Kurian's POV:
"Just why won't you die!"
Her voice was raw, furious, and trembling with hatred. It echoed in the hollow dark of memory — a voice belonging to the woman who had wounded her own flesh, marking herself with scars in a desperate attempt to erase the thing growing inside her.
I was never the curios one. Yet something in that rage, in that venomous abuse, made me wonder: 'Who was this person who despised me so deeply, so utterly, that even her own pain could not silence her hatred?'
For a moment, I wondered: 'Were these the memories of the boy whose body I now possessed?'
Yet my doubts cleared as I remembered, 'No, these memories are mine. The memories of Ferdinand Franz Schumann.'
"DIE!" she screamed again, her voice cracking like fractured glass, spilling out the venom that had long been trapped within.
"PLEASE DIE!" The venom gave way to desperate pleading.
"JUST DIE ALREADY!" Her fists struck the life within her womb — me — over and over, every blow a curse against existence itself.
"I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING, YOU MONSTER!"
"WHY? WHY? WHY!?"
"It's all because of that damned demon!"
Hearing her cries, her wails drenched in hatred. I, too, felt a question claw its way to the surface.
"Who… are you?" I asked, though my voice never reached her. Trapped within the womb, I had no means to speak, no breath to shape thought into sound.
"Why do you hate me?" Curiosity clawed at me, relentless and growing.
As that curiosity festered over the four months following my conception, I clawed my way toward light — toward the answer.
And I, finally emerged to see her — to see the face of the one who hated me: a being neither fully demon nor fully man, yet somehow both.
Yes… that's right. I was demon borne: a thing that should never have existed, forced into a shape resembling man — a mistake that learned to breathe.
What I inherited was neither strength nor grace; only the stubborn tenacity of a demon, imprisoned within fragile human flesh. No mana, no might, nothing but endurance without purpose.
I was a failure born twice.
Unwanted by the demons whose seed had created me, and by the humans who had carried me in their womb.
"It would be better if you never develop, or even understand, what love is, kid."
This wasn't advice — it was an order.
My teacher had said those words when I once asked, "Is love something bad?"
"No," he answered, after a long silence. He never gave straight answers. "Appreciation for love is not wrong, for a man and a woman to be in love is not a sin, but... The ones who has taken the pledge to eradicate demons…"
His hand gripped my shoulder firmly, his voice hard as tempered steel. "They must never choose love over duty. Wouldn't you say, Tangerine?"
Tangerine, that was my code name. It was what my first group of friends had called me for my liking of that fruit.
My friends, they were like that fruit I loved — sweet for a moment, brightly colored like the sun, leaving only a fleeting aftertaste. The first friends I ever had.
Yet.... harsh years lay ahead for us. In the end, all that remained of them were their dog tags, whispering softly against each other in my pocket.
"Haah…"
I exhaled. Exhausted.
'Perhaps I should've given up long ago,' I thought. And yet… something primal inside me kept whispering to live. To keep walking this path soaked in blood, war, and ruin.
'Maybe my current life is just a continuation of that same madness.'
A vision flickered before me which were not mine. There, I saw her — the one I cherished above all in this life — striking at the fragile life within her.
"Please, just die!"
"This world is not for you."
Her voice trembled. Yet… there was only pleading in her tone. A warped tenderness beneath the venom. She scarred her own womb, poisoned it with arsenic — and yet, the life endured without question.
Perhaps it was because that life was a true human, that as it was developing inside her womb, it remained incapable of questioning or rebelling.
'How enviable,' I thought. The boy whose body I now possessed had no curiosity. No need to seek answers that burned.
Perhaps, had I been like him — had I not been so curious — I might have been spared from the curse of my own birth.
"You are like a fine existence, carved from jade itself."
"—!!?"
I looked up to see her — her face streaked with tears, body trembling. I asked, almost instinctively, "Why are you crying?"
"A… A loveable existence like you… I hope… I hope…" Serena murmured through hiccups and sobs, cradling the young life in her arms. "I hope my own existence does not destroy you."
Her words struck me. I remembered a similar line I had once said to someone: "My existence and my reputation will destroy you!"
I had spat those words with authority, and the woman before me, unbowed, had replied with resolute defiance: "I will not regret my decision, Duke Schumann."
Though her face eluded me, I remembered the firmness of her voice — the unwavering tone of the woman named Eden, my wife.
Yet my brows furrowed, eyes narrowing into slits as a grim thought surfaced.
"Since when," I muttered, "did I ever have a wife?"
***
Under an unfamiliar roof, Kurian's eyes fluttered open. His body felt heavy, his throat dry. Reaching weakly to the side, he accepted the cup of water offered to him, murmuring, "Thanks for that, Calcharo."
Calcharo leaned back with an amused frown. "You a zombie or something? How did you knew that I was besides you? You've been out for three days straight."
Kurian took a slow sip, his gaze distant. "Funny," he said, voice calm, almost detached. "Because I don't think I've slept a single second."
