Chapter Text
Pale purple eyes looked over the side of the building at the moving traffic on the lot up street below. People moved around, unaware of the scene that was unfurling above them. White hair, with slightly long strands that framed a small pale face, rustled about in a slight breeze. The click of a gun's hammer caused those purple eyes to move to the side as the small, pale face turned. A young woman with long black hair, and tears in her dark eyes, watched as a tiny smile appeared on the pale face.
“If you don’t jump, I’ll shoot,” a male's gruff voice informed the owner of the pale face.
“Fine.”
It was a singular voice spoken softly. The owner of the pale face easily hoisted themselves onto the ledge of the skyscraper, their glance looking down at the ground. The white hair began to move wildly, whipping around the face. They just wanted one thing.
“Let her go, and I’ll jump.”
The dark-haired woman was release by a large man, and that tiny smile appeared again before they stepped back, and off the ledge. The purple eyes watched as the woman rushed to the ledge, and a few of her tears travelled down with them. Leaving the Yakuza was almost impossible, and they would not have if not for their best friend in a dangerous situation by one of the elder brothers that had wanted to run the family. It was better to die protecting someone, than hurting another.
Wasn’t it?
That was their last thought as their world turned black, and a distant scream hit their ears before followed by silence. The darkness was welcoming, even as a light began to appear before them. When had they stood up? Had they… their train of thought ended as a woman, kind faced and with the same purple eyes, appeared before them. Tears began to gather in soft eyes.
“Mama?” They soft asked, their voice a whisper.
“My beautiful baby girl,” the woman confirmed.
She let out a soft grunt as they barreled into her, tears flowing down their face. Her daughter had grown to be so beautiful. Yet, in a country where she was considered a curse. All from her heritage and coloring. The woman gently ran a hand through the white strands; it was such a beautiful color too.
“Mizuki… that’s not the name I picked for you,” the woman gently informed her bawling daughter as she ran her hands through the strands of white hair, “I wanted to name you Kaguya.”
“I’ve been Mizuki all my life since…” her daughter trailed off and she ran a hand over the sleeve that hid the Yakuza marking from the world, “all twelve years of it.”
“I know, my sweet girl,” she gently chided, before noticing something, “your red string is still intact, you can find happiness still.”
“Mama, I died,” Mizuki awkwardly pointed out.
“In this world, but not another,” her mother said, kissing her daughter's forehead, “even if the next life is sad, go find this person…you deserve them. Take this second chance and protect those dear to you.”
Mizuki went to say something when her mother gave her a shove. Her eyes widened before the darkness started to fill the edges of her vision. Her mother’s sad smile was the last thing she could remember.
It was cold, her mind supplied. Way too cold. Her eyes slowly opened, and her world became filled with white. She felt one side of her face, but not the other. She slowly moved her head and heard a crunch following her movements. Snow? It had been summer when she…she didn’t want to think about it. She slowly regained feeling in her arms and pushed into the ground. She took a deep breath in, and she felt her lungs expanding. It was a technique taught to her by one of the older men when she was little. The concentrated breathing, she sometimes used it when she was in a kendo match. She never lost those matches, never.
She pushed herself to her knees and noticed the snow that had started to fall. She jumped off a building for a quick death to save someone, and now she was going to die of hypothermia. She didn’t know what her mother was thinking but slowly stood up. She would keep going, even if it were to just honor the one person who tried to give her a second chance. A chance away from the crime syndicates that owned her.
Her footfalls were heavy in the deep snow, and her breaths were coming out in small white clouds. It was starting to get dark, just where was she? She looked up in the distance and noticed the mountains. Mount Kumotori? She was still in Japan, that was a good thing. It meant she didn’t need to learn a new language or change how she looked. Her white hair slowly moved into her line of sight, and her eyes narrowed slightly. No, her hair was an anomaly in the country. She would have to dye it to try and fit in, not that it bothered her.
She gave a slow, lethargic blink and caught sight of a warm light in the distance. Her trajectory changed, and she felt her body becoming heavier, and heavier. One of her knees buckled, and she went back into the snow. She had given it everything she could, but the cold was too much even for her. Her eyes slowly closed, and a wry expression appeared on her face. Of course, she gets a second chance only to die again. The edges of her vision gained black spots before everything went black again. Then the heat began.
