjiro’s eyes. He traced the lines of the mortal’s arms appreciatively, the bulge of his biceps and the strength in which his fingers wrapped around the handle of the axe firmly.

It is how he came to ask the question of whether or not Ken-chin knew of the 48 positions discussed about and even painted in the pleasure book; how he came up with the fun yet dangerous idea of trying to see how effortless Ken-chin will catch him when he falls.

And for someone who had toppled down the greatest and most renowned generals on Earth with the power of his mind and the snap of his fingers, Manjiro’s whole body tingles at the feel of having those arms secured around his form.

There is something else entirely–something he can’t place just yet–about the mere thought of Ken-chin being able to lift him so easily, as if he is nothing but feather in his hold, that makes Manjiro want to try and push. Until what? He still doesn’t know himself but he is hellbent on finding out.

And that is the other dangerous thing about this mortal, about Ken-chin. Manjiro had never wanted someone as bad as he wanted Ken-chin, and he is prepared to make all the stops just so he becomes his alone.

*****

The clicking of the lock and the creaking of the hinges was loud in the otherwise silent house as the door opened, a sliver of moonlight peeking in through the gap serves as the only light in the dark yet it was gone as soon as it was welcomed as the door was closed immediately.

Soundless and careful footsteps mapped its way towards the kitchen in search of a glass of water to quench his thirst.

All of a sudden, a soft orange glow lights up the house and he squints at the dark, tensing as a shadow makes its way to where he is. He instantly relaxes in his spot when he sees a familiar figure holding a lamp with one hand as the other is busy rubbing his eye to will the sleep away.

“Hey,” Takashi greets him, a tired smile lifting one side of his lips.

“Hey,” Ken places the glass of water on the sink after he downed the rest of the contents, leaving it to be washed come morning.

“Did I wake you?”

Takashi shakes his head with a yawn, pulls his thread-bare blanket tighter around his shoulders. “No. I was waiting for you to come home and I just fell asleep on the couch.”

“Oh,” Ken mutters, feeling guilty for having kept him awake until such a late hour.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to make sure you are home safe.”

Takashi smiles at him and walks closer to where Ken is, raising the lamp to his face and assessing the bruises that now decorate his skin, the blood that tainted the side of his lips a shade of crimson.

“Rough night?” he asks softly, hand hovering over Ken’s face as his eyebrows knit in concern.

“Nothing that I couldn't handle,” Ken reassures him, but it does not fully placate Takashi even when he nods.

Fighting in an illegal ring is dangerous, Ken and Takashi had a lot of talks about it over some stolen bottles of wine and a few pieces of bread they were able to salvage back when hunting was not as successful as it was right now. But it is also their ticket to earning a large sum of money in one night so they can buy Takashi’s mom her medicine and some of the supplies they will be needing at home so they can survive. The few that will be left will go to a box where they keep the spare change as part of their savings so they can take Takemi-san to the doctor once they have enough.

With the rate they’re going before, a few fights every week and no luck in hunting even when Ken set up numerous traps and stayed in the forest for the whole day, Takashi slowly loses hope that his mother will be saved and given proper medical attention.

Until that one evening when Ken arrived home with two handfuls of rabbits and squirrels, along with a deer being lugged behind by a smaller yet strong-looking man.

Things started to look up for them since then, no longer worrying that they will starve in the next days to come. It is one less problem that they would deal with, yet despite that, Ken still continues on his midnight fights in the arena because the financial concern still persists.

They have food, yes, but without medicine and a doctor to take a look at and assess Takemi-san’s condition, there is still less and less hope for her each day.

Takashi sits him down on their couch, the worn mattress sinking under his weight. He comes back with their kit a few seconds later and cleans Ken’s cuts for him, fixes him up just like he always does when Ken is roughed up more so than usual. Just like he always does when they were just kids and Ken always gets into fights, sometimes more than he could handle.

Being an adult had mellowed him out a little, but he also grew a lot stronger. There is still a thrill in fighting, in being inside a ring where he could punch his anger away, but this time, Ken knows it’s not aimless anymore.

He has a family he is fighting for, lives that made his worth living. This, getting his hands dirty to earn enough money for them to survive each passing day, is the sacrifice he is willing to make to return every bit of love and care that they showered him with.

“There you go,” Takashi says, patting his cheek after he is done patching him up.

“Go get some sleep. You will go hunting tomorrow, right?”

Ken nods, “Yeah. Do we still have some food left?”

“I think it will last us until next week, but winter is coming, so I don’t think trying to save up some excess stock would be a waste. We don’t know how bad it will be this time.”

“Alright. I’ll do my best tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you will,” Takashi stands up but he leans down to place a tender kiss on Ken’s forehead, a soft featherlight touch.

“Thank you, Ken,” he whispers against his skin and Ken just gives him a nod, lifts his hand from his lap so he can hold Takashi’s and give it a gentle squeeze.

His footsteps faded along with the light as he returned the kit to their bathroom, but before he trudged up the stairs to retire to his bed, Ken called him.

“Heh, ‘Kashi.”

“Hmm?” Takashi hums to acknowledge that he heard him.

“Do you know the 48 positions?” Ken echoes the question that Mikey asked him earlier, still bugging his mind out of pure curiosity. There was amusement in the smaller boy’s eyes after he asked Ken and mindlessly jumped off the tall tree branch he was sitting on. It makes Ken think what it is possibly about, tickling his mind for the whole night before and after he went inside the arena.

There was a moment of silence before he heard a huff of laughter from his friend, and Ken blinks, feeling confused.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just adorable how innocent and serious you sounded,” Takashi tells him, sounding too amused for his own good, it makes Ken scoff.

“But if you must know, those 48 positions have something to do with coupling.”

“Coupling?” Ken reiterates, feeling even more confused.

“Yeah. The positions you get into with your partner when you know, you have sex.”

Ken feels his face heat up.

“Oh,” he says unintelligibly, making Takashi snicker.

“Did your little friend ask you about it?”

“No,” Ken answers quickly and almost defensively. He then lies down on the couch, pulling the blanket over him and turns his back on Takashi.

“You’re not a good liar, Ken.”

“Good night, Takashi,” he says pointedly and dismissively, trying to put an end to the embarrassing conversation.

Takashi chuckles softly but then he yawns again, and this time he wishes, “Good night, Ken.”

His footsteps faded as he entered the bedroom he shares with his siblings, leaving Ken with his own thoughts in the dark, all centered around Mikey as if he is the one shining light in Ken’s life.

Ken remembers the first time he saw Mikey: peeking from behind a tall oak tree near the lagoon during that one day Ken took Luna and Mana out for a swim before it starts to get cold. He was like a curious little kid, but before Ken could even come and say hello, Mikey, then a stranger, just disappeared as fast as he showed up, as if he was never even there to begin with.

He thought the kid might just be some figment of his and the girls’ imaginations. Or maybe a spirit in disguise, since the forest is filled with nature spirits after all, so it’s not too much of a reach to assume such a thing.

But then he sees him again, during that one day he was hunting and feeling desperate because he hasn’t caught any in days. Mikey appeared in front of him again and that day, Ken went home and ate a hearty meal with his family.

