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[ Yuta watches, still completely bewildered and somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer confusion this odd situation has brought about, as the teen(? or reincarnated sorcerer?) goes to fetch the sword left on the bench. There's no alarm now; not when Rika returns to his side in exceptionally good spirits and the way the sword is held, between two hands with such care, is a clear indication that it isn't grabbed as some kind of prelude to violence. There's still no hostility, no sign he's about to be attacked or anything.
It quickly becomes obvious that this sword is the "something" that's supposedly been brought for him.
Yuta's eyes are still wide with his baffled shock as he glances down at the blade being presented to him for his taking, gaze tracing along the length of it. ]
That's—
[ Not his sword? He's holding his sword. Although it matches the plainness of the swords he keeps in his inventory, the beautiful tsuba sets it apart from any of the swords he's ever held before. (They don't bother giving him anything fancy, knowing his penchant for breaking them.) He would remember such a distinct detail, but he doesn't recognize it at all. Just as he doesn't recognize Mumei. He has to wonder if it's some kind of trick then. It's suspicious to come here offering him a sword when he clearly has one already, isn't it?
But it doesn't explain Rika's reaction or the warm familiarity he's been greeted with. Yuta doesn't know what to think or what to do. He feels so, so lost. He doesn't take the sword. He merely looks back up at Mumei, expression twisting into something vaguely apologetic, but mostly confused as he finally finds his voice to ask the question he should have been asking right away. ]
Um, I'm sorry, but... who are you?
[ There's not a single spark of recognition in his eyes. ]
[ The disappointment is clear. It falls across Mumei's face like a shadow as Yuta finishes his question, clouds heralding cold rain on a chill autumn's day.
He saw the suffering, or rather the absence of it, on Yuta's heart the moment he recognized his silhouette in the distance. And he had realized that the mirror in the fairy's lake had only managed to select the right timeline, not the point within it when he found himself at the barrier into the Sendai colony. The truth of the soul does not bow to time. Hope had kept it's grip on his own heart, especially when Rika had recognized him immediately. Maybe that truth is only for souls that aren't tethered to this world by a living body.
The first truth is suffering, and he knows this.
He had hoped, is all.
The disappointed expression is brief and fleeting; like the clouds are only a reflection in a well polished blade being turned in hand. He still stands straight, steel in his spine. He's still holding out Yuta's sword, waiting for him to take it. Of the warm affection in his original greeting, there is only cool professionalism. ]
Ah—I'm... [ How to explain? He is loath to cast ripples in the stream of time more than he already has. And he knows that strange homunculus is still here, hovering and unseen. There is no privacy with that thing around. And with Yuta looking at him like that, how can Mumei ever hope to explain what he means to Muramasa? ]
... You're my responsibility.
[ The sword hasn't moved, and he still hasn't answered the question, but its the truth. ]
[ Although it's brief and as passing as a leaf on the wind, the disappointment is obvious on Mumei's face and Yuta feels bad for being the cause even if he can't help it. He can't feign any familiarity where there is none and he sees no reason to try and fake it when deception seems unnecessary in this situation anyway. Even if something colder is left behind in the wake of the disappointment in his demeanor, Mumei continues to present himself in a manner that's non-threatening in spite of his overwhelming presence, still keeps holding out the sword for Yuta to take without missing a beat.
Yuta remains hesitant to do so. Not because he doesn't trust it at this point—taking the sword and leaving Mumei unarmed would probably be the more advantageous move—but more because he doesn't want to give him cause to leave when he's not giving any real answers. What little he does say only serves to throw Yuta off more. ]
Responsibility?
[ He echoes, brows furrowing with deepening uncertainty. It doesn't make any sense for him to be some stranger's responsibility. Unless: ]
... Did Gojo-sensei send you?
[ That still wouldn't answer much of anything like why he seems to know him and (more notably) Rika so personally, but it's the closest thing Yuta can grasp for to make sense out of all this. Gojo had asked him to look after everyone else in case anything ever happened to him which it had, so it would stand to reason he might have asked someone to look out for him, too. ]
[ He shakes his head, mop of unruly white hair ruffling in the wind. Yuta still hasn't taken his sword, the blade that is more Mumei's self than this body, and at this rate, he'll have to take things into his own hands.
