That night, I will never forget as long as I live.
Even after I returned to Gifu Castle. I still couldn't stop shaking. The smell of ash seemed to cling to my hair and my skin and wouldn't leave. When I closed my eyes, that hushed, scorched field rose up behind my eyelids. I couldn't get food down. I didn't want to speak to anyone.
The night grew late. Kicho came to my room. Quietly opening the sliding door. Even seeing me sitting in the dark, hugging my knees. Kicho didn't say anything. She wasn't startled, either.
Even seeing the Demon King who had burned the Buddha's mountain curled up in the corner of the room like a child. She just quietly came over. And sat down beside me. Without even lighting a lamp. In the dark, she was simply there for me.
And with that—something inside me broke. Something I had held back for so long, so long. I began to cry in front of Kicho, like a child.
"...Kicho."
My voice shook so that the words wouldn't come. Even so, for the first time, I poured everything out. The truth I'd never been able to tell anyone.
"I... I don't want to scare everyone."
"I just want to live peacefully. I don't want to hurt anyone."
"But... when things get bad, my body moves on its own."
"On its own, it... kills people."
"When I come to, someone's always dead. By my hand."
Sobbing, I went on.
"I... I can't take it anymore."
"I hate it. Being scared, killing, being feared—I hate all of it."
And then, for the first time, I said it out loud. The one wish I'd kept sunk at the bottom of my heart all along.
"I want... to go back to being..."
"Just an ordinary man."
The moment I said it. Something in the deepest part of my chest crumpled. And I cried again.
An ordinary man. Afraid of no one, killing no one, feared by no one. Just living quietly. Something that ordinary, I could never reach.
When I'd finished. I looked at my hands. These hands that set the fire. These hands that took so many lives. These hands that shook and wouldn't stop.
"...With hands like these, I can't even hold your hand anymore, Kicho."
I murmured that.
Kicho. Didn't say anything. No comfort, no encouragement passed her lips. Only—she took my hand. My cold, stiff hand. Held it wrapped in both of hers. And never let go.
Only Kicho knew. That my tears weren't a victory cry. That I was no Demon King, only a single man, frightened and crying.
Kicho said nothing. She just held my hand.
—That warmth alone, that night, let me stay human.