Haru gave Reiju delightful vibes as early on as their sewer adventures. She wasn't very confident in what she had to offer the party, but it wasn't every day that a girl proclaimed picking up a bat for the purpose of bludgeoning zombies so brightly. And wielding an axe for stress relief? Such spunk. Good for her, good for her.
But what really sparked Reiju's fondness was the discussion surrounding Haru's garden back home. First, domesticity of that nature was beyond Reiju's scope of understanding outside of the very basics; there was always a certain novelty to learning about what members of the party felt or did that didn't align with traditional military values, because she had been a soldier all her life. Second, Haru's painting of her relationship with her late father reminded Reiju of what her dearest brother had endured between the strict expectations and cruel restrictions at their own father's hands. Her heart was further stirred when, third, Haru started talking about cooking.
As royalty, Reiju was prohibited from engaging in common labor among other displays of humanity. Fear kept her in line as a child, and she grew into her mask with a wry smile over the years. Cooking was less of a personal interest and more of a meaningful memory associated with her beloved mother and estranged brother, who represented everything good in their otherwise rotten family. Here, she could argue that she was cooking for the sake of surviving and completing the mission, so she wasn't disobeying her father's rules by dabbling in a lesson or two. In doing so, a part of her felt more human than the self-preserving killer she felt herself to be. Haru did Reiju a great kindness that day, even if the latter didn't show it, but she did impress that her reasons for not cooking so much in the following weeks weren't due to disinterest (and rather her own hang-ups in tandem with the pragmatism of limited ingredients).
So it concerned Reiju to hear that Haru was harboring growing insecurities about her place in the party. Reiju had grown up playing the role of an exemplary child soldier; the feeling of not measuring up wasn't something to which she could relate, but she had seen the crushing misery of it in her brother. Kind people were conscientious, and that led them to shoulder disproportionate guilt where it shouldn't exist. Haru's insistence to be left behind if she became dead weight on the bridge bothered her, and Reiju's proposal was pitched in part with Haru in mind. And look what Haru went on to do—she proved everyone wrong by rescuing Gojo. Good for her!
Even so, that didn't stop Haru from trying to shoulder more. Reiju didn't want to condescend by forcing rest on her (she doubted it would've worked, anyway), so she insisted instead that they take turns as equals. Haru meant well, but Reiju hoped by the end of it all that, going forward, she would let herself rely on friends some more, because she deserved all the love and support.
Reiju participated in cards out of equal parts curiosity and niceties, which was why she had no trouble playing and interacting with Soujuurou, whom she mostly knew in passing by then. It was a novel experience, which turned out to be the case for him, too. The more he talked, the more he struck her as young and clumsy, though not necessarily immature. There was a youthful earnestness about him that she couldn't help teasing a little; at the same time, she was evasive of his request for friendship out of lifelong conditioning to keep people at a distance, professionally and personally. Princesses weren't allowed to befriend strangers, no matter how good or bad, yet she had little desire to share her inconsequential title in explanation.
But it was a lovely thought. Her, making friends? True friends were rare and precious. She wasn't sure they were meant for her bloodstained, warmongering hands, because she hadn't left like Soujuurou, as she learned, had. She was still her father's tool, and that knowledge drove her curiosity toward his perspective. It lent a familiar brushstroke to the image of a "good and bad" world that he painted, yet that picture was so much livelier and freer than what she could imagine. It meant he was living, and she felt a deep appreciation for his ongoing journey despite the sparse details she knew.
There was a certain disconnect, though, that became more pronounced when he requested to be left behind by the party. Down-to-earth and level-headed, but there was something about his approach that felt half-formed—too cold, calculated. It was like watching someone slowly claim personhood in real time through the heartfelt reactions he received from a friend. Ultimately, as bitter as the decision tasted, it was a necessity that Reiju understood, and one that spoke volumes about Soujuurou as a person (and a tool).
Then she witnessed his prank about brains, and she knew it would be all right—that he would be just fine—because he had his heart.
It was really funny, because she's the best swimmer in her family.