He understands Yuta's caution, he thinks. Servants are hard to explain, even if one knows what's going on. In a place like this...? He can't blame him, even if the disappointment sinks in. ]
No. This is self-imposed.
[ And thusly, Mumei resolves to find a self-imposed solution as well; his footsteps are quiet, almost overtaken by the wind and the sound of it pulling at his layers, but he approaches Yuta with determination. Still without exuding any hostility or bloodthirst, still with the sword held out like a temple offering.
When he gets close enough, he stops, and releases the sword with one hand to take Yuta's own, intending to wrap Yuta's fingers around the saya himself. Mumei's hand is warm, with the rough calluses of a blacksmith (not a swordsman), and his touch is gentle — but insistent, as he guides Yuta's hand to wrap around the saya. ]
You sorcerers put all your stock in oaths, right? You'll have to show me how, but I can give a binding... um... oath? To prove my intentions, but I can't say much else with that little homunculus hiding around.
[ The shake of Mumei's head already tells Yuta that he's no closer to anything even remotely resembling an explanation for whatever is going on and why this stranger knows him — the verbal answer just cinches it. It puts Yuta right back to square one, feeling hopelessly lost and confused. The uncertainty breeds wariness and yet he doesn't budge when Mumei starts approaching him, does not even think to pull his hand away when it's reached for, because there's a sort of helpless intrigue too. As much as there is something uncanny about Mumei that Yuta can't quite put a finger on, there's nothing to suggest he means any harm. Rika remains perfectly relaxed where she comes to hover close by his side, too.
So when a warm, weathered hand takes gentle hold, Yuta offers no resistance to the touch and its direction. He's only slightly startled by the sheer heat of those insistent fingers, but it's... nice when his own hands are even colder than usual for his exhaustion and the winter temperatures. (It wouldn't be a problem, normally, but now that he's so thoroughly drained of cursed energy, the elements get a better chance to sink into his worn body.) He watches in befuddlement as he's made to grip the sword, fingers curling obligingly despite how his confusion grows at 'you sorcerers' and the struggle with the terminology. Just what is Mumei? ]
A binding vow. [ He corrects gently, distracted, glancing between sword and young man(?) before deciding: ] ... There's no need. Rika knows you, that's enough for me.
[ No idea how that is even possible and it doesn't sound like he'll get any answers soon, but Rika only wants what's best for him and he trusts her judgement. He lifts his other arm towards her, letting her pluck his sword from his hand to stash away in her inventory. It leaves his hand free to join the other on the blade Mumei is offering him, accepting it and drawing it closer to his own body in an old self-soothing habit, fingers finding the lingering traces of warmth where Mumei previously held it. ]
Um, thank you.
[ Unsure yet ever so polite as he offers a bow to go with the words of gratitude. Although he wants to examine the sword itself, there's something he feels he needs to confirm first. ]
By homunculus do you mean the Kogane?
[ Upon speaking its name, Yuta's personal one springs right into being and Yuta cants his head in its direction questioningly. ]
Good. That shit sounds like a pain in the ass and then some.
[ But Yuta takes his sword back, and things are as they are meant to be. Yuta's terrible, massive cursed presence folds itself around the Tsumukari, even through the saya, just like Rika's hands had picked up and embraced Mumei himself moments before. This was the point of reforging Yuta's sword, and it's paid off. Even if his terrible fate has not yet come to pass, and even if Yuta looks at him with confused bewilderment, at least Muramasa's wish is fulfilled.
Mumei folds his hands into his sleeves, the very picture of old fashioned and well mannered — but the smile playing across his mouth and the fondness in his eyes fond and warm do not match the formality of the image. When he returns Yuta's bow, he barely tips himself forward enough to count as polite, something meant from a master to a beloved student maybe.
He doesn't move, drinking in the sight and trying not to worry about the lack of shadows or the missing scars — ]
[ Yuta offers a little nod in response because yes, he agrees that a binding vow is a "pain in the ass" that he's not particularly looking to repeat nor wants to inflict upon someone else, but the motion is a touch distracted for how his attention keeps getting snared on how Mumei looks at him. Like a fish already hooked and caught on the line, helpless to resist the pull, he can't seem to avert his gaze for very long at all. There is such warmth and affection in Mumei's eyes, now bleeding into his smile, it makes Yuta truly desperate to know. Why? Why does he look at him like he's something precious and well-known when Yuta does not recognize him at all? Has he forgotten something (someone) really important? Has he fallen victim to someone's technique to cause that? The questions keep crowding in the back of his throat.
