Soft Spoken Brutality Chapter 9



Omake. Or is it?

Arima was a genius, 

Arima, was a genius?

Arima was a genius.

This title was neither self prescribed nor exaggerated, as due to his job of maintaining the office in the First Ward, the basic requirement of maintain a level of knowledge about what went on in the other wards was essential. Of course, this was part of the role for all investigators with any resemblance of power and authority within the CCG; yet his mechanical efficiency and lack of complaints had always been paramount to his success in the battlefield of bureaucracy. 

What many failed to notice about Arima, a fact not unnoticed by the man himself, was his boundless thirst for discovery. This meant he was better prepared for the subjugation of the ghouls he would face during extermination. Yet, there was a more personal side to his curiosity, for something mundane always plagued his life, an inability to break the mould, if you will. This personal curiosity was what drove the man to wake up, what drove him to sleep. For the claims of immortality that others sang and preached about, the CCG’s reaper stalwartly warded against accepting their claims, because the fear of complacency drove him. Thus, curiosity was the perfect counter.

The desk and its mahogany texture… how was it created? This type of question, at first glance may seem daft and pointless, as any such question would simply be laid to the wayside in any other situation. That was an issue; the trivialities lay abandoned and forgotten in the face of mounting importance. Elitism. Disdain for elitism from the elitist.

The stack of reports on the man’s table only served to augment the feeling of utmost importance, along with utmost boredom. Something immediately stood out, and despite all odds, Arima noticed it. He was definitely not supposed to notice it, nor was he supposed to care. Yet, that was a first glance assumption most people made, though not that he would discourage or scold them for it. It did make his job infinitely easier: not having to worry about the internal thoughts of others due to the simplification that was involved when regarding himself. 

‘The 20th Ward casualty report,’ he casually muttered to himself. The fact that even the 20th Ward had casualties was quite surprising to the man, yet what surprised him even more was the scene of the crime. 

Silently, he picked up his briefcase, now personally interested.

————— 

It couldn’t have gotten any worse.

That was a phrase many have used, exaggerating its meaning and effect. On paper it meant frustration with the situation and its devolution; in reality it was a sign of the utmost pain and desolation due to the uttering of this powerful phrase. 

Rize Kameshiro was thinking to herself, three days after that fateful night, about how things probably could get worse. The wounds she received are non-existent, long healed due to the nature of her kagune and her voracious appetite (at least when not caught and limited by Anteiku staff). And yet, the current situation was by far and away the first time that Rize had a terrible time for someone other than herself. 

Picking up Kaneki, or the discarded remains of the boy, was difficult. The constant reminder of his merits and his interest in her was what mainly kept her appetite at bay. At the same time, there was a spark, a genuine worry for the young man, though whether this feeling stemmed from a sense of duty or some unknown kinship was yet to be determined.

Regardless of all the inner turmoil this ghoul faced, one thing remained constant: her hatred for the low profile she was obliged to keep. The cleanup in the aftermath of the mess left by Ken’s innards along with the manager’s panicked and rage-like state were matters that led to much confusion and frustration on Rize’s part. The collective security of the ward, at least what the manager liked to call it, was much more vital than her own personal comfort or needs.

At least that was what she kept telling herself. Yet the distress was very real, very irritating and very mysterious. The attempt to further dwell on the issue was, however, cut massively short. 

‘Have you heard of the news?’ exclaimed an unusually excited dove. ‘This one is definitely too thin on the meat’; a subtle subconscious evaluation, undoubtedly left from her time beyond the 20th.

The other dove and his stoic face gave away no surprise, until a more silent part of the conversation escaped her notice. At least one word was heard, the only one that actually mattered. 

‘Arima’

—— — — 

Kaneki was in heaven. For that was the only state the explained this new lack of pain. The hope that he would stay that way grew fainter and fainter, until the pain returned…

— — — — 

For someone who prided himself on himself on the ability to maintain a calm demeanour, it was obvious to anyone who knew the manager, something was off.

The manager could only somewhat recall the events of that faithful evening. Yet he knew that he had made a massive mistake. Only now he hoped that this mistake wouldn’t cost the brave young man his life. 

Another human, a different death. 

The guilt was the same however…

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References

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