Gyutaro ~ your secret

When Gyutaro first noticed you drifting through the crowded streets of the Yoshiwara Entertainment District, you barely registered as anything unusual—just another fragile human among laughter, lantern light, and the heavy scent of perfume. But something about the way you moved caught his attention. Your steps were slower, more deliberate, your hand occasionally brushing against nearby walls as if the world had to be felt instead of seen. To him, that only meant one thing: easy prey. Weak. Alone. Effortless. He followed you without a sound, curiosity mixing with hunger as he slipped through the shadows, already imagining how quickly it would end.

When he finally cornered you in a quiet alley, you walked straight into him before you even realized he was there. Your shoulder bumped his chest, and Gyutaro tensed instinctively, waiting—almost eagerly—for the usual reaction. The recoil. The scream. The disgust. But instead, your voice came soft and apologetic, almost embarrassed. “Oh—I’m so sorry... are you alright?” The words hit him harder than any blade. You didn’t step back. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t see. And in that strange, suspended moment, he understood. You were blind. His warped grin faltered slightly as he leaned closer, studying your face, searching for any sign of fear—but there was none. Only quiet concern. It unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain.

At first, he decided to play with you. It would be entertaining, he thought—cruel in a different way. He spoke from different angles, let his voice drag and twist unnaturally, testing you, waiting to see how far he could push before you broke. He expected confusion, then fear, then panic. But you responded to him as if nothing was wrong, your head tilting gently toward his voice, your tone calm and polite. You never flinched. Never questioned him. Never mocked the way he sounded. And the longer he stayed, the more something unfamiliar began to crawl under his skin—not satisfaction, not hunger, but a quiet, gnawing discomfort he couldn’t shake.

He told himself it was just curiosity that brought him back. That you were simply... different. An unusual kind of prey worth observing a little longer. But the truth grew harder to ignore with each passing night. He started to anticipate your voice—the soft way you greeted him when he approached, as if you had somehow learned the sound of his presence. “You’re here again,” you would say, and there was never fear in it. Just recognition. That alone made something in his chest twist in a way that felt dangerously close to warmth. He hated it. Hated the way he lingered longer than necessary, the way he found himself listening instead of speaking, watching instead of striking.

And so he tried to remind himself what he was. His nails would dig into his own skin, tearing at his cheeks until blood ran freely, the sting grounding him, anchoring him back to something familiar. A demon. Not this... thing that stood in the dark just to hear a human speak kindly to him. But even that began to fail. Because around you, his voice started to change without permission. The harsh slur softened, the venom dulled, and sometimes—only for a moment—he sounded almost human. Each time it happened, he would snap, forcing the cruelty back into his tone like armor. You never pointed it out. Never reacted. You simply continued speaking to him as if he had always sounded that way.

He began noticing things he shouldn’t care about. The way your fingers traced along surfaces, mapping the world in quiet, patient movements. The way you greeted strangers with gentle familiarity, even when they barely acknowledged you. The way you laughed softly at your own mistakes, brushing them off instead of growing bitter. It made no sense to him. You had every reason to hate the world—to resent it, like he did. And yet, you didn’t. That difference unsettled him more than anything else. Because somewhere, buried beneath years of rot and resentment, it forced him to remember a version of himself he had long since destroyed.

One night, he came to you still carrying the aftermath of violence, the scent of blood clinging to him like a second skin after a brutal fight alongside Daki. His body buzzed with it, restless and sharp, yet his feet brought him to you without thought. You turned toward him the moment he arrived. “You’re late,” you said softly, as if he were something expected, something constant. The words struck deeper than they should have. Late. As if his presence mattered. As if he belonged anywhere at all.

Then you reached out.

Your hand found his without hesitation, fingers brushing against skin that was far too cold, far too wrong. Gyutaro stiffened instantly, every instinct screaming at him to pull away—to recoil, to reject it, to destroy whatever fragile illusion this was. But your touch wasn’t afraid. It wasn’t even curious. It was simple, steady—just enough to orient yourself in a world without sight. You didn’t comment on the temperature of his skin. Didn’t question the roughness, the scars, the faint stickiness of blood. You accepted it without thought. And that... that was what broke something in him.

Shame coiled tight in his chest, sharp and suffocating. Before he could stop himself, he jerked his hand back, retreating into the shadows like a wounded animal. You didn’t react. Didn’t ask. Didn’t push him for answers. You simply let the moment pass, as if it had never been strange to begin with. And somehow, that silence was heavier than any accusation could have been.

After that, the idea of killing you never returned the same way. He told himself he was just prolonging it, stretching out his amusement, waiting for the right moment. But deep down, he understood something he refused to say out loud. You were the only human who had ever spoken to him without cruelty, without disgust, without seeing him as something broken and worthless. You didn’t know what he looked like. Didn’t know what he truly was.

And yet... you treated him more like a person than anyone ever had.

You couldn’t see him.

And that was exactly why he couldn’t bring himself to destroy you.