Leontuzzo was something of a working partner within the bounds of their interactions. He had his quirks—a strong inclination toward reciprocity, no matter how small the favor, and a fussiness with eating habits, for two—but he was wary and conversational when discussing the details of their mission, which impressed on Reiju that he was either realistic or experienced (or both). At the very least, he was guarded in his provision of vague answers where possible; it was none of her business, though, and neither of them had agreed to be employed by Dr. Bei, so she didn't pry.
That easy partnership carried into the mall, where he didn't stop her from going into the water as a decoy. They had built this quiet understanding between them to let the other work according to their stated qualifications, acknowledging their limited options and the futility of arguing for the sake of it. This was the closest to a professional relationship Reiju had, and therefore the easiest dynamic of the party to handle on her end.
But Leontuzzo's stress started to show in the bunker. It revealed to Reiju that he was a lot more emotional than he'd been letting on, which wasn't inherently a bad thing: All it meant was that his heart wasn't made of ice. She had assumed that he would be jumping for joy at the chance to eat well-cooked food, but he took to drinking instead. Her offer to let him drink with impunity was more for his benefit than hers, as well as an attempt at lightening the mood; she didn't miss the taste of poison that badly, but it was considerate on his part to point her in a potential direction.
Then he saw her memory, which contained perhaps some of her most peaceful thoughts. Despite the promise of gore, it had been a moment of relief and salvation for Reiju—to know that her blood wasn't wholly cursed with knowledge of the conscience that still lived on in it. She was a professional killer, too cowardly to have been anything else since she was a child for fear of punishment, and she hated herself for it. While Leontuzzo had very little of these details, he was still gracious by stating that he was glad for her survival, and those words, including the answers that came after, spoke a great deal for him.
He had "competent companions." There was paperwork back home he couldn't skip past. It sounded like he had friends, and he was responsible enough not to act for his sole benefit by moving to a time most convenient for him. Rather than a moment, he seemed to want to go back to the people in it.
Confirmation of his nature came in the argument with the party about what to do in regard to the bridge. Reiju rather liked his idea of a distraction—an alternative to the divisive, frankly unlovely language of leaving the biggest burdens behind—though she found that it didn't sufficiently address the fault with weight. So she came up with a concession, and he was quick to support it. He was even quicker to consider what would have to be done for the bracelets in the event somebody were to fall behind. While Leontuzzo never lost his head, his firm stance on keeping the party together struck Reiju as the behavior of a caring person with cautiously hopeful realism, which was something they'd needed on the eight-week quest. In summation, she considered Leontuzzo a valuable asset to the party in many of the ways that mattered the most, because she was certainly unqualified to fill facets of those shoes.
Reiju's introduction to Hella was through Ninety-Nine, though she'd seen Hella first at the townhouse. In fact, the two were so inextricably linked that encounters with one inevitably influenced her perception of the other. Hella was the world to Ninety-Nine, and Hella wanted to nurture the softness that was nestled deep in Ninety-Nine's heart. Reiju had grown up with monsters; her brothers were engineered to be without emotions, which made them cruel and savage, so she was inclined to believe Hella's claims of Ninety-Nine's true nature over what was stated at the townhouse.
There was a time when she had told Sanji that the sea was vast, bawling her eyes out as she'd stressed that he would meet kind people someday. She had freed him for that purpose, seen the goodness and humanity in him that her father still refused to accept. Because of that, she intellectually believed herself more aligned with Hella, who wished freedom for a loved one. Despite her emotional resonance with Ninety-Nine, she didn't think she was "just like [her]" as Hella claimed, because Ninety-Nine was so much more than that.
The world would be better off without Germa and its warmongering royals: This was the objective truth. As for Reiju, she hated everything for which she stood and couldn't stand to live with herself. Dreaming was out of the question; instead she longed for the nightmare to end with her, a lifelong perpetrator, in it. Sanji and Hella were both kind, but their motives and actions had differed, so Hella's insistences were a greater reflection of herself than of Sanji or Reiju—and it was like peering into a fire, raging and strong, so unlike the tearful memories of pain and dehumanization in the custody of ruthless scientists.