Much like the young man that stands before him, the sword in his hands, too, feels unlike any other cursed tool he's ever held before. They're both such a total mystery. Yuta wants to ask so badly, but he can't because—
Ah, it's as he suspected. He can't exactly blame Mumei for his distrust. More pressing and also more alarming is that he doesn't seem to know what the shikigami is for and that's... hm. ]
Um, yes. You've entered one of the colonies that's part of the Culling Game which automatically makes you a participant. Every player receives a Kogane. It acts as an interface between us and the game.
[ There's a sinking feeling and maybe he shouldn't ask, but Yuta asks it anyway, glancing between the sword in his hands and Mumei with growing apprehension after dismissing his Kogane in an attempt to put him more at ease. ]
Did you... come here just to give me this sword...?
[ Oh. The little bastard is gone already. He didn't even have time to get his hammer out, or he definitely wouldn't have let it live, haunting Yuta too. Bad enough that he's got one of the little fuckers following him around, hidden away in whatever space that spirits reside when they don't want to be real. Based on the look on his face, he's clearly not buying Yuta's explanation, but he's not arguing either. He'll just have to be faster next time. Maybe he can reshape some scrap he finds somewhere into something that he can have ready, and not waste time materializing his hammer or projecting a sword...
But more importantly, his boy. The moment the Kogane disappears (or to be precise, the moment Yuta turns the topic back to his sword), Mumei eases back into that placid contentment and affection, gaze as warm as his hands. ]
I can't say that's the only part, but it's the most important one. It's not like I could give her to anyone else.
[ It was the first thing he wanted on that very short list of desires, and now to have Yuta's hands wrapped around the tsumukari like it was made for him, he can focus more on the others... ]
[ Much like the way Mumei keeps eyeing the Kogane like the shikigami is an opponent until it disappears, the obvious skepticism really does not bode well. Not even the return of warm fondness in Mumei's expression does much to stop the sinking feeling from turning into a full stomach drop when his suspicions more or less get confirmed. If anything, it makes him feel even more bad. Whatever other reason Mumei might have for coming here, the primary one still seems to be Yuta and now he's been made part of the Culling Game, oblivious to its rules and dangers. That won't do. Yuta immediately feels responsible.
In a subconscious gesture that's a continuation of the old self-comforting habit, his grip tightens on the gifted sword, drawing it even closer to his chest as he regards Mumei with obvious concern painted all over his face, tone apologetic. ]
I'm sorry you got dragged into all this just to seek me out. My friends and I are working on getting people out of the game, so, please, if you'll stick with me for a little while, I can do the same for you.
[ That, and Yuta would very much like to get more answers out of Mumei whenever the maybe-not-stranger deems it safe enough to provide them. ]
[ Even without those scars, even without that extra layer of suffering, Yuta is still Yuta. Burdened with the responsibilities he takes on and devoted to his friends and their kindness. His hand shifts, pulling back out of where it is safely tucked away in his sleeve to follow the instinctual way he shows his affection; a gentle ruffle of his hair, reaching up to close the distance between their heights without worry for the fact that Yuta is armed and he is not.
It's probably too early to try anything else, and he doesn't want to rush things, not when Yuta looks so tired, and so in need of rests. He hasn't forgotten the nervous crowd of non-sorcerers sheltering inside the nest-like building either. There will be time for deeper affection or more honesty, for answering questions and learning more about Yuta's world once the bond is forged properly. He can worry about everything else after. ]
I already told you, you're my responsibility, so quit fussin' about it. This ritual's a piece of shit, and I want you to get a good look at the work before she's bloodied, so draw already, will you? Gently. You're not going to find a sharper blade than this one.
[ He can't really argue when he's known among his friends as such so puzzled agreement at the continued familiarity it is. Just as when he allowed Mumei to take his hands to place the sword within them, Yuta does nothing to dissuade any further touch or encroachment upon his personal space or even do so much as tense up as his eyes briefly track the trajectory of the hand being raised. Rather, there's the slightest incline of his head into the touch when warm fingers find their mark like something done out of the sheer force of habit of someone who is used to getting his hair ruffled. Because he somewhat is. It's gentler than Gojo's usual motions and it's... well, it's not entirely unwelcome given everything. (He misses his teacher, feels awful for not being there to help when it was needed most. Everything they're doing now plays a part in getting him back, too.)
