Two faces of charity

For the next few days, I kept the unwanted-yet-still-mine thoughts at bay. Part of it came from a small lie I told myself—or maybe a hopeful one. If I trained hard enough, perhaps I could convince your family to negotiate our terms.

Progress came fast—too fast. Whatever the normal rate of improvement looked like, this wasn't it. One afternoon, a whole zen garden bloomed around me. Raked sand, stone paths, paper butterflies that drifted through the air. They fluttered freely until the second I willed them to stop. Everywhere I looked was green, alive, vibrant with quiet energy.

Also, it was huge—bigger than my apartment. My feet crossed space that should've been open air, twenty floors up. For a test, I placed a chair beyond my floor's boundaries. When I dropped the illusion, it was back inside my living room like nothing. No way that was beginner level magic. Either that, or you people seriously underestimate Kitsune powers.

And through all of it, I stayed me. No alien instincts. No creeping urges. Still Avery Bennett after each big illusion. Just exhausted—more wiped than on gym day.

With power like that—without being able to transform yet, mind you—I started thinking I could even challenge that old ha… I mean, that honorable missus. A rematch, sweetened with financial backing from my family business. The kind of offer that would catch the eye of that venerably ambitious woman.

Sure, it was cheap, leaning on Papa's influence. But he'd never notice a minor investment under his name—too busy in his game of tridimensional chess with the big boys.

Anyway, I kept playing around with my powers, all for the sake of training of course. A disco floor tuned exactly to my whims. A chocolate house that tasted real—and stayed filling even after I undid the illusion.

My powers flowed freely. Carelessly. Because there didn't seem to be any consequences.

Until one intrusive thought arrived, sharp and smug, speaking in a voice that wasn't playful at all:

"Thinkest thou thy actions lack meaning simply because thyself intend them not?"

That was on the sixth day, the same day I called you. Red panda pajamas this time, holed up in my flat again—that's when those words surfaced.

They didn't just kill my mood. They stabbed me with the kind of regret that made the whole week of indulgence—that I called training—taste sour.

More notions followed—these ones undeniably mine.

Some were resentment. Toward you. For letting that woman toy with you, and for still siding with her despite the way she treated you.

Then the hypocrisy hit. Her grasp had caught me too. Lost a duel I couldn't afford to lose, all because she'd dragged some of my past out into the open and I'd let it bite me.

That spiraled into Blake. Into the things it showed me that…

Let's not get into that right now, okay? I… listen, I'll tell you the part I omitted about my encounter with Blake later, once the urgent stuff's dealt with. I promise I'm getting to the point soon.

I knew running every time the negativity showed up wasn't ideal. But my heart just wasn't ready to stop yet. So I grabbed another break and went outside.

Calling the people from the other day crossed my mind, it's just that variety felt safer. Looking for more helpful work seemed like the answer.

There was this building not far from me—burned out two weeks earlier, cleanup still underway. I signed up on the spot.

It reeked of wet ash and old smoke, the kind that clung to the back of your throat. Blackened beams jutted at crooked angles, windows reduced to jagged teeth. People worked in quiet rhythms, masks on, gloves stained a soot-black that would never quite wash out.

To me, the discomfort made the job more satisfying. Still, I wasn't about to haul chunks of debris over my back. Technically possible, sure—but my bones and tendons would've filed a formal complaint.

Dear Avery's role narrowed to supply distribution and nursing assistance. Yes, I also knew first aid. By the way, the coordinator turned out to be a Munakata. They didn't recognize me, which was probably for the best.

Whenever I could, I slipped in small extras with my illusions. Nothing flashy—just bigger desserts, fuller flavors. Temporary, imaginary comfort. Real food stayed mixed in, just in case the illusions didn't nourish the way they felt like they did.

Thank-yous came freely. Breathless, sweaty, sincere—soaking into me like a sponge.

Yet somewhere, deep down, a tiny voice tried to ask if I really deserved them.

Otherwise, the morning passed smoothly. By the time I wrapped up, almost everyone there knew me by name, though to most I was Bennetto-chan.

One of the volunteers turned out to be someone I knew. An acquaintance from another charity thing a week back. His name escaped me, but he was fun to be around. Close to my age, polite, never pushy. Quite handsome, too. Happy to joke around without expectations, which suited me just fine.

We decided to hang around after our shifts. He chose a small, cozy, coffeehouse run by a friendly middle-aged couple. Rich warmth filled the air, like roasted beans and lazy afternoons.

We started with easy chatter—work, the cleanup. He mentioned that the people doing the hardest labor were getting paid, but that he'd refused it and volunteered anyway.

"Wow. That's really nice of you."

"It's not a big deal." He rolled his eyes playfully. "Lots of people do it. I'm nothing special."

Something about the way he said that rubbed me the wrong way. Felt like the kind of line I'd use myself—and not one of my better habits.

"So the Munakata funded everything, huh." The words came out of me as I stirred my cup. "Guess they really do a lot of good for the city."

Even if I didn't agree with all their methods.

"They only do it to keep appearances," he mumbled.