Reiju was different. For fear of punishment, she'd molded herself into what her father, a warrior-scientist, wanted. She didn't share Hella's passion. She wasn't a monster like her heartless brothers, but her grasp of personhood was tenuous on a good day. They were never going to agree, and that was fine. It didn't color Reiju's view of Hella, who was a true survivor, and whose light hadn't been extinguished by the cruelty of others.
Her brothers would have laughed and jeered at a memorial. Reiju still had her emotions—still grieved the premature passing of her mother, whom she'd loved dearly—so she didn't laugh at the stuffed animals in Hella's arms at the pier. It was sentimental, but sweet and considerate all the same. It was easier to be cold and aloof; caring in the face of hardship, on the other hand, was brave, even if Hella came on strongly in the ensuing discussion about the bridge.
There was no timeline where Hella would have accepted Ninety-Nine's decision in the next leg of their journey. Reiju couldn't do anything, though—not after everything Ninety-Nine had said about monsters and becoming one. Out of deference to Ninety-Nine's wishes, she chose to withhold certain details from Hella while offering the bracelet as proof of Ninety-Nine's humanity when the tears took her by surprise. She could see the grief for what it was, and it hurt to see Hella, cute and bold up to this point, collapse in on herself.
In present time, she hopes Hella and Ninety-Nine will go to a time and place of their choosing together. The guilt of the penultimate night will stay with her, but that will be for her to shoulder while those two fulfill all the dreams they can imagine for themselves. Good luck out there, Hella!
My only regret was not tagging Mark sooner, because he's such a sweetie!!
For the most part, Reiju avoided interacting more than was necessary with the infected—not because she didn't care, but because she wasn't suited for tender gestures. She'd grown up in a strict military household, choking on the air of superiority she was expected to exude as the princess of a kingdom that believed foremost in might. In order to survive her disdainful family, she'd made herself cool and distant, though traces of something warmer trickled out from time to time. Her encounter with Mark at the lighthouse was one such moment, where she found herself alone with someone in clear distress and had enough in the way of a conscience to stay.
Despite her habits, Reiju had an inherent appreciation for goodness. Her late mother, who'd done everything in her power to instill their family of monsters with a sliver of humanity, had been a good woman. When Reiju saw how much good Mark had wanted to do and how afraid he was of his transformation, she was inwardly repulsed by Dr. Bei for forcing him into a mission that would strip the best of him. It was a crime in the same way her father had taken away her brothers' emotions, but Mark still had time—so she stressed that it could've been anyone else in his position, that he wasn't to be faulted or to tear himself apart for a spell of bad luck, and bade him to tap into what remained of his heart in order to remain true to himself.
Anything that happened in the aftermath would be their problem, not his. He just had to think about himself after long days of worrying about others. Reiju wasn't the paragon of virtue, and her hands were bloody from all the wars her father waged. She couldn't tell Mark what the right thing was, but she believed he would know—that he would be able to feel it—because he possessed a heart that desired to help strangers with all of his being.
And that was why she was skeptical of his intentions to thank her when she believed she'd done very little in the long run to help him. It was always like that for her. She helped if it was convenient for her, then hid away if it wasn't. Whatever choice he'd made, he'd done on his own strength of will. The sincerity of his gratitude reminded her of another brother, though, and that actually brightened her mood, because said brother was the exception to the rest: This brother was lovely, and the reminder only cast Mark in an even warmer light than before, his affliction notwithstanding.
Reiju's CR with Ninety-Nine and Hella frequently called back to her own relationship with her brother, whom she likened to Ninety-Nine while she considered herself more akin to Hella (with significant departures that put Hella ahead of her). As early on as their first meeting, she thought to herself that she "wouldn't dream of running" from a rampaging Ninety-Nine in the event she were to wrong Hella, because it was a sentiment she shared in regard to Sanji. It had only been a few hours prior to her canon point that she'd ruthlessly poisoned anyone who got in the way of his freedom, so she understood, even though she didn't say so.