"Don't joke around," Calcharo scoffed. Kurian merely set the cup aside, shrugging. "The only fool here was that idiot making those ridiculous faces, hoping to wake me."
"YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT!" someone barked as they shoved into the room. Kurian, unbothered, began naming other offenders.
"At least it's better than the one who staggered into a patient's room drunk and slept on the bed," Kurian said, his tone slow and cutting as his eyes narrowed into slits.
He crossed his arms, gaze drifting toward the doorway where the culprit lurked. "And made the patient lie on the floor."
A shy head peered from the doorway. "I — I swear I didn't mean to," the newcomer mumbled, apologetic.
"By the way," Kurian said casually, turning his attention towards outside, "What kind of medical training did you study? Was it really necessary to check my penis?"
"I'm not a pervert, okay!" the medic snapped, too loudly for the small room. "Your vitals were strange; I had to check everything."
The room had filled with boys and girls around Calcharo's age. A murmur went up and the group's self-appointed doctor stepped forward, composed despite the chaos. "Are you all right?" she asked, professional and worried at once.
Kurian pondered her question, before asking. "You want to check my jewels again?"
"Shameless!" The doctor's face went red. "For the last time, I am not a pervert. I'm going to kill you if you keep implying that."
Laughter rippled through the cramped space, the tension breaking as the absurdity of the moment carried them all along.
"If you were awake, why didn't you say anything?" the doctor asked, eyes raised in curiosity.
Kurian shrugged lazily. "My body was in an extremely fatigued state."
"But…" He met her gaze, voice calm but unwavering. "I can guarantee you this much that even if I seem like I'm in a coma, I know exactly what's happening around me."
The girl flushed, chest rising and falling with embarrassment. "I swear… I will never tend to your medical needs ever again!" she exclaimed.
Kurian's tone was dry, almost amused. "Regardless, I owe you one. Thank you, doctor."
"Well…" She puffed her chest up, letting out a proud little hum. "At least you know some manners."
Calcharo stepped forward, voice serious. "Kurian… I have something to ask of you. Will you join the Underdogs?"
Kurian raised a brow, his tone casual yet edged with quiet menace. "Would you kill me if I said no?"
His eyes narrowed to slits as he lifted a finger, pointing toward them one by one. "You know… I can see each of you carrying a weapon, whether it's because this place is hostile…" his gaze narrowed, "…or because you plan to silence me if I refuse."
He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "So tell me, which one is it?"
At his words, the room tensed, but Calcharo, however, remained calm.
With a deliberate motion, he drew his weapon in full display before Kurian — then, with a sharp clang, let it drop to the ground.
"What about you?" he asked.
Kurian's gaze swept over them, unshaken. "There's something I want to do before I answer that."
***
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
Kurian now stood alone before a small grave in the middle of nowhere. A crude cross had been fashioned from two sticks, the name Serena etched carefully into the earth.
As he finished, he thought to himself, 'This will be the final time I visit your grave.' He had decided to leave everything behind, yet some invisible tether pulled at him, refusing release.
A frown etched across his face as he placed a hand over his chest, wondering aloud, 'Were the feelings I had for you… love?'
The wind whispered through the barren landscape, brushing over his vision and the grave alike, as his thoughts solidified. 'No... It wasn't love.'
A bittersweet smile softened Kurian's features as he knelt, pressing his face to the grave, finally grasping his true feelings toward her — Gratitude. Yes, these were his feelings: a profound sense of gratitude and appreciation.
"An existence carved from jade," he murmured, recalling her words.
Suddenly, the sky darkened, shifting into a vast, endless sea. The Underdogs, witnessing this spectacle, murmured in awe. "The Aetheric Sea?!"
"Hey, look." One of them pointed as Kurian's body — marred with visible scars — began to heal, the wounds knitting closed at a rapid pace.
As the last of the scars faded, a Tacet Mark etched itself onto his left upper arm, glowing faintly with quiet power.
Having realized his feelings toward her, Kurian whispered the only words he could now speak, freeing both of them from the pitiful bondage of their mother-and-child play: "Adieu, mama."
***
"I won't be joining right now," Kurian said flatly.
"Huh? Why? We even followed you to help build your mother's grave!" one of them protested.
Kurian replied without hesitation, "The original Underdogs have already fallen. And you lots...." his gaze swept across them, "... you're not even the ones in control anymore."
He pointed toward them, voice edged with quiet disdain. "How am I supposed to join a group that doesn't even exist — and is now being run by patrons?"
Hearing his remarks, Calcharo rose, leaving the room, followed by a few others trailing behind him. Kurian watched them go, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. "He is quite fast," he murmured.
Outside, Calcharo's gaze swept across the darkened skies, eyes alight with unwavering resolve. 'This might be the biggest gamble I ever make,' he thought, the weight of his decision settling like a Tacet Core in his chest.
