Rize Kamishiro was devastated.
Eighteen years of life, only to meet her demise in the most humiliating way possible—crushed beneath steel beams. Not the CCG. Not another ghoul. Just a goddamn construction accident. Her teeth ground together, and her purple irises dissolved into a violent, blood-red hue against the abyss of her black sclera.
"Oh, fucking dammit!!" she screamed, her white dress fluttering in a nonexistent wind as her kagune erupted from her back, writhing like angry serpents.
Someone had set her up. That much was certain. But who? The Washuus? The CCG? One of her many enemies? The list was too long, and she had no patience for it now. She sighed, arms crossing in frustration as reality settled in.
She was dead.
…So now what?
The thought churned in her mind, gnawing at her sanity. But strangely, as much as she knew she was dead, she didn't feel dead. It wasn't like she had been snuffed out of existence—no, she was aware. Conscious. She had no expertise in this kind of thing (religion wasn't exactly her hobby), but this? This was all wrong.
Her crimson eyes darted across the endless darkness stretching in all directions, an infinite void without depth or horizon.
And then—
'Oh, fuck!' She wasn't alone.
Like a startled cat, she leapt high into the air, her kagune stretching to their full, formidable length, their sharp edges angled to counter an attack. She had felt something - someone - watching her. Her instincts screamed at her, raw and primal. She trusted them. She always had.
Minutes passed. Nothing. The silence pressed against her ears like a suffocating shroud. But her body remained taut, every nerve alight with tension. She knew better than to lower her guard.
Then, a sound—
"Well<\ sThiss?!(°{ Inter...ing. BnñaaershKrAv~"*
The voice cracked across the void, vibrating through her very bones. Deep. Detached. Cold. Twisted in ways that made her stomach churn. She couldn't understand the words, but comprehension wasn't necessary.
Terror had already taken root.
A shudder ran down her spine. Her kagune, strong and defiant just moments ago, wrapped around her in a cocoon of layered tendrils, glowing a sickly red with every erratic beat of her heart.
What the hell is this?
Her breath hitched as a thought clawed its way into her mind.
Superior beings. Deities. Gods.
'Shit. I should've done more good. Maybe built up some karma.'
Her heart pounded violently in her chest, and her kagune pulsed in rhythm, a visceral drumbeat of growing panic.
*** ***
"Kaneki, man, you fucker!"
The loud, familiar voice shattered the ward's quiet like a gunshot.
The double doors burst open as Hideyoshi Nagachika stormed inside, his arrival as extravagant as his attire -green sweatpants, a massive yellow jacket, and Jordans that somehow worked with his short, messy blonde hair. His jungle-green headphones slipped from his ears as he took in the sight before him.
"…Wait. What?"
The bed was empty. Tidy. A glass of water sat on the bedside table, two empty coffee mugs beside it. A cold knot formed in Hide's gut as his olive eyes darted around in search of his bedridden best friend.
Then he saw him.
By the window, with the drapes drawn back, stood a figure—tall, unmoving, his back to the room. Even in the loose hospital gown, he exuded an air of quiet dominance. His hands were clasped behind him, his posture straight, his chin slightly lifted as he gazed down at the city below. Sunlight played across the strands of his raven-black hair.
For a moment, Hide hesitated. This… wasn't Kaneki. Couldn't be.
He turned, ready to backpedal out of the room. 'Maybe I got the wrong ward.'
"Ka…Kaneki?"
The name cracked in his throat, uncertainty thick in his voice.
A soft hum answered him, deep and measured.
Hide's breath hitched. That voice. That wasn't Kaneki's voice. Not the one he knew.
The man turned. And Hide froze.
It was Kaneki – same face, same delicate features. But at the same time, it wasn't. His once-soft charcoal eyes were now bottomless voids of obsidian, deep and unreadable. His jawline was sharper, his lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line. He didn't breathe. His chest didn't rise and fall like it should have.
This wasn't just a change. It was a rebirth.
Hide swallowed hard as Kaneki took a step toward him, his movements slow, deliberate. And then—
"Hide."
Kaneki spoke his name, tasting it like something unfamiliar, rolling it over his tongue as if recalling a distant memory.
And then, he smiled.
A small, subtle thing – just a twitch of his lips. It wasn't forced, but it wasn't natural either. Not the kind of smile Hide had ever seen from his best friend.
Hide's eyes widened. His brain struggled to process what stood before him. The way Kaneki's dark gaze followed his movements, distant yet… amused, as if observing a lesser creature's routine.
"Ka-Ka-KANEKI?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"
Shock snapped him back into action. Like a squirrel on caffeine, Hide circled his friend, inspecting him from every angle, his curiosity outweighing his fear.
Kaneki – no, Kain – stood still, letting him. Every movement felt surreal, disconnected from himself.
