The Demon Queen

The Small Family

It was his heart. Kenta's symptoms were alike to the symptoms Muzan had for his illness when he was a human. The worst would come if Kenta exerted himself too much, such as when he tried to walk too much or attempt to run. But still, there were times when Kenta's heart would randomly start to race out of control, even if he didn't try to physically exert himself.

We never visited a doctor, but Muzan knew what kinds of medicines he took when he was a human. We were able to steal what we needed from various physician practices and, to Muzan's expectations, they alleviated Kenta's symptoms to a certain degree.

But, of course, they couldn't cure him.

Muzan blamed himself for Kenta's illness. "He got it passed down from me," he said one time we were talking while Kenta slept. "I don't know how I can make it up to him."

"He doesn't blame you," I told him. "He doesn't blame either of us. At least he doesn't know anything else. He doesn't know what a healthy child is. He's never met anyone but us."

Muzan nodded. "You're right," he said. He looked to the futon we shared, in the middle of which Kenta slept peacefully. "But still, I'm tempted to turn him into a demon so he can't suffer anymore."

"He's hardly two years old. You can't."

That was not something I would stand for. I would not have my son spending an eternal life as a baby or young toddler.

"I know. I agree," Muzan said. "Maybe in a few more years."

That would still be too young.

"Maybe when he's ten, Muzan."

Muzan sighed. "It breaks me to see him in pain," he said. "I want to save him."

"And you will," I said. "But we need to wait until he's old enough. Once we do it, he'll be at that age forever."

He rubbed his forehead. "I know ..." He looked at me. "So, his tenth birthday. We agree."

Kenta started to grow up into being a kind of "mini-me" for Muzan. By the time he was three years old, he had a head of long, wavy black hair, just like Muzan. Even though he had my eyes, lips, and forehead, Kenta mostly resembled Muzan. I was glad about that, because at least when I looked at him, I couldn't see anything that reminded me directly of my parents or older brother.

He couldn't run or be very mobile because of his heart illness, but he wasn't disappointed or ashamed at that. I was right in my deduction that Kenta's sheltered and very private upbringing would be to some benefit. Meanwhile, despite his physical condition, Kenta learnt very quickly how to read and write hiragana and many kanji. He also taught himself how to play the biwa and played on some drums. I wasn't particularly fond of biwa playing, but I was proud of Kenta and certainly realised the skills he had for such a young boy. Muzan praised him for all that he did, and always found ample time to teach him new things and play games with him.

Kenta started to ask us various questions the more he grew up, such as why Muzan and I didn't eat any of the food that we gave him.

"This food's special for kids, so we can't eat it," I answered him. "But we eat grown-up food very late once you're sleeping. It's a special time that mums and dads have together."

"But you'll be able to eat it with us when you're ten years old," Muzan added. "And then, you won't be able to eat kids' food anymore." He smiled. "You know, I used to eat udon just like the kind you've got there. I miss it sometimes. It was very delicious."

We were both glad that Kenta didn't challenge us on that. He also never found it suspicious when we would bring him to a shop late at night, where Muzan always told him that he could have anything he wanted. And he did get anything he wanted. It was in our fortune to not have too much of a demanding son. We never had to either steal half the items of the shop we broke into, or try to explain to him that we really couldn't carry so many items home. Although, Muzan insisted that he would have found a way to transport everything back home if Kenta asked us to.

"You're such a brave and strong boy, are you sure that's all you want?" Muzan would ask him on almost every occasion.

"Yeah, Daddy. I have lots at home," Kenta would answer. "Don't you think someone else wants something from here?"

"He's not as greedy as you are, Muzan."

"I'm not greedy, Sakura."

Such routines continued as parts of our daily life for a few years more. Kenta's condition seemed to be more or less stabilised, but still Muzan and I were concerned for his health. Muzan especially was worried, almost to the point that he would be near panic that Kenta wouldn't survive until his tenth birthday. He would always stay up well through the day, prepared to rush and grab Kenta's medicine in case he had an episode, until he would ultimately drift off to sleep laying next to him.

Even with the tension that was there in the background, I never wanted those days to end. I never wanted to see us deprived of that twisted image of the normal life we never thought we'd be able to have.