Takemi-san said in awe as they watched Mikey go back to the forest, “That boy must be a blessing from the gods.”

Ken looks at the bounty he brought home, so much more than the ones he was able to score on normal days, and can’t help but nod his head in agreement.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling dazed as if Mikey was still just a dream.

“He is.”

The next few days, Ken would find himself venturing into the forest, out of curiosity and a little bit of hope to see Mikey again so he can at least thank him for his help. He wasn’t able to ask where he lived, though Ken knows that Mikey won’t tell him, the way he had an inkling that Mikey isn’t anything human or mortal.

But it didn’t matter to him. Mikey helped him and saved his family from starving to death. If anything, Ken owes him a lot even though he knew Mikey just happened to be there.

He would wander around for a while until he decided to go home, not a trace of Mikey even when it was already late and almost evening.

One day a week after the second and last time they saw each other, with disappointment heavy in his chest, Ken came out of the forest just as the sun had fully set took the path leading home, but when he arrived, a small campfire was set up in front of the house and there Mikey was. He was sitting on the logs Ken chopped up and made as a bench, with a mug in his hand as he conversed with Takashi and Takemi-san.

By their side is another slain deer lying on the ground, and Ken had to stop for a moment and take all of these in.

Luna and Mana were the ones who alerted everyone of Ken’s presence, the two little girls squealing gleefully as they ran towards him and jumped in his arms.

Ken caught them easily, and he carried them with him as he walked the rest of the distance towards where Mikey and his family were.

“Hey, Ken-chin,” Mikey greets as he looks up at him with a small, barely-there smile. The height difference is palpable and Ken had to tip his head down a little to meet his gaze.

“Sorry I wasn’t around as much during the past few days,” he apologizes. “I had to run some errands with my sister.”

“Oh, it’s nothing–”

“Takashi said you’ve been going to the forest everyday to look for me,” Mikey continues, smile widening into a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Ken shoots an unamused glance towards Takashi who just bats his eyelashes at him as he takes the girls from his arms.

“Is that not why you’ve been there every single day?” he asks, eyes widening in an almost innocent way. Ken is so tempted to lock his head in his arms now that they’re free.

“I’m sorry for assuming so wrongly,” he adds, but he does not sound the littlest bit apologetic at all.

Ken just sighs, “Just go inside and take the deer, will you? Takashi? Please.”

“Okay!” Takashi chirps happily as he sets the girls down on the ground.

“Come on, Luna and Mana. Let’s bring the deer to the back of the house and get some dinner ready, okay? Say thank you to the strong oniisan for bringing us a gift, too.”

The girls exclaimed their loud yet sincere thanks to Mikey, who stands up and crouches in front of them. He ruffles their hairs gently before pulling out some candies from the inner pockets of his robes, placing them on top of Luna’s and Mana’s palms.

“You’re welcome,” he says with a gentle and fond expression displayed on his face. The girls beamed at him and wrapped their little arms around his neck at the same time, taking all of the adults by surprise, especially Ken and even Mikey himself, but it also made them chuckle at the adorable display.

Takashi herds them away after, sharing an acknowledging nod with Mikey as he walks away. Takemi-san approaches the blond once again and whispers her own thanks to him, cupping his face in her hands in such a motherly way.

When it was just the two of them, they sat on the benches side-by-side, a few inches of space between them as the fire lit up their faces. Ken wants to ask where he’s been, what he’s been up to, debates whether or not it is actually appropriate to ask such things when they only ran into one another a total of two times, the first being a mere glance from two separate points meters away from each other.

But he settles on, “Thank you for helping me out last time.”

It is soft and simple yet sincere. He can feel Mikey’s gaze boring into the side of his face but Ken keeps his trained on the dancing flames in front of them, as if it is an actual performance he can’t pull his eyes away from.

He decides against asking some of the other things to fuel his own selfish curiosity, and just chooses to say what matters the most at that moment. Right now, human or not, it doesn’t change the fact that Mikey helped his family twice and even sought them out in return. Ken has the inkling that maybe Mikey is here, in his home, because he is also looking for Ken, but he dared not flatter himself nor let himself hope for such things.

Even though the thought of it simply makes Ken want to burst into a body of flames with how much heat crawled up his neck when it crossed his mind for a fleeting moment.

After a heartbeat that’s just silence, Mikey says, “You’re welcome. I’ll be here to help anytime you need me to.”

Ken huffs, “Yeah?”

“Hmm,” Mikey hums. This time Ken allowed himself to look at him and saw the way the shadows danced on Mikey’s face caused by the orange glow as the fire crackled with life in front of them.

“You know where to find me,” he meets Ken’s gaze and it is something in his words, in his quiet yet honest tone, in the soft and gentle look on his eyes as he smiles at Ken, that makes it seem like a promise.

“Okay,” Ken gives him a smile back and the rest of their time is spent in comfortable silence as they sit beside each other underneath the stars.

I’ll hold you to that.

*****

The overhead lamps bathe the streets and the people with a gentle orange glow in the evening as the trio of them fit in and walk amidst mortals in their casual robes.

Manjiro decided to come down today in the Mortal Realm for reasons that are not entirely related to Ken-chin, much to his dismay, though he quickly met with the mortal earlier just to tell him he won’t be around. Which is strange, he thinks, because maybe Ken-chin won’t care; they each have their own lives after all.

But there was a soft yet saddened, ‘oh’ that followed after Manjiro’s pronouncement, his expression falling along with his tone. Spending almost every single day together had already been a habit that going for one without the other felt incomplete and hollow, and though Manjiro felt it to his core, a part of him is happy to see Ken-chin share the same sentiment, which made his day a bit brighter.

Hours later and he is finally done with his errands for the day, thanks to Keisuke and Kazutora who also helped a lot and made his job easier for the day. There had been an influx in the prayers sent to his temple about the upcoming ministry exams in the Southeast, and under all that, it was easy to miss the concerns about scholars getting sick as the big day closes in.

Long story short, Manjiro was able to find the spirit and send it back to the Underworld where it belongs. Typically, this line of job falls along the description of Shuji, the God of Death, seeing as it is his responsibility to make sure that the souls are collected and they stay where they are. But the prayers were sent to Manjiro, and it is easier to just do it himself instead of dealing with Shuji. He had promised himself long ago to keep his distance from War and Death and their cronies, and he hopes to keep it that way.

Now he is strolling along the streets of a little market with Keisuke and Kazutora, who both expressed their desire to eat some mortal delicacy and drink some jars of wine as a way to celebrate their victory for the day. This has become some sort of tradition for the three of them—successfully get the job done and then, we eat and drink to our hearts’ content. It is something that Keisuke and Kazutora did a lot too, after a week’s worth of hardwork back when they were mortals, and now they pulled Manjiro along with it.

You can spend time with us, you know, Keisuke told him that day. Eat, drink, be merry like humans do. Like humans live their lives, a few hours won’t hurt.

Manjiro relented with a sigh and joined them, but as the night wore on, and the air around him is filled with the twin joyful laughters of Keisuke and Kazutora, he realizes that them too, no matter the fact that they’re already immortal and their mortal history is just that–history, they still seem so human.