This body… It's been so long since I had one.
His fingers curled. He flexed his muscles. The flesh was his, but it clung like an ill-fitting suit. His bones held strength he had long forgotten. The way people called him Kaneki dug into his mind like an old nail hammered into fresh wood. It wasn't his name. The one who had owned it was long gone, crushed beneath steel and forgotten by the world.
And yet, he had returned.
He exhaled, adjusting to the sound of his own breath. It had been eons. Now, he was back. And he had a role to play.
A sharp knock interrupted Hide's frantic pacing.
The door cracked open, revealing a nervous blonde woman in a white coat. Her timid eyes darted toward the empty bed, and Hide could swear she sighed in relief upon seeing it vacant.
"Heeeyyy!" Hide called with a wave.
A bad idea on his part.
The second her eyes flickered past him – to Kaneki – her body locked up.
Then—
Her legs gave out.
Kaneki... had a reputation.
It had taken only a week for his presence to spread through the hospital like a whispered legend.
At first, it was nothing more than quiet observations. A patient who never spoke much. A man who carried himself with the poise of someone who belonged to a different era, a different world.
He never sought attention, yet he commanded it.
The staff, the patients, even the doctors—they noticed.
A noble air clung to him, despite his hospital gown. He walked like a ruler surveying his domain, shoulders squared, gaze level, his every movement deliberate. Even his silence was weighted, as if he were judging the world around him, deciding whether to acknowledge it or let it wither in his indifference.
Thus, they gave him names.
'The Patient Lord.'The one who ruled without speaking, whose presence alone was enough to shift the atmosphere in a room.
'The Coffee Deity.'
The name had started as a joke.
A few staff members had noticed his frequent trips to the break room, how he brewed coffee with practiced precision. But what truly cemented the title was what happened next.
—
A nurse had taken a sip once.
She had hesitated at first, watching him as he poured the dark liquid with unnerving grace.
Kaneki had offered no words—just a quiet expectation in those black, depthless eyes.
So she drank.
And for a moment—the world stopped.
The hospital vanished. No beeping machines, no distant voices, no footsteps echoing down sterile halls. Just silence.
And in that silence... something watched her.
Her grip tightened around the cup. A chill crawled down her spine. She felt small, like prey in an unseen predator's gaze. The moment was fleeting, gone before she could react. But when her breath finally returned, she looked up—
Kaneki was already watching her.
"Good?" he had asked.
It was a simple word. A normal word.
But she knew—he already knew the answer.
She never spoke about it again.
Nobody refused his coffee after that.
But nobody asked for it, either.
—
And then there was his final title.
'The Theater Abomination.'
This one was given in hushed voices, by those who had seen something they wished to forget.
Those who had witnessed his awakening.
It was said that when Kaneki first regained consciousness, it wasn't with the slow, disoriented confusion of an injured man. No.
His first breath had been deep, measured, controlled.
And then he had opened his eyes.
Those who were present never spoke of what they saw.
But some nights, when the hospital was at its quietest, whispers spread through the halls. Stories of what lurked behind that obsidian gaze—of something far older, far more aware, staring through his eyes like a spectator in a grand performance.
Watching.
Waiting.
And judging.
"WHOA—SHIT!" Hide barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground.
Which turned out to be a mistake, because in her blind panic, she clung to him for dear life – and dragged him down with her.
"GAH—lady, really?!"
A shadow loomed over them.
Kaneki.
He tilted his head slightly, watching the scene unfold—not judging, not irritated. Just… watching.
Hide groaned. "You're just gonna stand there?"
Karen wasn't breathing right. Her pupils shook.
Kaneki exhaled softly. Then—
Without effort, he reached down and grabbed Hide by the collar of his hoodie.
"…Hey, hey, WAIT—"
With zero strain, Kaneki hoisted him upright like he weighed nothing.
"Uh." Hide blinked. "Thanks?"
Kaneki shifted his gaze to Karen.
"Karen."
Her breath hitched.
"How long are we going to repeat this?"
His voice was steady. No irritation. No cruelty. Just a quiet certainty, as if observing a cycle that had played out too many times before.
Karen's fingers curled against the floor.
"I—" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "P-Professor Kanou wants to see you, sir."
Kaneki gave a slow nod. Then, without another word, he turned and strode for the door.
Hide glanced between Karen—who was still shaking on the floor—and the retreating back of his friend.
"…So, uh. That 'sir' thing—"
Before he could finish, Kaneki grabbed his hoodie again and effortlessly tugged him along.
"DUDE—ask before manhandling me!" Hide yelped.
Karen barely noticed as their voices trailed off.
Her fingers curled slightly, pressing against the cold tile.
It wasn't fear in the conventional sense.
It was the deep, unsettling realization that she had just stood in the presence of something far greater.
And it had merely chosen to let her be.