The train rattled into Ward 20, and I shifted my backpack—the one with art supplies on top and ten perfectly arranged knives hidden beneath. The other forty stayed locked in my apartment back in Ward 1, each in its designated slot. Marude thought my counting habit was weird, but when you're dealing with SS-rank quinque knives that literally eat RC cells, you better know where each one is.
"Ward 20, final stop," the conductor announced.
I grabbed my duffel and stepped onto the platform. Three months since the Ward 24 cleanup. Three months since I'd gotten lucky—if you could call fighting an SS-rank ghoul in underground tunnels "lucky." The investigators who saw it still whispered about the "kid who took down Corpse Collector."
Truth was, I'd just moved faster than I should've. Story of my life.
The CCG branch office wasn't hard to find—gray building trying to look unimportant between a flower shop and a bookstore. Inside smelled like old coffee and paperwork. The receptionist pointed me upstairs without looking up from her magazine.
"Nakamura." Associate Special Class Shinohara stood as I entered his office. His handshake was firm but careful, like he was testing if the stories were true. "Nineteen years old and already Special Class. When I was your age, I was still figuring out which end of a quinque to hold."
"Just got lucky, sir." I dropped into the chair across from him.
"Luck doesn't kill SS-rank ghouls." He pulled out a thin file. "Marude speaks highly of you. Says you're wasted on constant combat operations."
I shrugged. "He wants me to finish my degree."
"Art, right?" Shinohara's eyebrows went up slightly. "Unusual choice for an investigator."
"I like drawing. It's quiet." Unlike ripping through ghoul flesh with supernatural speed, but I kept that part to myself.
"Well, you'll have plenty of quiet here. Ward 20 hasn't had a major incident in eight months. We're replacing Investigator Mado—he's been transferred to more... active districts." Shinohara slid over a badge and apartment keys. "Standard patrols, but honestly? Just be visible. Let everyone know we're around."
"Everyone?"
"The beauty of a peaceful ward is that ghouls and humans coexist without realizing it. We'd like to keep it that way." He leaned back. "Marude made it clear—you're here to rest and study. We'll only call you for emergencies or major operations."
"Sounds perfect."
"Your partner for routine patrols is Investigator Yamamoto. Rank 1, been here two years. He'll show you the routes tomorrow." Shinohara stood, signaling the meeting's end. "Welcome to Ward 20, Nakamura. Try not to be too bored."
Outside, I hefted my bags and started walking. The university district spread out in neat blocks, students everywhere despite it being late afternoon. Nobody gave me a second glance—just another guy who looked too young to be out of high school, definitely not someone carrying enough firepower to level a building.
That was the thing about being Special Class at nineteen. The title meant everything inside CCG walls and nothing outside them. Perfect for someone who just wanted to draw in peace.
Kamii University's art department sat in an old building covered in ivy. The enrollment office was nearly empty.
"Transfer student?" The elderly secretary peered over her glasses. "Bit late in the semester."
"Special circumstances." I handed over Marude's forged documents. Amazing what CCG could arrange when they wanted to keep their youngest Special Class from burning out.
"Mm. Well, classes start Monday. Professor Tanaka teaches morning sessions—very traditional. You'll need supplies from the campus store."
I nodded along, genuinely excited about something for the first time in months. Real classes. Normal schedule. No tunnels that reeked of blood and RC cells.
My new apartment was a five-minute walk from campus. Third floor, corner unit, windows facing the quiet street. I set my bags down and immediately pulled out the knife case, checking each blade even though I'd counted them twice on the train. Ten knives, each one humming faintly with stored RC cells from my last fight. They'd repair themselves from any damage, growing stronger with each ghoul they touched.
Disturbing? Maybe. But they'd saved my life in Ward 24, so I'd keep carrying them.
My stomach growled. Right—normal people ate dinner around now. I locked the knives in the hidden compartment I'd already spotted (CCG safe houses all had them) and headed back out.
The street had filled with the evening crowd. Salarymen heading home, students looking for cheap food, couples window shopping. I let myself drift with the flow, no destination in mind. This was what I'd missed in the combat wards—the ability to just exist without every shadow being a potential threat.
A coffee shop caught my eye, tucked between a pharmacy and a used bookstore. "Anteiku" read the simple sign. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the smell of fresh coffee drifted out whenever someone opened the door.
My drawings always went better with caffeine.
The bell chimed as I entered. Classical music played softly—piano, something peaceful I didn't recognize. An elderly man behind the counter looked up with a gentle smile.
"Welcome to Anteiku."
"Thanks." I scanned the menu, prices reasonable for a student budget. "Just a regular coffee, please."
"Of course. For here or to go?"
"Here." I picked a corner table where I could see the door—old habit—and pulled out my sketchbook while waiting.
"One coffee." A girl about my age set the cup down, purple bangs falling across one eye. Her name tag read 'Touka.'
"Thanks." I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic, inhaling the steam. "This smells amazing."
"Manager takes pride in his blends." She hesitated like she might say more, then moved to wipe down an already-clean table.
I took a sip and nearly groaned. After months of CCG instant coffee, this was heaven. Rich, smooth, with a hint of something I couldn't place. I pulled my pencil out and started sketching the shop's interior—the way afternoon light caught the steam, the old-fashioned coffee grinder on the shelf, the careful arrangement of cups.
"You're an art student?"
I looked up. Touka stood nearby, coffee pot in hand.
"Starting Monday. Transfer." I turned the sketchbook so she could see. "Your shop has good lines. Very drawable."
She studied the sketch, expression unreadable. "It's good. You captured the light well."
"Light's the hardest part. Everything else is just shapes and shadows."
"Mm." She moved on to other tables, but I caught her glancing back once.
I stayed until closing, filling three pages with sketches and drinking two more cups of that incredible coffee. The manager—Yoshimura, according to his introduction—seemed pleased to have a customer who appreciated his work.
"You're welcome anytime," he said as I packed up. "Students get a small discount."
"Dangerous offer. I might live here."
His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Many of our regulars say the same thing."
Walking home in the dark, I felt something I hadn't in months: contentment. Tomorrow I'd patrol with this Yamamoto guy, make the rounds, show the CCG presence. But after that? Classes. Coffee. Drawing.
For the first time since that night at the orphanage—since I'd moved faster than any human should to protect the other kids—I could just be normal.
My phone buzzed. Text from Marude: Settling in?
Yeah. Even found a good coffee shop.
Good. Stay out of trouble, kid. That's an order.
I grinned, pocketing the phone. In Ward 20, staying out of trouble might actually be possible.
Back in my apartment, I arranged tomorrow's knives in their carrying slots, checked the locks twice, and fell asleep thinking about coffee and pencil lead instead of blood and broken bones.