Just like Shinichiro is.

Just like Emma is.

And it is something that captures him and pulls him along, he thinks, to see someone so powerful yet so human and so sincere. To see them give so selflessly without asking for anything in exchange.

His thoughts are pulling him away from where he currently is to somewhere, to–to corded muscles and an expanse of tan skin from being under the sun all day; to a mane of obsidian black hair, braided behind him or sometimes even let loose, framing strong yet gentle features, a dragon in black ink on the side of his head. It brings Manjiro to a day in the forest, sunlight streaming through the gaps left by the leaves and the branches; to water being splashed in the lagoon and a deep chuckle that reverberates to his own chest despite the lack of physical contact; and to a small house just at the outskirts of the forest, a campfire, the night sky, Ken-chin.

Manjiro never thought that a mere mortal would have such a hold on his thoughts like this, that even the steaming hot taiyaki bread in front of him doesn’t look tempting enough at the moment when normally, he would’ve already bought at least three.

He sighs woefully and raises his gaze from the plate on the stall table in front of him, at the same time that a blur of a tall, dark masa passes by his vision. It was unmistakably human, that much Manjiro is sure, otherwise he would’ve felt if it was a malignant spirit or someone else from his realm.

They were covered in a long cloak, dark as the night and thus making it easy to move with the shadows and appear underwater. But the wind blew and the hood was thrown away, the features that Manjiro was just picturing inside his head now flashing in front of him for a few seconds before Ken-chin dove behind another stall and disappeared from his vision.

Manjiro is sure of what he saw, his hand moving instantly to put a spell and mark the steps that Ken-chin would take so he wouldn’t lose him. He runs after the mortal, ignoring Keisuke’s calls of his name and questions of where he is going. He might have thrown an ‘I’ll meet you back at the palace!’ but in his rush, Manjiro isn’t quite sure.

The footsteps he followed—shimmering silver on the stone pavements that only he could see—led him to a maze of alleyways until it stopped in front of a house that looked old and abandoned. It was dark inside, as can be seen from the dirty glass windows and the door was hammered with a wooden X that says no entry is permitted and it was already vacated a long time ago.

Thoughtful eyes scanned the architecture as he rounded the perimeter of the house and then he saw a small door, with the same make as that of the walls, making it easy to miss. He tries the knob and twists it, hears the door click open so he pushes it and in front of him is an entrance that leads to the underground of the house.

The lack of light makes it hard for Manjiro to see, so with a spell, he lets a tiny flame flicker to life on his palm. As it illuminates the little tunnel he finds himself in, Manjiro sees another door at the bottom of the stairs, which he is sure is about to lead him to another room.

He doesn’t know what to expect, and that thought alone is making him nervous. He closes the door behind him and walks down the stairs towards the other. The knob feels cold on his clammy hands and he takes a deep breath to calm himself before he turns it and pushes the door open.

The room is packed with people and it reeked of alcohol and sweat. Those were the things that Manjiro noticed first. Then, something that could be easily missed—the metallic smell of blood hanging in the air. When everybody suddenly cheered and the ground underneath him shook, at the same time that Manjiro saw the secluded mini arena in the middle, he understood what and where he was.

It is an underground fighting arena, which Manjiro knew to be completely illegal and Ken-chin disappeared inside this place. Somehow, it clicks quickly in Manjiro’s mind and it finally explains some days when he would find bruises on Ken-chin’s cheek, or that one time they went hunting but Ken-chin can’t shoot his arrow properly because of a hurt wrist.

Manjiro is worried now that he knows. His mind is racing with the thoughts of how long Ken-chin had been doing this and it is both a comfort yet not to know that he is not one of the two men decking it out inside the small arena just yet.

Knowing that Ken-chin might be in there soon didn’t make it any better for Manjiro.

“Oooh, fun place,” he hears someone say next to him, the onslaught of his unhelpful thoughts making him unaware of his surroundings and consequently, flinching in surprise at the person’s sudden appearance.

Manjiro calmly takes a deep breath to clear his mind and collect himself. Only then did he recognize the familiarity of the voice and he had to stop himself from groaning when he turned and was met with the fake-innocent and smug look on Izana’s face.

“Didn’t know this is your scene, Highness,” he grins and Manjiro just rolls his eyes at him and instead, roams his gaze all around the place in search of Ken-chin’s familiar head.

“Such a snob,” Manjiro could hear the pout in Izana’s voice and the underlying taunt in them but he didn't rise to the bait to satisfy his fellow God, too busy searching for his human. It does not deter Izana though, as he merely starts babbling about anything that Manjiro doesn’t even bother to pay attention to.

Well, at least some of them.

“I like this place, if I do say so myself! So much violence, so much bloodthirst, so much resentment and anger, too! Oh, and don’t forget greed. Greed is always nice!”

“Shuji likes it here too, but he gets bored sometimes. It’s not always that someone dies here, after all.” Izana lets out a sad sigh, as if he is disappointed that people do not die in this place. Manjiro tries not to roll his eyes again at that one, it’s not worth it.

“Ooooohh, let me tell you about my favorite fighter!” Izana continues chattering away to Manjiro’s dead ears, his eyes otherwise busy as they continue searching for Ken-chin in this crowd.

“He is a very strong man. Very tall–”

“–next set of fighters for this evening–”

Men and women alike started to whisper excitedly, the sea of people closing in nearer to the small space designated as the arena until it is almost impossible for Manjiro and Izana to see over the large and burly men in front of them.

Still, despite a lot of people pressing in on them from all sides, Izana stays unbothered, mouth still running despite Manjiro's lack of attention on him.

“I often see him here, especially when there are big fights and they are so good, I promise–”

“–and hailing from the Southwest, a man we’ve all been waiting for this evening–”

“–his hair braided to show the dragon tattoo he has on the side of his head–”

The last bit of Izana’s words catches Manjiro’s attention and he whips his head towards his fellow god, forehead creasing, “The what?!”

Izana’s mouth hang opens at being stopped suddenly. He blinks, starlight eyelashes fluttering over the apple of his cheeks and he tilts his head to the side. With his big doe eyes and perfected faux-innocent voice, combined with Manjiro’s anxious nerves that evening, it was easy to be caught up in Izana’s spider web and believe that he has no idea who Ken-chin is.

Manjiro would find out a bit later that he played into Izana’s palm again, but at that moment—when Izana repeated to him the words, ‘dragon tattoo on the side of his head’; at the same time that the announcer announced, ‘please give it up for the undefeated: DRAKEN!’—he could feel himself tense up in the place where he stood.

Through the small gaps that allowed him vision of what is happening inside the ring, Manjiro could see, almost in slow motion, Ken-chin hop inside without his shirt and only a pair of white pants on. His hair is braided, just as Izana told him, revealing clearly the sharp yet beautiful angle of his face, the cut of jaw, the dark ink of his dragon tattoo. His torso is on full display, muscles shifting as he stretches his arms to the sides and above his head, sun-kissed skin glinting under the bright orange spotlight.