Ninety-Nine was thorny, and Reiju was generally the type to leave irritable sorts of that nature alone, knowing better than to aggravate without reason. The bracelets brought them close, though, and she noticed at the time that Ninety-Nine, for all the threatening and barking and the beastliness with which she braced herself, was also quite soft once she simmered down. The beastly side of her surfaced when she warned that she wouldn't even see Reiju's arm for what it was if Hella were endangered, and Reiju didn't—couldn't—hold it against her. As a whole, she didn't hold much against Ninety-Nine and Hella, because they generally displayed human responses that she herself wasn't above.
"I've hurt her, too." This was an admission that stayed with Reiju, because it was proof of the powerful bond Ninety-Nine and Hella had. Reiju had hurt her brother, too; she hadn't taken part in the beatings, but she'd watched and jeered for her own protection before sneaking back to take care of him. She hadn't protected him, but he'd returned her half-hearted gestures with affection. To hurt and be hurt, yet love still with all of one's heart—it was honest, humanizing, and sad, especially once she learned about the scientists and how the two were stopped at every turn by one group or another. What was more, Ninety-Nine went on to express her sentiment that the people of this world should be freed as well. It was unsolicited, thoughtful, and tumbled out so naturally that it left no room for doubt that Hella's claim of Ninety-Nine's sweetness had been true.
Zombie Crusher 500 was probably an unironically fun ride for Reiju! Anyway, she acted "weird" in the kitchen, because memories of her brother, a chef, were still relatively fresh. She was both worried and nostalgic. When she answered that there was no problem, though, she was being honest in spite of her swirling thoughts. Spurred on by the aforementioned memories, she began to talk about cooking before the subject shifted to freedom, during which Ninety-Nine stressed that she wouldn't stop once she was free, the world's downtrodden population be damned. Reiju thought that was a pretty reasonable line to draw—rational, even.
And the thing was, Reiju wasn't perfect. While she was sucessfully modified, she wasn't the killing machine her father had wanted. He'd modified her to obey his direct orders, but she still had her emotions that she stifled out of self-preservation. She was merely a prototype, nothing more. Ninety-Nine, on the other hand, was perfect and therefore a monster, yet one who paradoxically sought freedom. Reiju's emotionless brothers were monsters, because they could feel neither guilt nor sorrow. They didn't even fear their own demises. But Ninety-Nine was different.
Ninety-Nine had empathy. She was a dreamer. She appreciated the beauty of the world around her, but she'd suffered the misfortune of science long enough to understand Reiju's desire to forfeit her own life. It was a pragmatic back-and-forth, telling Ninety-Nine of the best way to eliminate her; words would have failed to express Reiju's gratitude. The depths of the care that lurked beneath the scars crisscrossing Ninety-Nine's heart were deep and lovely.
She suspected that something was wrong when she found Ninety-Nine outside at the pier. A part of her had a feeling, and the blunt confession was like a blow to the chest that she took with a wry smile, as she'd done with everything else. If nothing else, she was glad for Ninety-Nine's happiness in what she was able to attain up to this point. After all that talk of monsters and perfection, there was that undeniable humanity. When Reiju couldn't consider her own brothers human, that spark of emotion was a gift, and the mother she'd loved more than anyone else in the world had given that same spark to Sanji. It was sacrosanct and she wanted to shield Ninety-Nine's at all costs, even if it meant deceiving Hella and dealing with the fallout of that later. She wanted Ninety-Nine to die as herself, on her own terms with the freedom she'd fought so hard to keep. Her heart ached, but it would have broken to deny that of Ninety-Nine.
And then the message arrived! And it truly cinched how lovely Ninety-Nine was, to feel and want that for Reiju. It probably got her a little teary-eyed from how touched she was. Best girl.
Reiju's thoughts of Kotoha were distant yet positive—like someone who came from another world not just physically, but also metaphorically. It wasn't hard to see that Kotoha was something like the life of the party. She left the impression of being everywhere and knowing everyone. If Shoko struck Reiju as the type to get along with anyone, then Kotoha was the one who could befriend virtually anybody, which would be a valuable trait for the trying times ahead. She seemed competent, too, with knowledge in facts both observed and otherwise.