***
A few years passed, and Kurian chose to stay with the kids, never answering the question of whether he would officially join them. Yet today, he said something that sent waves of surprise through the group.
"You are a what?!"
One of the Underdogs — or rather, a member of the newly formed Ghost Hound — asked, eyes wide.
Kurian's expression remained casual as he answered, "I am a reincarnator."
"Wait, wait, wait… a reincarnator?" The question bounced around the room, met with stunned silence. Even Calcharo froze, but quickly nodded to himself, thinking, 'Well, that explains his eccentricity, and his unusual powers.'
Then another voice piped up. "So… you were like a super soldier or something, right?"
Kurian's gaze remained level, voice calm and unbothered. "I wouldn't call myself a super soldier. I was more like a… fish in the chopping block who refused to be cut and learnt to retaliate. Having my body nearly severed apart, then stitched back together."
"Eww… That sounds disgusting," one of them muttered, shuddering.
The doctor, however, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Fascinating," she interjected, her tone a mix of awe and analytical intrigue.
As Kurian was settling into the more intriguing tales of his former life, the doors slammed open. One of the scouts burst in, shouting, "Everyone! The New Federation… they're about to wage war against the Underdogs!"
Chaos rippled through the room. Calcharo raised his hands, his voice steady yet carrying finality. "Everyone, calm yourselves."
At his command, the frenzied paused, and he continued, "Ghost Hounds, let's move out. We're going to claim what is ours."
The members streamed past, following his command, leaving Kurian behind. He was not part of the Ghost Hounds; no one looked back, no one asked him to join, as they knew, this was their — the Ghost Hounds' — battle.
Kurian's lips curled into a slight, contemplative smile. 'Perhaps with them, maybe I can finally let go… even of my past self.'
Resolute, he stood and called after them, voice clear. "Can I join the party?"
Calcharo's brow furrowed as he asked, "Where's your weapon?"
"Ah, right," Kurian replied, turning to the doctor. With a calm motion, he reached inside the pocket of her lab coat.
"Hey! What are you doing?" she exclaimed as Kurian pulled out a pencil.
"This will do," he said casually. Calcharo raised an eyebrow. "Do not overestimate yourself."
"I will not die," Kurian promised.
Calcharo sneered, a hint of concern in his gaze. "I hope you won't be a burden."
"I won't," Kurian assured, a confident smile tugging at his lips.
***
"You look like you've just crawled out of a warzone," Kurian remarked, a faint snicker curling his lips as he pointed at Calcharo, who stood like a ghost.
Shadowy thorns seem to clung to him, writhing faintly, while spectral phantoms loomed behind his shoulders like silent sentinels.
"Quite the mighty sword you've got there," Calcharo shot back with a crooked grin, eyeing the bloodstained pencil in Kurian's hand.
Before either could say more, the remaining members stumbled in — exhausted, battered — only to collapse from sheer fatigue.
Then, silence broke into laughter. Calcharo's voice rang out, raw but triumphant."We've won. We've won!"
The dawn's first light poured through the ruins, bathing the bloodied youths in gold. One by one, tears welled in their eyes — tears not of sorrow, but of survival.
"Yo, why are you crying?" Calcharo asked, tilting his head toward Kurian.
Kurian wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, forcing a grin. "Leader… I have a selfish wish. Would you allow it?"
Calcharo's brows lifted. "Go ahead."
Kurian took a breath. "I wish to forget my past — to bury the man named Ferdinand Franz Schumann… and live on as Kurian of the Ghost Hounds." He looked at each of them in turn before meeting Calcharo's eyes. "Can I?"
Calcharo paused, thoughtful, then let out a small, tired laugh. "Why are you asking me that? You can live however the hell you want."
"Indeed," one of the others murmured, voice soft but sure.
Kurian smiled faintly. "Good. There are a lot of things I wanted to do… things I want to try."
"Oh? Like what?" one of them asked with genuine curiosity.
Kurian's grin widened — a glint of mischief flickering across his face.
It was an expression his old comrades would have shuddered to see, for it always meant one thing: he was about to do something utterly ridiculous, something completely unlike the stoic man they normally know...
Far away, across nations, in a lonely army camp in Huanglong, an old radio crackled to life — playing a song that drifted softly through the tent, echoing faintly beneath the morning sun.
The crackle of static faded as the beat of drums and the wail of an electric guitar filled the tent. A voice rose through the radio — rough, impassioned, alive.
♪ Tonight! We honor the hero! ♪
♪ Persistent NO-MASK and flamboyant crazy kids! ♪
♪ Hate lies? The lament? Throwing down the days! ♪
A/N: These lyrics were actually a modified version of Kyouran Hey Kids!!, the opening theme of Noragami.
One of the soldiers tilted his head, frowning. "Hey Yhan, What song is this? Never heard it before."
With his eyes still on the dials, Yhan replied casually, "Oh, it's by some new artist… goes by the name Tangerine, I believe"
To be continued...