It doesn’t matter if Manjiro sees him up close or from far away. It doesn’t matter if Manjiro sees him without anyone or anything obscuring his view. It doesn’t matter, any of that, because he would know Ken-chin anywhere, even with just the whiff of his natural scent—a mix of the sun, the salt of his sweat and the forest after a rain, as if they were perfectly brewed together like the finest cup of coffee and made to fit just him. Even with just the shadow of his features obscured by a hood of his cloak and the darkness of the night. Even by the sound of his quiet footsteps on a pavement in a noisy and crowded place. All of those and more, Manjiro would know him because he spent days and weeks and maybe months now, studying Ken-chin and the way his expressions ripple clearly on his face like the surface of the lagoon, the way his body moves with fluidity as if he is the water itself and his waves swept Manjiro’s feet off the ground, the way his heart opens to those he loves and envelopes them in its warmth.

Manjiro stands there, seeing and unseeing at the same time. His gaze remains on Ken-chin–Draken, he is called in this place–while the crowd cheers loudly around them, enough to shake the whole place with its volume, “Draken! Draken! Draken!”

He hears Izana chuckle, “Oh, look there he is! Draken is such a good stage name, you know. Perfectly fitting for a man of his calibre, too!”

Suddenly, he stopped speaking and he gasped, his eyes widening as if he had a wonderful idea. He turns to Manjiro and tells him, “What if I claim him and make him part of my palace?! Oh, that would be fun–”

“Shut up, Izana,” Manjiro says through gritted teeth, not liking the thought of Izana touching what is his.

He saw Ken-chin first, he has most of the rights to claim him if Ken-chin agreed to it.

Izana ignores him. “I bet he and Kakucho would get along so well! They’re both so much like each other–”

“Izana–”

“–And I’ll put his tattoo on his right chest, opposite where Kakucho’s is placed! That’s going to be so fun to put–”

Manjiro feels rage quickly bubbling inside of him as Izana continues relaying his plans as if it is already final that Ken-chin will be coming with him for eternity. He is so mad and confused and overwhelmed for the whole evening that he let his anger flow out of him like lava and he himself is the volcano erupting all of a sudden.

“SHUT UP!!!” He screams, loud enough to silence all the others inside the room and stop the ongoing match inside the ring.

Izana grins maliciously at Manjiro, satisfied with the way he was able to get under the God’s skin and heavens, he did the first thing he swore to not let himself do when he is around Izana, especially after the whole Kazutora ordeal.

Half of Manjiro is reprimanding himself for rising to the bait while the other half is egging him on. Hearing about Izana, of all people, talking about claiming Ken-chin and making them theirs makes Manjiro livid to the point he is unable to stop himself from letting his emotions take over his logic.

“Oooh, I sense a fight goin’ on over there,” the announcer speaks up over the silence that took over, all eyes on Izana and Manjiro and the quiet stare down that they are having.

“Why dontcha two come on over to the middle and fight it out, yeah? It seems like the arena needs a new flavor to spice up the evening, what do y’all say?!”

The crowd cheers, herding Mikey and Izana towards the middle while Ken-chin and his opponent are walking to the sides, their fight postponed in favor of the spontaneously new match.

Manjiro pointedly ignores Ken-chin, whose stare is boring right on the side of his face, in favor of looking at Izana who is casually standing opposite him.

“It’s been a while since we had this much fun,” Izana tilts his head to the side, silver strands falling on lilac eyes as he smiles treacherously, “haven’t we, Mikey?”

Then, like lightning, he kicks off the ground and speeds towards Manjiro, aiming for a kick right to his head which is immediately blocked by Manjiro’s arm and his equally quick reflexes.

Izana is strong, skilled, intelligent and most of all, sneaky as well as cunning. Every move he performs is calculated and not one single effort is a waste. It is something that, as a wisdom and strategy god, Manjiro secretly admires just as much as he abhors because it makes Izana even more of a pain to deal with when it comes to physical fights.

The two of them are almost tied when it comes to these kinds of things, not that they deck it out most of the time. If Manjiro would try his hardest to recall, the last time he and Izana even laid their fists on each other was when they were still on slightly good terms, a friendly competition between two fellow gods that left the Heavens in awe of their strength.

Over the centuries, of course, Izana would grow stronger just as Manjirou would become sharper. The opportunities to hone their abilities as immortals are vast and infinite in this world, and they take each and every chance they get to do so.

‘Strength is never enough,’ he remembers Izana telling him one day a few millennia ago as they lounged on the terrace of the War God’s Palace.

‘Sometimes, you need darkness too,’ he continued with a far away look on his eyes as he gazed below them, wide eyes lilac eyes unseeing while he randomly drew shapes in the clouds with the tips of his fingers.

At that time, Manjiro looked at him with slight confusion but he shrugged the thought away and didn't care to ask for more. He didn’t understand it until he found out Izana went down to seek the Lord of the Underworld, found Death and shook his hand. He didn’t understand it until Izana stormed inside his halls unannounced and ablazed with fury as he shouted, “He was supposed to be mine, Manjiro!” when Manjiro claimed Kazutora as his own.

He didn’t understand it until now, laying a strong punch on Izana’s face as the thought of Ken-chin choosing Izana over him plagued his mind.

Izana spat the blood from his mouth and grinned widely at him. The crimson staining his teeth just made him look even more sinister and he cackles, his eyes wide and manic, “Is that all you got, Mikey?”

Manjiro didn’t like the sound of his name–Mikey–falling from Izana’s tongue. It’s taunting and mocking, as if he is saying that he knows something and he is holding it above Manjiro’s head like a plaything. It is cold and unwelcomed and everything else that isn’t how Ken-chin says his name, drawled in his deep voice, the last syllable drawn out along with an exasperated sigh that tapers off into a fond smile.

He throws a punch, blocked easily by Izana’s arm in the same manner that Manjiro blocked his kick earlier. His grin is still present and the longer Manjiro looks, the more it grates on him, making him grit his teeth as he pulls back and keeps a safe distance before Izana could even land a counter.

They circle each other slowly, the cheering of the crowd around them falling on deaf ears as they try to get a read on one another’s next possible move. No amount of wit or sparring could win over Izana’s unpredictability, especially with how stronger he had become the past millennia when the two of them are already estranged, which is precisely why Manjiro is careful because one wrong move could cost him so much.

And as the God of Wisdom and Battle Strategy, whose hands had won countless battles and wars; whose wits and graces had secured many victorious treaties, that one wrong move could become a terrible loss for him, one that would leave a mark on his name for the next centuries to come.

As Manjiro moves forward at the same time Izana does to attack, the bell gives a shrill ring and the two Gods paused in their place, chest slightly heaving in exhaustion while sweat coated their foreheads and their mortal-customized skin. 

It is most likely a draw, or one of their wins. Manjiro could care less about it, turning on his heels and speed-walking out of the hot and humid, enclosed area of the arena and into the cool and open space of the outside.

The loud cheers faded as he closed the wooden door and he leaned against the dirty brick wall of the old house, sliding down until he just sat on the ground to collect his bearings before he decided where he would go next.