“She’s a child,” a soft voice said, and Mizuki felt something cool on her forehead that quenched the flame if only for a second.
“And yet, she has seen more pain than most,” a male voice said, it was just as soft but also warm.
“Otou-san is she okay?” a young voice asked, and her mind supplied that it was a small boy.
“She still looks too pale,” another young voice said, this one a girl.
“Nezuko,” the soft voice gently chided.
“She does,” the young girl mumbled, and Mizuki wanted to laugh a little but instead coughed.
“Nezuko, Tanjiro, please go get more firewood,” the soft voice said, and she heard the pattering of small feet.
“Walking around in the snow was quite foolish,” the warm voice informed her, and she slowly opened her eyes to see the person who was talking.
It was an older man, with long dark hair with red at the tips. His eyes were red, and so warm. Mizuki did not feel any ill will from him; in fact, she did not feel anything at all. Just an odd sense of death. Like it hung to him in the same manner of a cloak. He was sick, and so thin.
“I would agree,” she hoarsely admitted, and the heat that filled her body surged at the attempt to speak.
“You have Yakuza markings yet are too young to have lived such a life,” the man commented, and she gave a slow blink before staring up at the hatched ceiling, “I’m curious about the story, young one.”
“My grandfather sold me to them when my mother passed away,” Mizuki admitted, “I was young enough that I don’t fully remember what happened before then.”
“You are well spoken,” he saw, and she gave him a confused look before a rag was gently placed against her face by a woman with soft eyes like hers.
“Tanjuro,” the woman softly chided the man, and he gave her a soft smile full of warmth that Mizuki had never experienced in her life.
“I was just observing, my dear,” Tanjuro said before giving the child in front of him with a worried expression before it softened, “I wouldn’t feel right sending you out without help.”
“We aren’t sending her away,” his wife agreed with a sharp nod of her head, her soft eyes sharpening.
Mizuki marveled at the strength of these strangers that were ready to let her into their home. Her eyes slowly slid back close, and she welcomed the warmth this time. Time seemed to pass slowly for her as she slept off a bad fever. Kie, the woman with the soft purple eyes identical to hers, had nursed her back to health with the help of a young girl with pink eyes. It was with a strange soup that had a blue color to it, but Mizuki found that she liked it. This was the second chance that her mother wanted to give her. She found that she liked staying with the Kamado family, even if they liked putting her to work where they could. Tanjuro was not harsh with her and allowed her to make mistakes in her learning curb. Kei seemed overjoyed having a second pair of hands that could help her with ease.
“Can you bring that over to the door, Mizuki?” Kei asked, pointing at a container full of charcoal.
“Yes, Kie-san,” Mizuki easily agreed.
Kie wondered about the girl's strength as she easily picked up the container and waited to hear where it was wanted. Mizuki was strong, stronger than a small frame should allow. Granted, she had grown a bit while staying with them. She gave a soft smile as her two eldest children ran up to Mizuki and began to tug on the hem of her kimono, the once deep blue fabric was faded with age and there were a few spots that showed she had taken a needle and thread to it. Her hair had grown, brushing past her shoulders and framing her face. Kie wondered how the girl's mother would have felt to know that her daughter had gone through so much at such an early age. It showed when she would watch the trees in a thoughtful manner as she gently braided Nezuko’s hair.
“Mizuki-nee-chan,” Tanjiro called, and Mizuki gave him her full attention, “are you going to bring it down the mountain with me?”
“If it’s all right with Kie-san,” Mizuki said, and Kei gave a gentle nod of her head, “then I shall put this on your cart.”
Mizuki was enjoying her life. Somehow, she had settled into the Kamado household. She had genuine little siblings, and two people she could call parents. Her smile was soft and genuine as Nezuko gave Tanjiro a grin before handing him their lunch. The others were too small to make the journey, but she knew they wanted to go. She looked towards the small house, and Tanjuro gave a weak wave. She would pick up some medicine for him, it was the least she could do. Takeo, Hanako, and Shigeru were helping Kie look after Rokuta.
“Don’t get lost, okay?” Nezuko requested.