Strikingly, her reactions to the bodies at the subway were as human as Reiju would have expected. This was normal behavior, except the company Reiju kept back home wouldn't have batted an eye at the unceasing presence of death, and so it always stood out as an appreciable quality. Kotoha appeared especially rattled, though Reiju couldn't say why—but she could see that this environment ill-suited her in that Kotoha bore the countenance of someone who cared and belonged to someplace livelier. The glum look didn't suit her. On the other hand, her ability was very impressive and the trampoline? Genius. Clever girl.
The conversation by the oasis stayed with Reiju. What Kotoha had to say about the realization that there were still other people spoke volumes about her. She was willing to take drastic actions, but was equally hesitant to hurt strangers. Whether or not she had reservations about the potential consequences of running into desperate people, she voiced her desire to protect them first. It would have been sweetly naive, if not for the fact that Kotoha was dealing remarkably well with the nature of their mission and the state of the desolate world in which they'd been summoned. Whatever the case, Kotoha was a decent person by nature and someone whose company Reiju enjoyed, which made the end all the more tragic.
Kotoha's eventual demise clearly weighed on many people. She herself didn't look so good toward the end, but Reiju didn't intervene. Kotoha had many friends, most warmer and kinder than Reiju, which meant she was in loving hands. Reiju wasn't one for tenderness—was lousy at it, in fact—so she diverted her focus into ensuring that they were secured from a distance by taking watches and staying alert, as heartless it probably had been. This was her way of caring, and she still thought of Kotoha and everyone else they'd lost throughout the weeks, wondering about the cruelty of the world toward its kindest souls.
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Vinsmoke Reiju
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Haru gave Reiju delightful vibes as early on as their sewer adventures. She wasn't very confident in what she had to offer the party, but it wasn't every day that a girl proclaimed picking up a bat for the purpose of bludgeoning zombies so brightly. And wielding an axe for stress relief? Such spunk. Good for her, good for her.
But what really sparked Reiju's fondness was the discussion surrounding Haru's garden back home. First, domesticity of that nature was beyond Reiju's scope of understanding outside of the very basics; there was always a certain novelty to learning about what members of the party felt or did that didn't align with traditional military values, because she had been a soldier all her life. Second, Haru's painting of her relationship with her late father reminded Reiju of what her dearest brother had endured between the strict expectations and cruel restrictions at their own father's hands. Her heart was further stirred when, third, Haru started talking about cooking.
As royalty, Reiju was prohibited from engaging in common labor among other displays of humanity. Fear kept her in line as a child, and she grew into her mask with a wry smile over the years. Cooking was less of a personal interest and more of a meaningful memory associated with her beloved mother and estranged brother, who represented everything good in their otherwise rotten family. Here, she could argue that she was cooking for the sake of surviving and completing the mission, so she wasn't disobeying her father's rules by dabbling in a lesson or two. In doing so, a part of her felt more human than the self-preserving killer she felt herself to be. Haru did Reiju a great kindness that day, even if the latter didn't show it, but she did impress that her reasons for not cooking so much in the following weeks weren't due to disinterest (and rather her own hang-ups in tandem with the pragmatism of limited ingredients).
So it concerned Reiju to hear that Haru was harboring growing insecurities about her place in the party. Reiju had grown up playing the role of an exemplary child soldier; the feeling of not measuring up wasn't something to which she could relate, but she had seen the crushing misery of it in her brother. Kind people were conscientious, and that led them to shoulder disproportionate guilt where it shouldn't exist. Haru's insistence to be left behind if she became dead weight on the bridge bothered her, and Reiju's proposal was pitched in part with Haru in mind. And look what Haru went on to do—she proved everyone wrong by rescuing Gojo. Good for her!
Even so, that didn't stop Haru from trying to shoulder more. Reiju didn't want to condescend by forcing rest on her (she doubted it would've worked, anyway), so she insisted instead that they take turns as equals. Haru meant well, but Reiju hoped by the end of it all that, going forward, she would let herself rely on friends some more, because she deserved all the love and support.
