To eat or to be eaten?
---
"It has nothing to do with whether I like or dislike humans. Rather, as an old human yourself, did you take pleasure in watching the way they killed pigs before serving them to you?"
"I-"
"I do not like the sight of humans...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Blood is thicker than water.
This was especially true within the Tsukiyama household, and Shintaro Tsuhiyama, the firstborn son of the family, was the sad product of their incestuous practices.
Born a Ghoul within a family of aristocratic Ghouls, Shintaro suffered from a severe case of RC cell deficiency. Oh, it wasn't anything life-threatening, so to say. He wouldn't die from it— on the contrary, if one looked at it from a prey's point of view, it enhanced his chances of survival.
But from the standing of a hunter? Shintaro's measly RC cell rate of 520 was barely enough to get him by.
With such a low rate when Ghouls usually started at 1000, Shintaro easily passed for a human whose RC cell rate was on the above average side.
Truthfully, apart from the devastated face of his parents, Shintaro's childhood memory was rather bland. There was nothing noteworthy, and before he knew it, he had been shipped off to the US to learn the way of Quinques.
Really, in a world where Ghouls ate Humans, and Humans hunted Ghouls, a Ghoul such as himself hadn't much to do.
In this world of "to eat or to be eaten," Shintaro had chosen to eat.
.
.
.
"Sorry, civilians can not go any further," the agent warned as he stepped forward to block the man's path. "The CCG will take care of the situation, please go back."
The male's long thick lashes trembled behind his spectacles as he mused over the agent's words. His face was blank, devoid of any emotions as he slid his green eyes to stare into the agent's eyes.
His hand reached for his inner pocket to fetch his wallet. The wallet was a simple black, with a slightly rough surface from the years of use it had. His fingers pulled the leather open, he took a business card out and handed it to the agent who quizzically looked at him.
"Tsukiyama Shintaro, I am an external advisor and was called to the scene," he said matter of factly as he readjusted the pair of glasses on his nose.
The man received the card with some precaution. His eyes swept the neatly printed letters, checking the facts. "I'll have to check with my superiors, give me a moment."
Shintaro's green eyes thinned into two straight lines as he lightly hummed in answer. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze sweeping at his feet to check the whereabouts of his Quinque before he closed them and focused his senses on his surroundings.
He perceived the sound of rustling leaves, the hurried footsteps, and curious whispers. He inhaled, the smell of blood entered his nostrils. It was thick and sticky, slightly metallic and Shintaro could guess it turned lukewarm some time ago. The fragrance felt familiar.
