2.84: Discovery

Baku stepped out of the dream the way one waded out of deep water, slowly letting the last sense of pressure drain from his chest before breathing normally again.

The space he returned to was relaxing and warm. The hearth glowed low and steady, embers shifting softly behind the grate. His kettle was whispering on its hook.

Natalia-sama was seated nearby, composed as ever, her hands folded in her lap as she watched the fire.

He moved to the counter and began precisely and habitually preparing tea. The porcelain cups clinked softly as he set them out.

“The dream is back on track,” he said at last, his voice even. “I tracked down that pesky nightmare. It very nearly caused irreparable damage to the fabric of their dream, but I caught it in time.”

Natalia inclined her head. “Good work, Baku.” She regarded him over the sleeve of her dress. “Did their play go well?”

“Very much so,” he replied. “They performed very nearly perfectly.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “I wish I could have seen it myself. You just had to be there in person, didn’t you? Any chance you managed to record it?”

Baku’s mouth curved apologetically. “Unfortunately not. My apologies, Natalia-sama. Your tea.”

He poured carefully, watching the steam rise in a pale, fragrant plume. As he handed her the cup, a sharp spasm twisted deep in his core, sudden and sharp, like something tightening inside him.

He did not react.

His expression remained composed, his posture not shifting.

He returned to his chair by the fire and settled into it with a heavy sigh, lifting his own cup and taking a measured sip.

The tea was good. But it did nothing to ease the tension coiled inside him.

Natalia observed him over the rim of her cup. “Despite your assurances that the dream goes well,” she said gently, “you seem troubled.”

Baku frowned into his tea.

“I confess,” he said after a moment, “that one aspect has begun to trouble me.”

His thoughts drifted unbidden to Aoi.

To the way she had carried herself after being consumed by the nightmare. The girl had always seemed forged from resilient material, almost unyielding under any pressure. Steel, perhaps. And yet what the nightmare had shown her, or perhaps reminded her of, had cut deeper.

He could not be certain whether she wished to live anymore.

And that, he realized with quiet clarity, disturbed him more than the nightmare itself.

He found that he very much wanted her to live.

The thought sat heavy in his chest. It would not be easy to resolve this in a way that satisfied him. He had been prepared to end the dream cleanly, to bury whatever attachment had formed and move on.

Dreams were fleeting things.

Her gratitude had complicated everything.

For her to thank him so sincerely, so personally, had lodged something sharp and persistent in both his heart and his stomach.

I must help her somehow, he thought. I cannot bear leaving her as she is.

“What has been bothering you?” Natalia asked.

He lifted his cup again, intending to take another sip—

—and froze.

A sound reached him, faint but unmistakable.

It was a prayer.

“Please come eat my nightmare, Baku-san.”

He lowered the cup slowly.

Such prayers were rare now. Fewer humans believed these days than they once had.

“My apologies, Natalia,” he said, rising smoothly to his feet. “I have a prayer to attend to. A troubled human has asked for their nightmare to be eaten.”

Natalia’s expression softened with understanding. “Ah. I see. If I were still seated on the Yōkai Council, I would clear your visit immediately.” She set her cup aside. “Contact them. I will wait. Will the dream be unaffected if you leave?”

“Do not worry,” Baku replied. “The dream is self-sustaining, nightmares and disruptions notwithstanding. I will not be away long enough for anything to go severely wrong.”

Another twist writhed through him, sharper this time. He masked it easily, his expression serene.

“Safe journey, my friend,” Natalia-sama said, lifting her tea once more.

Baku bowed in return, then moved to the hearth. He knelt and prodded gently at the soot-darkened bricks with the poker until something small and round tumbled free, blinking.

A susuwatari.

The soot sprite squeaked indignantly as he cupped it carefully in his palm and leaned close.

“Go to the Yōkai Council,” he whispered. “Quickly. Beg permission on my behalf. Tell them that Baku has a request to eat a mortal’s nightmare.”

The susuwatari stiffened, then saluted in its own clumsy way and shot upward, vanishing into the chimney with a soft whoosh.

Baku straightened slowly, one hand resting briefly against his chest.

Something inside him was already moving.

And he had the unsettling sense that this time, the nightmare was not the only thing that needed tending.

Some time later, Baku moved into another chamber of his home.

This room was smaller and far more heavily warded than the rest. The air itself felt compressed, layered with seals written in yōkai script and bound with tangible will rather than mere ink. At its center stood his gate, an upright ring of dark stone and polished metal, etched with symbols that pulsed faintly as if breathing.

It was a rare thing. A traveling threshold bound not to space, but to purpose.

Once the gate was opened to a location in the human world, it retained that connection. A traveler who passed through would return to the exact point they had departed from, as if the gate fixed that place in space until the journey was complete.

For this reason, many powerful yōkai coveted Baku’s home. The gate’s utility was rare and dangerous enough that it had been sealed with exceptional care, directly by the Yōkai Council, its very presence unsettling to lesser spirits.