“I’m not worried, Tanjiro has the strongest nose I know,” Mizuki gently said, her smile turning teasing as she looked at Tanjiro.
“And Mizuki-Nee-chan has the best vision out of all of us, “Tanjiro teased back, and Mizuki gave a rusty sounding laugh.
Kie sometimes winced at the sound, but it was soon joined by her eldest’s laughter. The laugh that was barely used was starting to sound better. It used to sound worse. She gave the two a small wave and got a pair in return. Tanjiro and Mizuki were close, due to him practically forcing himself into her life. She had been quiet at first, but then his constant talking and requests for her help had drawn her out of her shell. Nezuko wanted to practice her hair styles on the white strands. White hair was such an oddity in Japan, but it suited the girl. It made her eyes lighten considerably.
“What does the world look like to you?” Tanjiro finally asked Mizuki as they walked down the mountain together, the cart rattled behind them with each step.
“What do you mean?” Mizuki asked, looking towards a tree in thought.
“Sometimes you look like you’re seeing something that no one else can see,” Tanjiro commented, and she gave him a slightly surprised look before glancing up at the sky.
“You know that I was owned by the Yakuza at one point,” Mizuki confirmed, and he gave a slow nod, “well, I am considered a luxury item, I can see things that others can’t… I’ve always been able to.”
“Like what?” Tanjiro asked.
“Those that should be resting peacefully,” Mizuki answered, “if I focus, I can sometimes see a weird string surrounding people.”
“Is it the red string?” Tanjiro asked, his eyes wide and she gave a soft chuckle in response.
“I’m… not that talented,” Mizuki admitted, “I remember hearing stories of my birth mother, she could see those, and she’d point people in the right direction.”
Mizuki heard Tanjiro’s sounds of amazement and her expression softened. He could be such a silly boy when he wanted to be. She gained a smile on her face, even as a cold breeze rippled through the area and through her kimono. She didn’t care that the Kamado family was considered poor, the Yakuza had been rich, but she didn’t want to go back to such a life, they were rich in family bonds. She reached behind her, and gently ruffled Tanjiro’s hair. He had one eye closed as he gained a surprised expression.
“Is there someone nearby us?” Tanjiro found himself asking.
“An Obaa-san,” Mizuki admitted, “she’s been around Tanjuro-san, and getting closer every day.”
“Ah, that’s our grandmother,” Tanjiro stated.
Mizuki did not agree. This old lady was cold and didn’t stare at Tanjuro with familial kindness. She watched him as though she was simply waiting for him to die. She heard the cart give a groan of sorts and grimaced before moving to help Tanjiro with it. She would have to try and fix the wheel before winter. She wasn’t too sure if she could fix it in the freezing temperatures. They both wheeled the cart down, and as Tanjiro began to sell the charcoal she knelt by the cart and looked at the damage done.
“It should be a quick fix,” She mumbled to herself, a single finger tapping her chin as she thought.
“Have you tried to sand the wheels to make the axels fit better?” A voice asked, and she barely glanced over her shoulder.
That was the spirit of an old man that had been killed by a samurai a long time ago. He was mimicking her position, looking at the cart with a furrowed brow and sharp brown eyes. He as a treasure trove of information when he thought someone could hear him. He was certain the white-haired girl could hear him, only because she had stared right at him at one point. It was a dangerous moment for her, and he wished to let the girl know. Yet, every time he tried to warn her against doing such a thing, his tongue grew heavy, and the feeling of a cold blade appeared on his neck. It was like someone was stopping him from saying anything to her.
“Mizuki-Nee-Chan,” Tanjiro called, and she glanced his way with a thoughtful expression, “old man Taro said we can borrow his tools.”
“Thank you,” Mizuki softly thanked Tanjiro.
Tanjiro sat by her side as she carefully worked on fixing the cart. Hands, once soft, had scars littering the surface and the veins flexed with each movement of a slender finger. Her hands were small; Tanjiro couldn’t help but notice. She was small, even for a slightly older girl. She had shot up in height but barely reached their father’s elbows. She sat back on her heels, and a part of him envied her balance. She was always able to do such things without even thinking. His nose twitched as her scent changed to show her thoughtful emotions. She was starting to get a little too deep in thought.