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Reiju participated in cards out of equal parts curiosity and niceties, which was why she had no trouble playing and interacting with Soujuurou, whom she mostly knew in passing by then. It was a novel experience, which turned out to be the case for him, too. The more he talked, the more he struck her as young and clumsy, though not necessarily immature. There was a youthful earnestness about him that she couldn't help teasing a little; at the same time, she was evasive of his request for friendship out of lifelong conditioning to keep people at a distance, professionally and personally. Princesses weren't allowed to befriend strangers, no matter how good or bad, yet she had little desire to share her inconsequential title in explanation.
But it was a lovely thought. Her, making friends? True friends were rare and precious. She wasn't sure they were meant for her bloodstained, warmongering hands, because she hadn't left like Soujuurou, as she learned, had. She was still her father's tool, and that knowledge drove her curiosity toward his perspective. It lent a familiar brushstroke to the image of a "good and bad" world that he painted, yet that picture was so much livelier and freer than what she could imagine. It meant he was living, and she felt a deep appreciation for his ongoing journey despite the sparse details she knew.
There was a certain disconnect, though, that became more pronounced when he requested to be left behind by the party. Down-to-earth and level-headed, but there was something about his approach that felt half-formed—too cold, calculated. It was like watching someone slowly claim personhood in real time through the heartfelt reactions he received from a friend. Ultimately, as bitter as the decision tasted, it was a necessity that Reiju understood, and one that spoke volumes about Soujuurou as a person (and a tool).
Then she witnessed his prank about brains, and she knew it would be all right—that he would be just fine—because he had his heart.
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Leontuzzo was something of a working partner within the bounds of their interactions. He had his quirks—a strong inclination toward reciprocity, no matter how small the favor, and a fussiness with eating habits, for two—but he was wary and conversational when discussing the details of their mission, which impressed on Reiju that he was either realistic or experienced (or both). At the very least, he was guarded in his provision of vague answers where possible; it was none of her business, though, and neither of them had agreed to be employed by Dr. Bei, so she didn't pry.
That easy partnership carried into the mall, where he didn't stop her from going into the water as a decoy. They had built this quiet understanding between them to let the other work according to their stated qualifications, acknowledging their limited options and the futility of arguing for the sake of it. This was the closest to a professional relationship Reiju had, and therefore the easiest dynamic of the party to handle on her end.
But Leontuzzo's stress started to show in the bunker. It revealed to Reiju that he was a lot more emotional than he'd been letting on, which wasn't inherently a bad thing: All it meant was that his heart wasn't made of ice. She had assumed that he would be jumping for joy at the chance to eat well-cooked food, but he took to drinking instead. Her offer to let him drink with impunity was more for his benefit than hers, as well as an attempt at lightening the mood; she didn't miss the taste of poison that badly, but it was considerate on his part to point her in a potential direction.
Then he saw her memory, which contained perhaps some of her most peaceful thoughts. Despite the promise of gore, it had been a moment of relief and salvation for Reiju—to know that her blood wasn't wholly cursed with knowledge of the conscience that still lived on in it. She was a professional killer, too cowardly to have been anything else since she was a child for fear of punishment, and she hated herself for it. While Leontuzzo had very little of these details, he was still gracious by stating that he was glad for her survival, and those words, including the answers that came after, spoke a great deal for him.
He had "competent companions." There was paperwork back home he couldn't skip past. It sounded like he had friends, and he was responsible enough not to act for his sole benefit by moving to a time most convenient for him. Rather than a moment, he seemed to want to go back to the people in it.
Confirmation of his nature came in the argument with the party about what to do in regard to the bridge. Reiju rather liked his idea of a distraction—an alternative to the divisive, frankly unlovely language of leaving the biggest burdens behind—though she found that it didn't sufficiently address the fault with weight. So she came up with a concession, and he was quick to support it. He was even quicker to consider what would have to be done for the bracelets in the event somebody were to fall behind. While Leontuzzo never lost his head, his firm stance on keeping the party together struck Reiju as the behavior of a caring person with cautiously hopeful realism, which was something they'd needed on the eight-week quest. In summation, she considered Leontuzzo a valuable asset to the party in many of the ways that mattered the most, because she was certainly unqualified to fill facets of those shoes.