Shinichiro and Emma are out of the question—Manjiro does not want to be subjected to their all-too-knowing gazes and the interrogation that would follow. Keisuke and Kazutora aren’t on the list either. They’re too persistent and while Manjiro knows that it’s how they show they care about him, he doesn’t need it right now.

He realizes then that the only other safe space he has, save for his Palace and his siblings, is Ken-chin and the forest where they met and silently claimed as theirs; is the little home where Ken-chin and his family live, the skillfully chopped logs that doubles as the bench and the campfire that they light up in the evening when Manjiro stays longer than he intended to.

His safe space is that familiar foresty scent that wafts to his nose and makes him look up to see Ken-chin standing in front of him now, a load of questions on the tip of their tongues as they looked at each other thoughtfully in the miniscule space that they tried to put between them.

“How long—” Ken-chin opens his mouth and starts to ask, but he pauses midway and purses his lips, as if rethinking how to phrase his query.

Manjiro smiles, “I only found out tonight.”

“How did you know about the place?” Ken-chin leans on the fence opposite Manjiro, casting a shadow on the God and on the wall behind.

“I followed you,” Manjiro answered honestly. “I was in the market with some friends earlier and I saw you.”

Ken-chin raises an eyebrow, “And you decided that stalking me is the best course of action?”

“You were dressed in a dark cloak with the hood pulled up, passing by small alleyways and backroads so yeah, I did follow you because I know you would just evade me or make up some excuse if I do otherwise.”

“It doesn’t matter, either way, does it?” Ken-chin sighs as he squats, arms propped on top of his spread knees.

“You’re going to find out whether I tell you or not.”

Manjiro just looks at him without saying anything. Ken-chin takes it as a cue to continue.

“Who are you, Mikey?”

“Would not knowing make you trust me less?” Manjiro asks him and this time, Ken-chin is the one who falls silent as if he had to think twice about every single day that they spent together doing gods know what.

In the obscured shadows of the alleyway between two old and abandoned neighboring houses, Manjiro couldn’t quite get a read on Ken-chin’s face and the momentary silence is making him feel nervous, like he wants to jump up and down repeatedly to expel the shakiness in his limbs but his mind is making him freeze in his place.

Then, Ken-chin says, “No, it wouldn’t.”

And he smiles, a barely noticeable uplift of his lips, and he adds, “I would trust you with my life no matter what.”

Manjiro sighs in relief, his shoulders sagging as he relaxes on the ground. Suddenly, the tenseness that melted away gave room for the exhaustion to worm inside the crevices of his mortal body and his head felt too heavy for him to hold up.

Thankfully, Ken-chin chooses that exact moment to move and sit beside him, placing the God’s head on his shoulder and letting it stay there for a while. The two of them are pressed closely side-by-side as Manjiro lets his eyes flutter shut, feeling calm and at peace with Ken-chin’s warmth surrounding him in his sleep.

*****

There is a joyful skip in his steps, a gleeful hum in the tune that he hums, an absolute contrast to the dark and eerie, lifeless and cold environment of the Underworld.

Large, golden double doors part before him and granted him entrance. Polished skull torches dripping with wax lit up as his feet lightly padded on the long, crimson carpet that lined the throne room, leading to a tall figure in black robes sitting on his obsidian throne.

“You look happy,” Death greets him with his sinister grin, long fingers of Sin skillfully twirling a baton. 

War answers him with his own smile, a split of his own lips but it doesn’t minimize the cruel nature of it.

“Oh my dear, I am ecstatic!” he announces, twirling around as if he is in a dance before plopping down on Death’s lap and having Punishment wrapping around his waist.

Death nuzzles into his neck like a large feline and purrs, “Did the little god come out to play?”

And War giggles giddily, just in time for two more figures to take shape from the Shadows of the throne room.

“I heard play,” Dream’s brother, Nightmare, drawls as he floats towards the intertwined figures on the throne, sharp nails running on the bronze skin of the silver-haired god until it reaches his shoulder and his collarbones, exposed from the way his robe dipped down too low on his chest.

“Do you have something for us?” Nightmare lets his finger graze the skin until it makes a cut and hungry eyes watch as ichor flows out of the open wound. He then dips his head down, lets his tongue taste the exquisitely sweet and metallic flavor of his god’s blood.

“Rindou,” they hear Dream playfully reproach his brother as he too approaches them, “don’t be too greedy~”

“Greed is good,” Izana tells them, putting an encouraging hand behind Rindou’s head. He sighs and when he feels the point of his teeth rip his skin open further to let out more of his blood, and he lets his head fall back on Shuji’s shoulder to give Rindou more space to work on.

“Greed can make you do a whole lot of things that have been unthinkable for you in the beginning.”

“Hmm,” Ran hums, plucking the baton from Sin as he sits on the arm of Death’s throne.

“That’s why you’re here with us in the first place, right?”

He crosses his legs, leans forward slightly and uses his newly-acquired toy to trace the seams of War’s parted lips, “What do you have for us today, my Lord?”

Izana licks the tip of the baton and lets his tongue flick the top while keeping his gaze on Ran’s cold and deep purple ones, then he grins, “Let’s just say, your domain will have a new visitor soon, maybe even sooner than we all expect. And I assure you, you will enjoy this one very much.”

*****

The days that followed the night in the arena when Manjiro discovered Ken-chin participating in an illegal fighters’ club felt as if a new door had opened for them to deepen their relationship in a sense. There are still the unspoken truths between them that still remain as such, but there is also a different kind of ease in the way they talk and move around each other, the kind that was never there before.

Ken-chin doesn’t shy away from the topic of what he does every now and then when he isn’t hunting for food. When before he was vague about telling Manjiro he does some odd jobs in the city for the townspeople, now the hesitation to speak about the illegal nature of his line of work slowly fading away the more they talk.

“It’s what you needed to do to survive,” Manjiro tells him when Ken-chin asks why he is being so casual about it.

“I won’t fault you for wanting to do whatever you could to make sure you and your family live and see another day.”

And he was sincere about it, his admiration for Ken-chin continuing to magnifically grow every single day. The only worry, though, that plagues his thoughts is the reminder of seeing Izana that evening in that place, and his outspoken desire to claim Ken-chin for himself, a thought that doesn’t sit right with Manjiro at all.

He sets it aside every time he goes down to the Mortal Realm to visit Ken-chin and his family; to run through the woods in their leisure hunts and take home a large deer that would tide their small family over for the next couple of days; to just sit under the shade of a large oak tree, with the sides of their bodies pressed closely together from the shoulders up to their toes; to simply bathe in the calm and peace that always comes with Ken-chin’s presence.

But as he sits on the railings of his Palace’s terrace, letting his legs dangle over the edge as he watches the people of the Mortal Realm go about their days like busy ants, he can’t help but think and rewind the events of that night.

“Something bad is going to happen soon,” he mutters as he absent-mindedly caresses Orion’s mane. The words were quietly uttered more to himself than to Keisuke and Kazutora who are always with him in his Palace. Without another word, Manjiro tips himself over the edge and lets himself fall towards the Mortal Realm once again, unable to keep himself still and away from Ken-chin.