“What’s wrong?” Mizuki asked, and he sat up straight at the question.
“Your scent changed.” Tanjiro stated, and she gave him a surprised look.
“What does it smell like?” She asked.
“It is sweet. But also clean,” Tanjiro tried to explain.
“It might be wisteria, I grew up around a tree that bloomed for long periods of time,” Mizuki shrugged, “though I’ve been told that the smell can be unpleasant for some people.”
Tanjiro nodded at that and had to agree that it was the scent he was thinking of. It had been a long time since he had been around a wisteria tree. He watched as she lifted the cart and slipped the broken wheel back on. She carefully placed it back down and gave the cart a quick push to see if it would roll. She smiled to herself as it rolled back from the force.
“There it is, I think that should work,” Mizuki admitted, clapping her hands together and removing dust from them, “ready to head home?”
Tanjuro was welcomed to a strange sight one night. It was the middle of winter, and Mizuki was awake and watching something with a strange expression on her face. His body was weak, but he could still move to sit with her. She spared him a glance, and a gentle smile before returning her attention to whatever it was, she could see. He looked into the darkness, and thought he could see something as well.
“It’s a procession,” Mizuki quietly explained, “they came from one of the nearby tori gates… they don’t care for interruptions.”
He slowly nodded before letting out a soft breath, the white cloud that erupted from his mouth floating skyward. Tanjuro wondered what it meant that he was barely able to make them out. He closed his eyes for a second, and he could have sworn he heard bells chiming and a low mantra. He felt something placed around his shoulders, and reached up with a hand. He touched thick fabric. He opened his eyes to see that it was one of his many blankets. Mizuki sat back down, and continued her observation of the procession. She missed the smile sent her way, but she did not miss the ruffling of her slowly lengthening hair. Tanjuro was fortunate to have such wonderful children, even if this one wasn’t of his blood.
Mizuki looked at the procession, the formal clothes and the white sheets covering the faces. Spirits like that didn’t want to be known to people like her. She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, and heard the old woman behind Tanjuro give a harsh sounding huff. Of course, the woman that was waiting for Tanjuro to die would get upset with her for putting a blanket around his shoulders. She watched as a woman in the procession looked their way, before returning to her graceful walking. Mizuki was very aware that she was never going to move like that, no matter how hard she tried.
The white cloths covering the faces of the walkers fluttered in a wind that was unfelt by the living. The snow that fell and covered everything in sight seemed to miss them completely. The world of the dead was one that Mizuki was glad not to be a part of. They seemed so disconnected from the people they once where, which she supposed worked in their favor. They were trying to be reborn, and she didn’t know how successful they would be. With how far they were from the tori gate, she doubted they’d be reborn. If it weren’t for the fact that disrupting them would cause calamity, she would point them in the right direction.
She didn’t want to bring that calamity upon her new family.
Time moved quickly for her as she spent her time learning the charcoal trade from Tanjuro. She found that the summer was the time of year that he needed the most help. He would watch with sharp eyes as she fanned the flames with smooth movements. She never wavered, even if her arms were starting to get tired. A girl who looked slender and small had slowly begun to gain muscle mass as she worked to help his family. He smiled a little as she kept waving the fan, but used one of her free hands to wipe sweat away from her brow. Her hard work and determination shone through her sharp expression. She kept up the work as the seasons passed.
“Do we need more firewood?” Mizuki asked, standing in deep snow.
“If you don’t mind,” Tanjuro said as Kie fussed over the younger children.
“Not at all,” Mizuki gave a happy smile.
Mizuki liked chopping firewood, it let her mind wander and let her train her muscles. She took a deep breath, expanding her lungs before swiftly swinging the axe and breaking the log in two with ease. Concentrated breathing, she was sure it was a sword technique, but she wasn’t too sure. It expanded her lungs, and she felt as though she could control her muscles to an extent. It was such a strange sensation.
She kept up with the constant motion of chopping firewood, and thought back to her time with the old boss of the Yakuza. He had died when she was nine, but for those five years he was in her life, he had never once made her take the markings of a Yakuza. It wasn’t until he passed away and his son took over that she received them. She could still feel the needle being stabbed into her skin. She could never wear sleeveless shirts because of the marks. She breathed deep again, and swung on her heel and at a boar that had begun to charge at her while her mind was distracted.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you continue this path,” she calmly informed the boar.