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Reiju's introduction to Hella was through Ninety-Nine, though she'd seen Hella first at the townhouse. In fact, the two were so inextricably linked that encounters with one inevitably influenced her perception of the other. Hella was the world to Ninety-Nine, and Hella wanted to nurture the softness that was nestled deep in Ninety-Nine's heart. Reiju had grown up with monsters; her brothers were engineered to be without emotions, which made them cruel and savage, so she was inclined to believe Hella's claims of Ninety-Nine's true nature over what was stated at the townhouse.
There was a time when she had told Sanji that the sea was vast, bawling her eyes out as she'd stressed that he would meet kind people someday. She had freed him for that purpose, seen the goodness and humanity in him that her father still refused to accept. Because of that, she intellectually believed herself more aligned with Hella, who wished freedom for a loved one. Despite her emotional resonance with Ninety-Nine, she didn't think she was "just like [her]" as Hella claimed, because Ninety-Nine was so much more than that.
The world would be better off without Germa and its warmongering royals: This was the objective truth. As for Reiju, she hated everything for which she stood and couldn't stand to live with herself. Dreaming was out of the question; instead she longed for the nightmare to end with her, a lifelong perpetrator, in it. Sanji and Hella were both kind, but their motives and actions had differed, so Hella's insistences were a greater reflection of herself than of Sanji or Reiju—and it was like peering into a fire, raging and strong, so unlike the tearful memories of pain and dehumanization in the custody of ruthless scientists.
Reiju was different. For fear of punishment, she'd molded herself into what her father, a warrior-scientist, wanted. She didn't share Hella's passion. She wasn't a monster like her heartless brothers, but her grasp of personhood was tenuous on a good day. They were never going to agree, and that was fine. It didn't color Reiju's view of Hella, who was a true survivor, and whose light hadn't been extinguished by the cruelty of others.
Her brothers would have laughed and jeered at a memorial. Reiju still had her emotions—still grieved the premature passing of her mother, whom she'd loved dearly—so she didn't laugh at the stuffed animals in Hella's arms at the pier. It was sentimental, but sweet and considerate all the same. It was easier to be cold and aloof; caring in the face of hardship, on the other hand, was brave, even if Hella came on strongly in the ensuing discussion about the bridge.
There was no timeline where Hella would have accepted Ninety-Nine's decision in the next leg of their journey. Reiju couldn't do anything, though—not after everything Ninety-Nine had said about monsters and becoming one. Out of deference to Ninety-Nine's wishes, she chose to withhold certain details from Hella while offering the bracelet as proof of Ninety-Nine's humanity when the tears took her by surprise. She could see the grief for what it was, and it hurt to see Hella, cute and bold up to this point, collapse in on herself.
In present time, she hopes Hella and Ninety-Nine will go to a time and place of their choosing together. The guilt of the penultimate night will stay with her, but that will be for her to shoulder while those two fulfill all the dreams they can imagine for themselves. Good luck out there, Hella!
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For the most part, Reiju avoided interacting more than was necessary with the infected—not because she didn't care, but because she wasn't suited for tender gestures. She'd grown up in a strict military household, choking on the air of superiority she was expected to exude as the princess of a kingdom that believed foremost in might. In order to survive her disdainful family, she'd made herself cool and distant, though traces of something warmer trickled out from time to time. Her encounter with Mark at the lighthouse was one such moment, where she found herself alone with someone in clear distress and had enough in the way of a conscience to stay.
Despite her habits, Reiju had an inherent appreciation for goodness. Her late mother, who'd done everything in her power to instill their family of monsters with a sliver of humanity, had been a good woman. When Reiju saw how much good Mark had wanted to do and how afraid he was of his transformation, she was inwardly repulsed by Dr. Bei for forcing him into a mission that would strip the best of him. It was a crime in the same way her father had taken away her brothers' emotions, but Mark still had time—so she stressed that it could've been anyone else in his position, that he wasn't to be faulted or to tear himself apart for a spell of bad luck, and bade him to tap into what remained of his heart in order to remain true to himself.