All he can muster is an owlish blink at the affectionate gesture in his exhaustion before his expression shifts back to something still mildly concerned even after being told to stop fussing. The skepticism lingers a slight moment longer, but when the lack of knowing who and what Mumei are to him, he can't exactly refute whatever being his responsibility is about so he allows his attention to drift to the sword he's been gifted. ]
Okay...
[ As hesitant as his response sounds, his movements are much more sure as he lowers his arms and adjusts his grip to draw the sword with deliberate, mindful care. Being such a relatively new sword wielder, he's not nearly the same kind of expert Maki is, but he was taught by her and one glance at the steel is enough to tell him plenty of the incredible quality. Something about it seems familiar as he studies the hamon and holds the blade up to the afternoon light of the winter sun. He just can't place what it is right now. All the same... ]
It's beautiful.
[ Voice appropriately hushed in his awe, he can't resist stepping back, creating room for himself as Rika obligingly drifts to his unarmed side without need for verbal direction. It leaves his right free for him to roll the tsuka across his hand in a fluid, controlled spin, testing the blade's weight with practiced ease. It's more comfortable than any other sword he's ever held, like it was made for his very hand, and if the quality wasn't obvious from sight alone, then the handling would have made it so. The blade is pulled closer to his body once it returns to its starting position, his other hand lifting to run reverent fingers along the mune appreciatively as his gaze darts back to Mumei, a little disbelieving. ]
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no subject
It quickly becomes obvious that this sword is the "something" that's supposedly been brought for him.
Yuta's eyes are still wide with his baffled shock as he glances down at the blade being presented to him for his taking, gaze tracing along the length of it. ]
That's—
[ Not his sword? He's holding his sword. Although it matches the plainness of the swords he keeps in his inventory, the beautiful tsuba sets it apart from any of the swords he's ever held before. (They don't bother giving him anything fancy, knowing his penchant for breaking them.) He would remember such a distinct detail, but he doesn't recognize it at all. Just as he doesn't recognize Mumei. He has to wonder if it's some kind of trick then. It's suspicious to come here offering him a sword when he clearly has one already, isn't it?
But it doesn't explain Rika's reaction or the warm familiarity he's been greeted with. Yuta doesn't know what to think or what to do. He feels so, so lost. He doesn't take the sword. He merely looks back up at Mumei, expression twisting into something vaguely apologetic, but mostly confused as he finally finds his voice to ask the question he should have been asking right away. ]
Um, I'm sorry, but... who are you?
[ There's not a single spark of recognition in his eyes. ]
1/3.
no subject
no subject
He saw the suffering, or rather the absence of it, on Yuta's heart the moment he recognized his silhouette in the distance. And he had realized that the mirror in the fairy's lake had only managed to select the right timeline, not the point within it when he found himself at the barrier into the Sendai colony. The truth of the soul does not bow to time. Hope had kept it's grip on his own heart, especially when Rika had recognized him immediately. Maybe that truth is only for souls that aren't tethered to this world by a living body.
The first truth is suffering, and he knows this.
He had hoped, is all.
The disappointed expression is brief and fleeting; like the clouds are only a reflection in a well polished blade being turned in hand. He still stands straight, steel in his spine. He's still holding out Yuta's sword, waiting for him to take it. Of the warm affection in his original greeting, there is only cool professionalism. ]
Ah—I'm... [ How to explain? He is loath to cast ripples in the stream of time more than he already has. And he knows that strange homunculus is still here, hovering and unseen. There is no privacy with that thing around. And with Yuta looking at him like that, how can Mumei ever hope to explain what he means to Muramasa? ]
... You're my responsibility.
[ The sword hasn't moved, and he still hasn't answered the question, but its the truth. ]
no subject
Yuta remains hesitant to do so. Not because he doesn't trust it at this point—taking the sword and leaving Mumei unarmed would probably be the more advantageous move—but more because he doesn't want to give him cause to leave when he's not giving any real answers. What little he does say only serves to throw Yuta off more. ]
Responsibility?