It let out a loud squeal of anger, and increased its speed. She held the ax in a lose hold and gave it a sharp swing when it got close enough. Its head went spiralling from its body and she could feel warm liquid hitting her face. She brought her hands together in a silent prayer for the boar before heading towards the house with the firewood in her arms. She was quickly rushed inside so Kie could make sure she had no injuries. Nezuko wouldn’t leave her side after that happened, and Mizuki had a feeling it was a request from Kie. She didn’t mind, she enjoyed spending time with Nezuko.
Even if it did end up with her having a new hair style, every single time.
“What about this, Mizuki-nee-chan?” Nezuko asked as they walked around the village at the base of the mountain.
“It suits you,” Mizuki softly stated, noting that the pink ribbons would in fact suit Nezuko.
“But you also need one too,” Nezuko sighed, before pouting a little.
Mizuki felt sweat gathering on the side of her face as Nezuko began to go from stall to stall to try and find something for her. She couldn’t help but be a little touched as well. Nezuko was such a sweet child. Still, she smiled as Nezuko held up a purple ribbon with a victorious grin on her face. Never let it be said that Nezuko couldn’t find a good gift for people.
“There, now we can match during the summer festival,” Nezuko smiled, and Mizuki returned it as she tied the ribbon in her hair with ease.
“Maybe,” Mizuki agreed.
“You didn’t have to stay behind and look after me,” Tanjuro said to Mizuki as she got him some more water.
“I’ll have the festival next year, or the one after that,” Mizuki shrugged, “besides, they would’ve been sad if they missed it.”
Tanjuro smiled at her before blinking when she brought him some food. It was like she was used to taking care of people, and for some odd reason he was glad she was. He gave her arm a gentle pat when she got close enough, and when she finally stood still, and she glanced his way before giving him a tired smile. Her eyes would flick up, and she would gaze at something only she could see.
“I fear that I am not longed for this world,” Tanjuro admitted, “and what you can see is proof of that.”
“It’s what makes it so mad when I help,” Mizuki confirmed, “but I refuse to give up.”
Mizuki had adapted to the Kamado family spirit. She raged with a fire that was calmly burning, and he couldn’t be prouder of the girl he had welcomed into his family. Kamado Mizuki, it could be seen as a strange name, but she always seemed proud to have it. She wore a light purple haori, that once belonged to his mother, and a faded purple kimono that his wife had lent her. She was slowly outgrowing the kimono, but she never said anything.
“I think I might catch some salmon soon and make some sake daikon, it could help sooth your stomach,” Mizuki said in thought.
“And not just because it's your favorite,” Tanjuro found himself teasing the girl.
“Right,” Mizuki seriously answered, completely missing the teasing nature of their conversation.
His eldest wasn’t the best at communication, but she was getting better at it. He could only hope that one day she’d be able to make strong connections with those around her. He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep as Mizuki moved about the house. She moved quietly, which he knew was a learned trait. No one moved like that unless they had to, or trained for it. He heard her step outside the house, and opened his eyes to see her standing up straight.
“You have not been invited to this house, leave at once,” she said, her voice was strong, and he was immediately alert.
Mizuki looked up at the dark spirit that was standing before the Kamado house. She refused to give it entry and had been for a while. A spirit like this, had done such horrible things in its life. Not a demon, no those were something still technically living, but something that was once human. She used to keep these from the Yakuza compound she had lived in, which made sense to her. But, why was it showing up at the Kamado household? There was no horrible past attached to the land, nor were the spirits nearby that strong. It’s body flickered, the shadowy figure seemed to tilt their head to the side. It was an intimidation act, and it never worked with her.
“I will not hesitate, leave,” she ordered the dark spirit.
It stepped back from her, and she took a few steps forward. She knew the best thing was to stand up to it. To show no fear to something that could easily take her life if it wanted to. It slowly lumbered away as the teen kept moving forward. Tanjuro knew one thing.
His family would be protected once he had no choice but to leave them.