My gaze lifted. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, sorry. Forget that."

He waved it off, as if he wanted to change the subject—or at least appear to. At the time, I didn't think much of it.

"Actually… please, go on."

Somewhat hesitant, he rubbed the back of his brown hair. "The Munakata aren't just a family. They're closer to a clan. And for all the good they do, they're tied up in some pretty sketchy stuff."

As he took a sip, his eyes narrowed slightly. "There are a lot of rumors. Underworld connections. Questionable businesses. That what we see is only one side of the coin."

"Yeah… " My reply came slowly. "I've suspected that. But I want to believe they keep things balanced. That they manage both sides of the city for everyone's sake."

His focus dropped to the dark surface of his coffee.

"I used to believe that, too."

Then his amber eyes lifted back to mine. "Maybe we should drop it, I don't want to dump my beliefs on you."

He was probably right. Letting it go sounded like the smart move. Leave ugly things buried where they belonged.

But if I wanted to care—to actually do some good for once…

"No. I want to hear it, even if it's just rumors."

He let out a quiet sigh, then gave me a small, understanding smile. Almost relieved.

"Alright, I'll be blunt." He finished his drink and set the cup down with a soft clink. "The Munakata push people into crime."

A tilt of my head. "How so?"

"They help the good side of society, the majority," he said, "and make sure the other side stays desperate. They build prosperity on top of people who never get the chance to climb out."

"That's… still a little vague."

"Okay, picture this." He leaned forward. "A man is under constant stress at work. He drinks for relief, meets a friendly stranger. They get along and the friend introduces him to gambling. Nothing shady, one of the Munakata's big casinos, clean and respectable. At first, he wins."

"And then he doesn't," my mouth muttered. "I know the rest of the story, no need to tell me."

His lips pressed together before he spoke again.

"But it doesn't end there."

"What else? The man's broke, what more could they want from him?"

"Next comes the real harvest." He picked up a napkin and twisted it between his fingers. "It's not just about getting the money of a lone nobody. They fold him into their system, make him part of their machine."

The napkin tore in his hands. "They pressure him. Threaten him. Make him find the money by any means necessary."

I blinked. "So… that's what you meant by pushing people to crime."

"There's more." His voice lowered. "Who punishes him?"

"The police?" My doubt was audible.

"They're no more than a mere face in this city. The Munakata themselves force him to work for them, illegally."

With certainty, I knew at least some of it was true—you'd told me as much yourself.

"But their real profit…" His fists clenched, muscles tense enough I thought I could hear it. "...comes from the donations they collect from the citizens."

"What?"

"You heard me. Donations for keeping the peace, capturing the criminals they themselves create." His teeth clenched. "The cleanup you saw? Funded by the same people they help. They manufacture the disease, then sell the cure. That's the Munakata way."

After that, his posture eased, his hands unclenching. He lowered his gaze, the fury simmering down.

Either he wasn't lying, or he was frighteningly good at it.

Jumping to conclusions could wait—asking you directly made more sense. But that would have to come later.

"Thanks for telling me," I said at last. "I'll keep it in mind and look into it myself."

"Sorry for blackening your coffee," he added.

"No worries, I like taking it both ways—" A wince escaped me. "No, wait. That came out wrong."

His lips tugged with a smile. He eased up further, bright yellow eyes resting on me with a look I couldn't quite name. Curious? Expectant? Like he was waiting for something.

A gear clicked in my head. Maybe I was overthinking—but I couldn't ignore it.

The arcade was my suggestion for the next hangout—he agreed readily. Probably expecting a plushie rescue or a co-op game.

Actual target? The big, flashy dance machine, next to which I turned on my best puppy eyes. As expected, he dodged, blaming sore muscles.

And maybe he hadn't been volunteering at all.

I gave him a playful smack on the back. He laughed it off—but the tell was there. The way he stiffened went beyond normal soreness.

Under his clothes, there had to be bandages.

Brown hair. Golden eyes. Knows too much about the Munakata—and was recently injured. Too many coincidences.

Only one person fit: Reiji.

You'd warned me about wandering the city too freely. Seems he'd taken the opportunity—thankfully without leaping straight to kidnapping. The way he'd stirred the conversation, the Munakata secrets… he'd been trying to pull me to his side. Turn me against your family.

Maybe he wasn't completely wrong.

But all I could think of was what siding with him—the monstrous Tengu—actually meant.

You know Ichijo and Jiro, right? The twins at the estate gates. They'd been kind to me, softer than one would expect from door guards.

Jiro didn't make it. His injuries from facing Reiji were too severe.

And that wasn't the only loss. The night of the attack… the place had looked like a war zone. Real hell, the kind you don't forget.

I didn't want any part of that.

So no matter how right he might've been, if his cause demanded that kind of blood, count me out. Munakata flaws and all.

Naturally, all of that remained buried under my cheerful innocent teehee.

We spent the rest of the evening laughing, keeping things light. When we split up, I promised to call soon, feigning a desire to hang out again.

The moment I was alone, my fingers dialed your number.