The seal flickered.

Baku rested his cane against the floor and placed one gloved hand against the ring. The wards resisted for a breath seeking permission—then weakened, recognizing him and the authority of the Yōkai Council. The surface of the gate rippled, darkened, and opened.

He stepped through.

The human world resolved around him in silence.

He found himself in a bedroom, modest, tidy, lit only by moonlight filtering through thin curtains. A man slept on the bed beside his wife, his body tense, his breathing uneven. Even from a distance, Baku could see the signs.

The tightened jaw, restless fingers, and the shallow rhythm of fear cycling through sleep.

He was experiencing a nightmare, exactly as he feared.

Such a troubled fellow. I will help you.

Baku stood still for a long moment, studying them.

The man’s face caught his attention immediately.

It had strong lines softened by age with a mouth that smiled often. Eyes that, even closed, suggested warmth. He was very possibly a very good man. It was an ideal face, extremely human and expressive in the right ways. Complete in a way Baku’s own could not be.

“If only my face had such character,” he murmured quietly. “With a face like this, I would be free to live among humans. Permission to be here would no longer be required. My duties could be fulfilled much more efficiently as it was in the past.”

The thrashing sensation inside him surged again, sharper now. A burning, restless, too large for his frame filled him. He clenched his jaw and drew in a slow breath.

Eat the nightmare, he told himself. Settle yourself, Baku.

He leaned closer and inhaled through his trunk.

The nightmare leaked from the man’s chest like dark fuzz, coiling and trembling as it emerged. Baku sucked it in one controlled breath—and immediately staggered, one hand flying to his stomach.

“Augh…”

The sensation did not settle.

If anything, it intensified.

Heat flared through his body, feeling unfamiliar and violent. Power rushed into him, something raw and expanding within him, straining against something inside him.

“If only I had what you do,” Baku muttered, staring at the sleeping man. “No more isolation. No more endless petitions to enter the human world. No more watching from the edges.”

His hand lifted.

He did not intend to touch anything, reaching with a pleading gesture.

But as his fingers twitched toward the man’s face, something answered his feelings.

The man’s skin began to peel away as though it was just a mask. Baku’s eyes widened in disbelief as the face tore free. The whole process was soundless, bloodless. Once it lifted free, it snapped over his own with terrifying speed.

He cried out as the nightmare surged inside him, flooding every channel. His body shook as power unlike any he had known before filled him, power not merely to perform his duties, but to be something else entirely.

Baku stumbled into the adjoining bathroom and stared into the mirror.

The reflection stared back at him.

He was fully human. 

He finally possessed the full human body that he’d always worked for.

Seemingly alive, breathing.

He felt complete in a way that he couldn’t describe if he tried to put a pen to paper.

He laughed, weeping for joy, letting out a breathless, astonished sound.

“I have done it,” he said, his voice trembling with triumph. “My powers evolve! Now the Yōkai Council will have no choice but to approve my new identity. I will finally walk the human world freely!”

He turned back toward the bedroom, cane in hand, and bowed toward the bed.

“My apologies,” he said softly. “I regret that I took something precious from you. But I would never eat your mind. I care too deeply for humans.”

But then movement caught his eye.

The wife stirred.

She rubbed her eyes, sat up slightly… and saw him.

“Jintaro…?” she murmured. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Baku froze.

Why did she wake during my duties?

He lifted his hand instinctively. “You are dreaming of me,” he said, reaching toward her, his fingers twitching.

“A… dream?” she whispered.

She turned her head toward the other side of the bed.

The man beside her lay still…

And faceless.

Her gaze snapped back to Baku.

She screamed.

“Oh,” Baku said quietly. “Be silent!”

Something dark surged through him in that moment, cold, decisive and not entirely rational.

Since you have taken one face, it may be useful to have yet another.

He floated toward her, shadows curling around his form. With a single, efficient gesture, he wrenched her face free, the darkness swallowing her scream whole.

“And since it would be troublesome to answer to the Yōkai Council,” he said calmly, as the room fell still once more, “these humans must regrettably be silenced.”

The nightmare within him encouraged him.

It decidedly agreed with his actions.

And somewhere deep inside Baku, something essential cracked,

it wasn’t fear over what he was becoming,

to the contrary,

he was filled with a sense of relief.

Baku returned to the yōkai world.

The gate sealed behind him with a final, resonant hum, its wards knitting themselves back into place as though nothing had ever passed through. The thrashing sensation that had plagued him earlier was gone now—utterly, unsettlingly absent. In its place was a deep, steady current of power that ran through his limbs and settled behind his eyes.

He flexed his fingers slowly.

His newly obtained strength remained.

Baku exhaled, a sound caught somewhere between relief and unease.