[ He echoes, brows furrowing with deepening uncertainty. It doesn't make any sense for him to be some stranger's responsibility. Unless: ]
... Did Gojo-sensei send you?
[ That still wouldn't answer much of anything like why he seems to know him and (more notably) Rika so personally, but it's the closest thing Yuta can grasp for to make sense out of all this. Gojo had asked him to look after everyone else in case anything ever happened to him which it had, so it would stand to reason he might have asked someone to look out for him, too. ]
no subject
He understands Yuta's caution, he thinks. Servants are hard to explain, even if one knows what's going on. In a place like this...? He can't blame him, even if the disappointment sinks in. ]
No. This is self-imposed.
[ And thusly, Mumei resolves to find a self-imposed solution as well; his footsteps are quiet, almost overtaken by the wind and the sound of it pulling at his layers, but he approaches Yuta with determination. Still without exuding any hostility or bloodthirst, still with the sword held out like a temple offering.
When he gets close enough, he stops, and releases the sword with one hand to take Yuta's own, intending to wrap Yuta's fingers around the saya himself. Mumei's hand is warm, with the rough calluses of a blacksmith (not a swordsman), and his touch is gentle — but insistent, as he guides Yuta's hand to wrap around the saya. ]
You sorcerers put all your stock in oaths, right? You'll have to show me how, but I can give a binding... um... oath? To prove my intentions, but I can't say much else with that little homunculus hiding around.
no subject
So when a warm, weathered hand takes gentle hold, Yuta offers no resistance to the touch and its direction. He's only slightly startled by the sheer heat of those insistent fingers, but it's... nice when his own hands are even colder than usual for his exhaustion and the winter temperatures. (It wouldn't be a problem, normally, but now that he's so thoroughly drained of cursed energy, the elements get a better chance to sink into his worn body.) He watches in befuddlement as he's made to grip the sword, fingers curling obligingly despite how his confusion grows at 'you sorcerers' and the struggle with the terminology. Just what is Mumei? ]
A binding vow. [ He corrects gently, distracted, glancing between sword and young man(?) before deciding: ] ... There's no need. Rika knows you, that's enough for me.
[ No idea how that is even possible and it doesn't sound like he'll get any answers soon, but Rika only wants what's best for him and he trusts her judgement. He lifts his other arm towards her, letting her pluck his sword from his hand to stash away in her inventory. It leaves his hand free to join the other on the blade Mumei is offering him, accepting it and drawing it closer to his own body in an old self-soothing habit, fingers finding the lingering traces of warmth where Mumei previously held it. ]
Um, thank you.
[ Unsure yet ever so polite as he offers a bow to go with the words of gratitude. Although he wants to examine the sword itself, there's something he feels he needs to confirm first. ]
By homunculus do you mean the Kogane?
[ Upon speaking its name, Yuta's personal one springs right into being and Yuta cants his head in its direction questioningly. ]
1/2.
[ But Yuta takes his sword back, and things are as they are meant to be. Yuta's terrible, massive cursed presence folds itself around the Tsumukari, even through the saya, just like Rika's hands had picked up and embraced Mumei himself moments before. This was the point of reforging Yuta's sword, and it's paid off. Even if his terrible fate has not yet come to pass, and even if Yuta looks at him with confused bewilderment, at least Muramasa's wish is fulfilled.
Mumei folds his hands into his sleeves, the very picture of old fashioned and well mannered — but the smile playing across his mouth and the fondness in his eyes fond and warm do not match the formality of the image. When he returns Yuta's bow, he barely tips himself forward enough to count as polite, something meant from a master to a beloved student maybe.
He doesn't move, drinking in the sight and trying not to worry about the lack of shadows or the missing scars — ]
2/2.
Ou. That thing. You've got one too.
[ This close, he can definitely hit it with a throwing knife, probably....... ]
no subject
Much like the young man that stands before him, the sword in his hands, too, feels unlike any other cursed tool he's ever held before. They're both such a total mystery. Yuta wants to ask so badly, but he can't because—
Ah, it's as he suspected. He can't exactly blame Mumei for his distrust. More pressing and also more alarming is that he doesn't seem to know what the shikigami is for and that's... hm. ]
Um, yes. You've entered one of the colonies that's part of the Culling Game which automatically makes you a participant. Every player receives a Kogane. It acts as an interface between us and the game.