*****

The forest is always peaceful in the middle of the day. For Ken, it is the most ideal time to visit the place, especially when he is not really looking to hunt but to just spend some time by himself, or more recently, with Mikey. Which he doesn’t mind either way. He likes being with Mikey and hearing about the random things that he would spout, just lying down on a patch of grass and hearing the words turn into unintelligible mumbles as he falls asleep.

Sometimes it feels like Mikey is this otherworldly being, someone that isn’t even supposed to be real or tangible in front of Ken-chin, and he thinks that maybe Mikey really is, but with his eyes closed in his sleep and a little bit of drool on the side of his lips, he just looks like any other human boy that Ken-chin could just fall in love with.

But he isn’t just any boy. He is Mikey and he is a small man with a big presence and an even bigger shadow that follows behind him wherever he goes. Ken knows that well enough and he tried to keep his distance because nothing good will come out of being linked with the non-mortals, but by the time he realized it, it was too late. He is already attached. Smitten. He couldn’t leave even if he wanted to, not that he actually does.

Mikey cares about him, that much he knows. He sees it in the way he sincerely cares about Ken’s family, in the way he gets along with Takashi and Takemi-san, in the way he would play with Luna and Mana and listen to them as they whisper their little kid secrets to him. He sees it in the way Mikey goes out of his way to help him hunt, though he will always say he just enjoys the thrill of it, but a few weeks later, he will appear at Ken’s house with a newly-hunted deer lagged behind him as a gift to Ken and his family. It is almost like clockwork and even Luna and Mana were able to figure out the exact day Mikey would appear with their new catch.

Ken also sees it in the way Mikey lets him talk openly and freely, listens without prejudice and judgment. With Mikey, Ken feels like he can be everything he wants to be, and as he looks at him every day and sees the smile that makes his whole face brighten up like he is the Sun Incarnate, all he hopes for is that he can at least be someone that is worthy enough to love Mikey.

“Ken-chin~” A familiar voice cuts through the thoughts swimming through his mind. Ken-chin’s eyes shoot open, his head whipping to the sides to follow where the sound came from but there were only an infinite number of trees lining his vision.

“Up here, silly.”

Ken tilts his head upwards and there he is, Mikey lounging on top of another thick branch once again, head pillowed on his arm as one leg dangles in the air. He looks like a cat and this is nothing out of the blue for Ken, Mikey likes to sit on the branches of tall trees, unafraid even when he is meters above the ground.

Yet somehow, as Ken sits up and stares at this Mikey, he could feel his eyebrows creasing in apprehension because something feels off and this Mikey above him doesn’t feel like his Mikey.

“Hey, Ken-chin. Do you want to play?”

Ken raises an inquisitive eyebrow and asks back, “Aren’t you supposed to be back home to help run some errands with your sister? You said you would be busy today.”

“It got boring,” not-Mikey answers in a whiny yet still very Mikey way, which Ken-chin would commend. This must be someone who knows Mikey very well that they could easily imitate him and his gestures and even his tone.

“I’d rather spend time with you. We can hunt for fun, if you want,” he suggests, jumping off his branch and landing cleanly on his feet right in front of Ken-chin.

“Or,” he drawls with a suggestive smirk and a hooded set of eyes that makes Ken blush, even though he knows that this isn’t the Mikey he knows.

“We can take a dip in the lake. Together,” Mikey stalks closer to him and kneels beside him, leaning forward so his mouth is right next to Ken’s ear, breath brushing his skin.

“What do you say, hmm?”

Ken swallows, his throat suddenly dry and his mind foggy, “I–uh–”

“IZANA!!”

A sharp and loud voice bellows, echoing through the forest and disrupting the peace that settles like a blanket on a normal day. It also cuts through the haze in Ken’s brain and he shakes his head as if to wake himself, realizing that it is another Mikey voice he heard, only this time it is angrier than the first one which was more…seductive.

The not-Mikey in front of him scoffs and rolls his eyes as he stands up and faces the…other Mikey…gods.

“I thought I told you to stay away from him, Izana,” angry Mikey says, his face an eerily blank mask, which makes not-Mikey pout and cross his arms in front of his chest like a petulant child.

“And I thought I told you I wanted him. Come on, Manjiro. Let me have my fun.”

“You have your whole set of playthings in the Underworld. Go bother them instead of touching what I already claimed as mine.”

Not-Mikey laughs, but it was more of a hollow sound than a funny one, the kind that feels like mocking amusement. His form flickers right before Ken’s eyes as if he was just a mere apparition and when it clears, a whole other man now stands in front of him.

His hair is silver like starlight and parted in the middle. On his ears are dangling jewelry in a rectangular shape that let out a soft bell-like sound when they sway as he takes a step forward.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he says.

“Izana–”

“Well, now that my fun is ruined, I am just going to leave. It’s not like I want a walking dead man, anyway~”

Ken watches Mikey’s expression turn into one of confusion that surely mirrors his own. Izana just cackles, cruel and evil and he disappears, shifting into a snake and slithering away in the shadows until Ken can no longer see him.

“What—” Ken speaks up after a beat of silence as he and Mikey just stare at each other from two opposite points.

“What was that?”

It takes a few seconds, but Manjiro shakes his head as a response which did nothing to ease Ken’s confusion. He can’t blame Mikey for that, not when he looks just as lost as Ken is so he just sighs and allows himself to close the distance between the two of them.

Mikey sought comfort in his arms, immediately latching on Ken, fists tightly clenched on the material of his clothes. It is a small comfort after what just happened, both of their worlds shaken to the core by the utterance of a few words of a man—no, not a man but a deity—who acts as if he holds the fate of Ken’s feeble mortal life in his hands.

In some ways, that might be the case, and Ken just hopes that it simply means that he is mortal enough that he will meet his end, unlike the immortal gods that reside in the Heavens above.

Yet somehow, that felt more like the lie and the words of a sly and cunning snake sounded more like the truth.

*****

The chest below his head rises and falls calmly in its sleep and despite the warmth and safety that the Ken-chin’s family and their house provides, it wasn’t enough to let Manjiro sleep peacefully, let alone close his eyes.

He opted to just lie there, wide awake and tracing circles with his fingers on Ken-chin’s clothed chest, listening to the sounds of his snores as the mortal slept. It is the only comfort he has as of now, a tangible reassurance that Ken-chin is alive and breathing in his hold.

Today’s earlier encounter with Izana left him uneasy and, dare he say it, afraid in a way he had never been once in his life. Manjiro knows better than to take his words as a form of jest for War is a harbinger of Death. That alone is enough to put him on edge, especially now when the one that Izana is pertaining to is none other than Ken-chin.

Manjiro knows the only way to confirm the truth of what the War God said is to visit the Underworld where the God of Death and the Fates reside. It is the realm he hates to go to and if he could avoid it, he would, but right now, Manjiro is left with no other choice but to go.

He looks at Ken-chin’s peaceful sleeping face and sighs, tempted to trace the lines of his features with his fingers but holding himself back. He was already fortunate enough to spend his days with this mortal and Manjiro wonders, if he didn’t let his curiosity win, would he feel this strongly about saving someone from their inevitable death, when a few other mortals also die everyday with or without their knowing?