He regretted what he had done. That much was undeniable. The memory of the human bedroom lingered like a taste he could not quite swallow down. And yet, beneath the regret was certainty. A calm, resolved belief that he had acted correctly.

He had given so much to humans over the centuries, devouring their nightmares, guarding their fragile minds, preserving their restful sleep while receiving nothing in return but disbelief and growing neglect.

It was only fair that he had finally taken something back.

Faces were a form of currency, after all. They offered him everything he desired.

Identity. Access. Freedom.

His collection grew.

As he walked through the corridors of his home, his thoughts drifted unbidden to the dream world, and to Aoi.

Perhaps the solution had been far simpler than he had imagined.

With only a slight twisting of his principles, a gentle bending rather than a break, she could have the happiness she had lost. A life unburdened by whatever had hollowed her so deeply. It was true that he could not give her a new body. That limitation still held.

But a fulfilling life within a dream… that he could give her.

A dream that could last forever.

Baku’s steps slowed as the idea settled into place, fitting far too neatly.

He entered his study, feeling cheerful.

Natalia-sama lay asleep near the hearth, a book had slipped from her fingers, her breathing slow and even. The firelight painted her face in warm tones, softening lines earned through centuries of authority and care.

Baku paused beside her.

Her face is quite beautiful, he thought absently. It would make an excellent addition to my collection—

The thought stopped him.

He recoiled slightly, drawing his hand back.

“No,” he murmured. “Not her.”

His gaze flicked toward the walls, as though the Yōkai Council might be listening through the stone walls of his home.

He considered it for a long moment.

“She would punish me if she found out what I’ve done, would she not?” he added quietly. “And the Council would take far harsher measures…”

His voice trailed off.

Questions crowded in, overlapping, pressing at the edges of his composure.

What must I do?

How can I be happy?

And I want her to live on—

The thoughts tangled, looping back on themselves. Something sharp pulsed behind his temples. It wasn’t a flash of pain, but a sense of a need to act.

But then…

Ah.

The dream!

Perfect.

Baku straightened slowly.

Of course she would not enter it willingly. Natalia-sama was too perceptive for that. Too clever and aware. But caution had always been his strength. He would proceed gently and carefully.

He studied her for a moment, considering taking action right then, but when her eyelashes fluttered, he shook his head and turned away.

He moved to prepare fresh tea.

This time, he added something special, an infusion long forbidden except in rare medical circumstances. It came from an herb that grew naturally along the edge of his lake. He took it from an old jar kept for the nights when sleep even refused him.

He measured out just enough to encourage deeper rest. Enough to soften resistance. Even asleep, she might still be capable of resisting his power.

He hesitated.

Then added a little more.

When Natalia stirred and yawned, he turned with an easy smile already in place.

“Ah… you’ve returned, Baku,” she said sleepily.

As I thought, she was just sleeping shallowly.

He stiffened for a fraction of a second, then laughed lightly. “Yes. Everything went very well.”

He set a tray between them containing their tea and his delicate porcelain cups, and something else besides.

Cookies.

A human indulgence he cherished when comfort was required. He had never offered them to her before.

Natalia blinked in surprise. “What’s this? Cookies? I didn’t know you were fond of them.”

“Oh, very much so,” Baku replied smoothly. “I don’t partake often. But on special occasions, I find myself… impelled.”

She laughed softly. “I didn’t know you were holding out on me, you rascal.”

“I’m afraid I can be selfish at times,” he admitted with a small bow. “But tonight I feel especially generous. High-spirited, even.”

Natalia nodded, took one, and smiled as she bit into it. “Oh, these are excellent! You have wonderful taste, my friend. Do you mind if I devour them all?”

“Not at all,” Baku said warmly. “Be as selfish as you wish.”

He set up the shogi board. “Care for a game?”

“Absolutely,” she said, sitting up straighter as she ate another cookie and lifted her cup.

They played.

At first, she was sharp as ever, commenting on his strategy, teasing him when he overextended. But gradually, as she sipped more tea, her movements slowed. Her eyelids lingered closed just a moment too long between turns.

Her hand hovered over a piece… then lowered it clumsily.

“…Ah,” she murmured, smiling faintly. “I seem to be losing focus.”

“Perhaps you should rest,” Baku suggested gently.

Natalia nodded, words already drifting away from her. Within moments, her head tipped forward, her breathing deepening, consciousness slipping away cleanly into sleep.

Baku watched her carefully until he was certain.

“She touched the spindle,” he whispered to himself. “Just like in the play.”

Perfect.

He approached her and knelt, studying her sleeping face.

“I will take care of you,” he said softly. “...as I do the others. For eternity.”

His fingers brushed against her cheek, but he did not take her face.

“Slumber,” Baku murmured. “And join the beautiful dream I have crafted. You will not remember a thing. But you will be fulfilled. You will live as a human, free of burden.”

He straightened, folding his hands behind his back.

“You deserve it.”

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