[ There's a sinking feeling and maybe he shouldn't ask, but Yuta asks it anyway, glancing between the sword in his hands and Mumei with growing apprehension after dismissing his Kogane in an attempt to put him more at ease. ]
Did you... come here just to give me this sword...?
no subject
But more importantly, his boy. The moment the Kogane disappears (or to be precise, the moment Yuta turns the topic back to his sword), Mumei eases back into that placid contentment and affection, gaze as warm as his hands. ]
I can't say that's the only part, but it's the most important one. It's not like I could give her to anyone else.
[ It was the first thing he wanted on that very short list of desires, and now to have Yuta's hands wrapped around the tsumukari like it was made for him, he can focus more on the others... ]
no subject
In a subconscious gesture that's a continuation of the old self-comforting habit, his grip tightens on the gifted sword, drawing it even closer to his chest as he regards Mumei with obvious concern painted all over his face, tone apologetic. ]
I'm sorry you got dragged into all this just to seek me out. My friends and I are working on getting people out of the game, so, please, if you'll stick with me for a little while, I can do the same for you.
[ That, and Yuta would very much like to get more answers out of Mumei whenever the maybe-not-stranger deems it safe enough to provide them. ]
no subject
[ Even without those scars, even without that extra layer of suffering, Yuta is still Yuta. Burdened with the responsibilities he takes on and devoted to his friends and their kindness. His hand shifts, pulling back out of where it is safely tucked away in his sleeve to follow the instinctual way he shows his affection; a gentle ruffle of his hair, reaching up to close the distance between their heights without worry for the fact that Yuta is armed and he is not.
It's probably too early to try anything else, and he doesn't want to rush things, not when Yuta looks so tired, and so in need of rests. He hasn't forgotten the nervous crowd of non-sorcerers sheltering inside the nest-like building either. There will be time for deeper affection or more honesty, for answering questions and learning more about Yuta's world once the bond is forged properly. He can worry about everything else after. ]
I already told you, you're my responsibility, so quit fussin' about it. This ritual's a piece of shit, and I want you to get a good look at the work before she's bloodied, so draw already, will you? Gently. You're not going to find a sharper blade than this one.
no subject
[ He can't really argue when he's known among his friends as such so puzzled agreement at the continued familiarity it is. Just as when he allowed Mumei to take his hands to place the sword within them, Yuta does nothing to dissuade any further touch or encroachment upon his personal space or even do so much as tense up as his eyes briefly track the trajectory of the hand being raised. Rather, there's the slightest incline of his head into the touch when warm fingers find their mark like something done out of the sheer force of habit of someone who is used to getting his hair ruffled. Because he somewhat is. It's gentler than Gojo's usual motions and it's... well, it's not entirely unwelcome given everything. (He misses his teacher, feels awful for not being there to help when it was needed most. Everything they're doing now plays a part in getting him back, too.)
All he can muster is an owlish blink at the affectionate gesture in his exhaustion before his expression shifts back to something still mildly concerned even after being told to stop fussing. The skepticism lingers a slight moment longer, but when the lack of knowing who and what Mumei are to him, he can't exactly refute whatever being his responsibility is about so he allows his attention to drift to the sword he's been gifted. ]
Okay...
[ As hesitant as his response sounds, his movements are much more sure as he lowers his arms and adjusts his grip to draw the sword with deliberate, mindful care. Being such a relatively new sword wielder, he's not nearly the same kind of expert Maki is, but he was taught by her and one glance at the steel is enough to tell him plenty of the incredible quality. Something about it seems familiar as he studies the hamon and holds the blade up to the afternoon light of the winter sun. He just can't place what it is right now. All the same... ]
It's beautiful.
[ Voice appropriately hushed in his awe, he can't resist stepping back, creating room for himself as Rika obligingly drifts to his unarmed side without need for verbal direction. It leaves his right free for him to roll the tsuka across his hand in a fluid, controlled spin, testing the blade's weight with practiced ease. It's more comfortable than any other sword he's ever held, like it was made for his very hand, and if the quality wasn't obvious from sight alone, then the handling would have made it so. The blade is pulled closer to his body once it returns to its starting position, his other hand lifting to run reverent fingers along the mune appreciatively as his gaze darts back to Mumei, a little disbelieving. ]
This is really for me?