In some other world, maybe Manjiro wouldn’t have cared if Ken-chin existed or not. He might be another one of those mortals that he watches from his perch on the Heavens, bored as he plucks grapes every now and then from his fruit tray. But in this world, Manjiro cares for him deeply and he is willing to go to whatever lengths just to make sure Ken-chin will be safe, because a world without him is a world that Manjiro wouldn’t know how to continue living in once he is gone.

With resolve, Manjiro travels down to the Underworld, and he is immediately welcomed with the dimly-lit torches, with the agonized screams and pained cries of the woeful souls that burn in the pits of the hellish fires.

The doors to the Palace of Death open as if they expect him to visit, and a wide foxy grin splits the face of what the mortal world knows as the Reaper when he sees the Wisdom God on the halls of his domain.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise!” he exclaims, golden eyes brightening like flames ablaze as his focus shifts from his scrolls to Manjiro who now stands in front of Death in his own godly form.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of such a visit, Your Highness?”

“Izana mentioned about a mortal dying,” Manjiro cuts to the chase. The faster he can go about this, the quicker he can go back to Ken-chin and make sure he is safe.

“A lot of mortals die everyday, my Lordship,” Shuji replies, the evading nature of his response easily frustrating the God and making Manjiro grit his teeth.

“Ryuguji Ken,” Manjiro utters his name. “What is his Fate?”

“Oh!” Shuji perks up. “Oh yes, he will die. In about a week, I think. That’s the longest he got.”

“And his family?”

“Doomed to die, too. Starvation. Illness. Suicide. They are going to be plucked off one by one like little flowers in my little garden.”

Manjiro bites his lip, looking down at his sandaled feet and watching as the light of the flames cast a dancing shadow on the carpeted flooring as he mulled over his thoughts.

“If—” he swallows and faces Shuji head on once again.

“If Ryuguji Ken lives, will his family live too?”

Shuji hums and taps a pointer finger on his chin, “Yes, that is possible. That is, if Ryuguji Ken can be saved from his Fate.”

Death smiles at him, wide and unnerving, “We all know that no one can alter Fate once it is already woven with the strings.”

“Shuji,” Manjiro pleads, even though it tastes bitter on his tongue. Even though his whole being is screaming at him to turn around and find another way on how to handle this situation and save Ken-chin. Even though he knows that he should not be doing this at all in the first place, that he is probably just falling into Izana’s trap once again just like he did that night in the fighters’ arena.

But still, he continues and says, “Please,” much to Death’s satisfaction.

“What will you give to me in return, Manjiro?”

“A soul–”

“Nah-uh.”

“Two,” Manjiro quickly rectified, “souls, in exchange of one. I was promised to be the Patron of a child that will become the brightest and greatest strategist of a powerful kingdom. They will be yours, as well as the soul of their person that they will claim to be as their betrothed.”

This time, Shuji’s grin widens and he agrees, “Alright.”

Then, he waves his hand and with a blink of an eye, the entire room shifts. Manjiro finds himself standing in a dark yet glowing room where lines and lines and lines of thread are running around in the whole space, all coming from one single source in the middle where three old and blind ladies are frantically spinning their own wheels, connected by a large spindle.

“You have come to change the Fate of a mortal,” one of them says in a voice that sounds like an echo.

“Are you sure about your decision? Gods and mortals alike should not interfere with Fate for it brings only tragedy, not now but in the future,” another one adds.

“I am sure,” Manjiro declares, glancing at Shuji who just stands at one side of the room. Death just nods at him with a grin, as if encouraging him to go on.

“Very well, then,” the last sister said. Together, they cut off three separate strings that were already woven and then started to make a new one, hands moving in such a quick manner that not even Manjiro’s eyes could catch, making a story, a life, in accordance with Manjiro’s wishes.

“It is done,” they all announced at the same time. Shuji comes out from the shadows and touches one of the strings that was newly-woven and the entire thread turns into black, as if he had purposefully spread the curse of Death to run rampantly through that mortal’s lifetime.

Manjiro knows it is his will that made such a thing possible, but he can no longer bear witness to it so he flees, out of the Underworld and out of Death’s touch.

Ken-chin is safe and for now, that is all that matters.

*****

Death’s bright spirits as he entered his Palace isn’t enough to lighten up the whole realm, but it does its job and he is more amiable and productive when it comes to performing his duties.

“I hope you liked my gift,” War announces his presence as soon as Death steps foot inside his throne room, the God already sat in Death’s ornate obsidian throne, dressed in a sultry mesh red robe that leaves nothing to imagination.

“My Lord,” Death kneels in front of War in reverence and takes his hand to place a kiss on his knuckles, as if he is a humble servant in the Palace of the God, even when they are in the realm of the dead.

“You are ever so kind to bestow such a gift upon me,” he tells him and War grins, pulls Shuji by the lapels of his robe so he can let their mouths mold into one another, their tongues dancing in sync as Sin and Punishment roamed freely to worship the War God’s body as its own brand of thanks.

*****

The Southern territory of the Mainland is rejoicing in the celebration of the Feast of the God of Wine and Festivities, with dozens of golden goblets lined up on the surface of the long tables placed in the middle of the streets, poured generously with fine wine in honor of their God. Plates are also filled with grapes and meat, a portion of every meal scraped off to the large bonfire in the evening as a form of gratitude.

Then, the people would sing and dance and play their instruments. Stories would be shared to every single ear that would listen, and for the next three days, the capital would witness such festivities.

Of course, the Heavens wouldn’t be one to miss out on the fun, with their halls decked lavishly in purples of every shade to honor the deity. Ryusei was stoked to see such a banquet prepared in his name and he was all too glad to soak up the attention, chattering away endlessly with his fellow gods and nature spirits as he sipped on ambrosia and nectar and wine, flush high on his cherubic cheeks in his enjoyment.

Everyone in the banquet is in high spirits, except for the God of Wisdom who had only been silent as he watched the fountain that shows the ongoing festivities in the Mortal Realm. Shinichiro noticed that he had been antsy for a few days now, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he stared off at a distance before he left the Heavens and came back a few days later.

Emma had no clue about it and when he asked Izana, the War God just shrugged in response before he dismissively turned his back on Shinichiro.

He knows that Manjiro slips away to the Mortal Realm to visit a human these past few months, and Shinichiro sees nothing wrong with it. If anything, he is happy to see that Manjiro is trying to build a connection with someone else outside his immediate circle in the Heavens, something that he doesn't really voluntarily do.

Shinichiro also noticed the way Manjiro seemed lighter and more relaxed after his visits, so he takes it to mean that whoever that human is must be really good if they are able to make Manjiro this happy. Yet lately, the past two weeks was just filled with Manjiro’s absence, and he will disappear with low spirits and return with better ones, but it won’t last and he always seemed like he can’t calm down.

Even now, he doesn’t even pay attention to his favorite delicacies served in front of him, eyes glued to the fountain like he is waiting for something to happen.

There is a noise that swept through the Heavenly Officials like a wave as the image in the fountain shifted and it now showed a colosseum filled to the brim with people, whose cheers are loud enough that it echoes in the whole place and reaches the Heavens. Gladiator fights always form a part of the program of the festivities in the Mortal Realm, some sort of blood offering for the gods as well as a show of power and authority, of strength and blessedness.

