WHAT IS YOUR OBSESSION。kny

零、what is an obsession?

Eternal youth ... is it worth it?

You inquired the man that appeared out of the blue.

He approached you from darkness, his shadow drowning all light. Donning an ink-black kariginu[1], slightly curled locks lay over his shoulders loosened nonchalantly, he sure was good-looking. The man reminded you of those aristocrats in Kyoto, refined and sophisticated.

But he was different. For some reason, his body always had a faint metallic stench and an almost unnoticeable gloom seemed to radiate from him.

Everything about him screamed danger.

He offered you eternal youth. Sounded fishy, but he knew most would take an interest in the offer, especially those who have nothing to lose.

Instead of directly answering, he tossed you a question: "Do you not have an obsession?" Scarlet irises gazed at you intently, pupils almost like an abyss, trying to draw your soul in; he held a refined smile, elegant yet perilous.

But you didn't care. Devoid of anything, no emotions flickered in your pupils, you only stared straight ahead as you fell into your train of thoughts,

Obsession? That's an unfamiliar word.

You thought for a moment with your head down before hesitating to ask him, "What's an ... obsession?"

The man laughed faintly. "It's something that you want to keep, forever," he answered with such familiarity as if he had said the same to many others.

You knew by then, you don't have an obsession.

And you want to find one.

You continued to question him, "Then what are you?"

"A demon."

You didn't react, as if you were nonchalant to the statement, your face remained blank. Your eyes stared straight at him, yet it felt like you were looking right through him. Complexion a sickly white, plainly parted lips stifled of any colour, you looked more like a demon than him, rather.

"What's your name?" You didn't seem afraid of him at all, despite knowing he was a demon, almost foolishly testing the borders of his patience.

"Kibutsuji Muzan."

"Hey, Muzan, turn me into a demon," you spoke to him as if you were old friends, hooded eyes paying no heed of Muzan's darkening features at the direct mention of his name, "perhaps I might develop obsessions if I live longer."

"If you can take this amount of blood."

Almost blood-drowned eyes flashed, the corner of his lips curled up, though leaving behind any temperature.

Long, sharp nails created cuts on his fingers. Before you could react, he pressed his palm against the back of your head forcefully and delved those four fingers into your oral cavity. The overwhelming scent of iron dispersed upon the tip of your tongue.

Ichor trickled down the corner of your lips, becoming a prominent contrast to your pale skin, like plum blossom petal on snow. He stirred his fingers inside your oral cavity, his blood ran over your tongue and spilt down your throat, almost scorching the walls despite being rather cold than hot.

When Muzan withdrew his fingers, the digits connected with your lips brought out a mixture of saliva and ichor, pulling into a long silver string. He crinkled his nose at that and wiped his fingers on your worn-out kimono.

You could care less because as soon as his fingers left your mouth, his blood immediately invaded your system.

Within seconds, you were rolling around on the dirty ground, screeching in agony of the pain brought by Muzan's cells that were replacing yours, the blank composure from earlier no more.

Muzan squatted down beside your curled up form, one hand patting your back gently and the other combing through your frizzy hair as if that would relieve the pain.

In the corner of your eyes, you could just barely see his expression. Muzan wore a smile, just like how he did earlier, but this one was different — he was in joy. In the joy of seeing you in pain, in the joy of seeing you suffer after your disrespectful act.

A polite gentleman on the front, but a venomous and vengeful snake in origin.

That was the first time you realised his true colours.

Flesh-coloured nails darkened to a gloomy black, becoming sharper and sharper as your canines elongated, also honing to an endangering length. Your already blanch skin held no difference to the skin of the dead. Your pupils no longer existed, dissolved to a sea of oblivion, there was nothing there at all, it was frightening.

Within nine hours, you had completely absorbed Muzan's blood and became a demon.

To his surprise, not only of the time you took to turn into a demon but also your blood demon art that was exceptionally strong, compared to many of the other demons he had turned.

It made him think, how strong would you become, if you devoured more humans?

Muzan flicked open his fan, he laughed lightly as the paper fan masked his expression. He's looking forward to seeing what you would become.

"What is your name before?" he questioned, slitted pupils overlooking your head as you kneeled before him.

"I ... don't remember." Your voice was hoarse, croaky, but it didn't hurt nor ache one bit.

"Then remember — from now on, your name is Shuu, Shuuchaku[2]."

"Shuu ..." you repeated slowly, rather pensive.

Shuuchaku ... what is it that you are obsessed with then?

You seemed to have forgotten many important things.

————

[1] kariginu: 'the costume that nobles
wore when they went hunting. since
it enables people to move freely,
kariginu gradually became nobles'
daily casual clothes' — junihitoe.net

[2] shuuchaku basically means
obsession but in japanese. not sure
how trustworthy google translate is
but oh well.

。。。
UNEDITED