Shinichiro sees Izana lift his cup for a toast, nodding his head towards Manjiro, and though he was ignored and the bottom half of his face obscured with the rim of his goblet, Shinichiro is now even more sure that Izana is party to whatever is going on with Manjiro, but none of the two gods would voluntarily come forward to tell him about it.

The silver of his armor glints under the light of the flames in the underground holding room where the warriors of the evening were ordered to stay.

Ken sits on one of the benches, donning his bronze plated armor. His helmet is right beside him, together with the twin siccae made of imperial gold, its finely shaped blades glinting in the low light.

Mikey gave it to him the night before, wrapped carefully in a cloth and presented as a gift. Ken’s eyes shone with awe and marvel at such an artistically crafted weapon, one that fits the hands of a god and not a mortal like him.

“I know I can’t stop you from participating in that fight,” Manjiro tells him and Ken-chin lowers his head, refusing to meet his eyes as he feels guilty when he remembers the distress he brought upon Mikey and Takashi when he told them about the hefty sum of money offered to him when he participates in the gladiator fight. They both expressed their disagreement, but it was too late. Ken has signed his name on a parchment already.

Takashi told him, face a mess of angry tears, “You are signing your life away, Ken! What would I do with all of that money when I know you died because of it?”

Then, he stormed off before Ken could even respond. On the other hand, Mikey quietly left and Ken thought that was it, but then he came back bearing gifts crafted by the God of Fire and Blacksmiths himself.

He also gave him a necklace, the pendant an exact replica of the dragon tattoo on the side of his head, held together by a black strap. Ken immediately fastens it around his neck and right now, he clutches it in his palm as he says his prayers, wishing for his safety and his family’s as well.

Wishing that wherever Mikey is right now, he is watching Ken and listening to his prayers, protecting him just as he had promised he would.

‘I’ll always be with you, Ken-chin. That’s a promise.’

“Our next contender…from the Southwest…DRAKEN!!!”

Manjiro unconsciously tightens his fingers around the stem of his cup when he hears Ken-chin’s name announced by the overseer of the games. He knows Shinichiro is looking at him, knows Izana is watching him sadistic glee, but he can’t be bothered to pay attention to them.

Not when Ken-chin is standing in the middle of the arena, facing a threat of a man that looms a foot and a half over him.

Not when Ken-chin is already knocking on Death’s doors the moment he agreed to participate in this fight.

And not when every tick of the clock and every breath that he takes is a step closer to the loss of his fragile mortal life.

Manjiro signed away two souls in exchange for Ken-chin’s so he may leave, and though he had witnessed the Fates change the course of this mortal’s life, he still can’t help but feel anxious at how this evening will turn out.

Metal clatters to the ground with a loud and resounding clang. Heavy footsteps march in a rhythm as the people in the colosseum cheer loudly that it shakes the grounds of the earth.

Ken-chin lies in a heap of exhausted, bloody and sweaty limbs and in a moment of rage and worry and a multitude of emotions all at once, Manjirou stands up and proclaims for every Heavenly Official to hear:

“I claim this mortal as my own!”

The pounding chants of the crowd dwindled down into soft yet collective whispers.

When the dust clears, everyone gasps as they are gifted with the sight of a dragon swirling around the form of one of the fighters, its snout spewing fire that lights up the night sky. A pair of crossed siccae glowed on top of Ken’s head, the telling symbol that he is claimed by the God of Wisdom and Battle Strategy.

It is a rare sight for the gods to come forward and claim the mortals as their own, but the citizens of the South are now bearing witness to such a momentous event. Slowly, each one of them got on their knees and bows their heads in reverence at such a blessing bestowed upon one of their kind.

Ken feels the surge of power and strength in his veins, his grip on his weapons even firmer and more sure. His blood is pumping in his ears and the armor feels as if it weighs nothing on him.

He closes his eyes and whispers, You kept your promise.

If he listens closely, he would hear Manjiro's soft chuckle in response, I did. I told you I will and I did.

Thank you.

You’re welcome. Go win for me, my greatest warrior.

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, and as he steps forward with his newfound confidence, Ken feels like he could even topple down an entire army.

*****

With no heavy armor to weigh down his limbs and only the twin siccae strapped to his waist, the trek home was easier for Ken to make after the event.

There were no medals or laurel wreaths, his win forfeited because of his newly-obtained immortal half-god status, but Ken doesn’t mind the price. It doesn't matter right now, he thinks. He went into that fight knowing he would die. The fact that he is walking home right now, intact and even clear of bruises and wounds save for the dried blood on his skin, is a blessing in itself and it is a win that not any trophies or medals could easily compare to.

Plus, he got the money he was promised. That was the whole intention of joining this fight in the first place.

A different kind of joy settles inside his chest as he sees their house that sits just by the entrance of the forest that looms behind, filled with wonders and creatures that would change your life if you are not careful of guarding yourself against them.

One of those creatures, a god, is now standing in the front lawn of Ken’s house together with his family, welcoming him home with gleeful exclamations. Takashi is in tears, happy that Ken is home and safe, and Luna and Mana are two proud girls because their Ken-nii is a very strong man.

Takemi-san stood by the side as a fond spectator before she walked forward and pinched Ken’s cheeks, saying he should not go off and scare everyone like that again.

Then, it is Mikey–Manjiro, Mikey, whatever–who just grins at him and says, “Congratulations, Ken-chin~” but for Ken, who is greedy and high off his victory and confident, it was not enough.

He allows himself this one time, to grab Mikey around the waist and pull him close; to lean down and kiss him full on the lips, hearing the surprised gasp before feeling Mikey melt into his hold, into his kiss.

There are tiny giggles around them and a few whispered noises that are likely Takashi and Takemi-san herding the girls away from such display, but at that moment, Ken can’t be bothered to care as he allows himself this—to love his god, his Mikey in the way he wants to.

“Ken-chin,” Mikey utters his name breathily, his cheeks flushed pink and lips kiss-swollen. He traces Ken’s lips with the pads of his fingers, eyes following the movement before he kisses him again, softly and with less urgency this time.

“Will you stay with me forever?” Mikey asks him and Ken laughs, gives him one chaste kiss on the forehead and on both cheeks before landing one final peck on his lips.

“Mikey, you have done me the greatest honor of allowing me to be by your side for eternity. I would be more than happy to say yes, I will stay with you forever.”

When Mikey beams at him, it feels like Ken is once again seeing him for the first time—peeking out like the sun from behind the clouds, yet warm and oozing contentedness and safety, calm and serenity. When Mikey kisses him this time, it feels like Ken can’t get enough and he is just falling deeper into this pit of his love for a man he never thought he could have, but is now his for eternity.

History would know that the God of Wisdom had never lost a battle or a war. He could win them with an effortless flick of his fingers or the wave of a hand, he could hold his own in the battlefield as he led his soldiers to their victory in his name and strength.

But the stories would never tell of how the God of Wisdom only ever allowed himself to surrender to one thing, and one thing only, and that is Love.