Anything that happened in the aftermath would be their problem, not his. He just had to think about himself after long days of worrying about others. Reiju wasn't the paragon of virtue, and her hands were bloody from all the wars her father waged. She couldn't tell Mark what the right thing was, but she believed he would know—that he would be able to feel it—because he possessed a heart that desired to help strangers with all of his being.
And that was why she was skeptical of his intentions to thank her when she believed she'd done very little in the long run to help him. It was always like that for her. She helped if it was convenient for her, then hid away if it wasn't. Whatever choice he'd made, he'd done on his own strength of will. The sincerity of his gratitude reminded her of another brother, though, and that actually brightened her mood, because said brother was the exception to the rest: This brother was lovely, and the reminder only cast Mark in an even warmer light than before, his affliction notwithstanding.
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Reiju's CR with Ninety-Nine and Hella frequently called back to her own relationship with her brother, whom she likened to Ninety-Nine while she considered herself more akin to Hella (with significant departures that put Hella ahead of her). As early on as their first meeting, she thought to herself that she "wouldn't dream of running" from a rampaging Ninety-Nine in the event she were to wrong Hella, because it was a sentiment she shared in regard to Sanji. It had only been a few hours prior to her canon point that she'd ruthlessly poisoned anyone who got in the way of his freedom, so she understood, even though she didn't say so.
Ninety-Nine was thorny, and Reiju was generally the type to leave irritable sorts of that nature alone, knowing better than to aggravate without reason. The bracelets brought them close, though, and she noticed at the time that Ninety-Nine, for all the threatening and barking and the beastliness with which she braced herself, was also quite soft once she simmered down. The beastly side of her surfaced when she warned that she wouldn't even see Reiju's arm for what it was if Hella were endangered, and Reiju didn't—couldn't—hold it against her. As a whole, she didn't hold much against Ninety-Nine and Hella, because they generally displayed human responses that she herself wasn't above.
"I've hurt her, too." This was an admission that stayed with Reiju, because it was proof of the powerful bond Ninety-Nine and Hella had. Reiju had hurt her brother, too; she hadn't taken part in the beatings, but she'd watched and jeered for her own protection before sneaking back to take care of him. She hadn't protected him, but he'd returned her half-hearted gestures with affection. To hurt and be hurt, yet love still with all of one's heart—it was honest, humanizing, and sad, especially once she learned about the scientists and how the two were stopped at every turn by one group or another. What was more, Ninety-Nine went on to express her sentiment that the people of this world should be freed as well. It was unsolicited, thoughtful, and tumbled out so naturally that it left no room for doubt that Hella's claim of Ninety-Nine's sweetness had been true.
Zombie Crusher 500 was probably an unironically fun ride for Reiju! Anyway, she acted "weird" in the kitchen, because memories of her brother, a chef, were still relatively fresh. She was both worried and nostalgic. When she answered that there was no problem, though, she was being honest in spite of her swirling thoughts. Spurred on by the aforementioned memories, she began to talk about cooking before the subject shifted to freedom, during which Ninety-Nine stressed that she wouldn't stop once she was free, the world's downtrodden population be damned. Reiju thought that was a pretty reasonable line to draw—rational, even.
And the thing was, Reiju wasn't perfect. While she was sucessfully modified, she wasn't the killing machine her father had wanted. He'd modified her to obey his direct orders, but she still had her emotions that she stifled out of self-preservation. She was merely a prototype, nothing more. Ninety-Nine, on the other hand, was perfect and therefore a monster, yet one who paradoxically sought freedom. Reiju's emotionless brothers were monsters, because they could feel neither guilt nor sorrow. They didn't even fear their own demises. But Ninety-Nine was different.
Ninety-Nine had empathy. She was a dreamer. She appreciated the beauty of the world around her, but she'd suffered the misfortune of science long enough to understand Reiju's desire to forfeit her own life. It was a pragmatic back-and-forth, telling Ninety-Nine of the best way to eliminate her; words would have failed to express Reiju's gratitude. The depths of the care that lurked beneath the scars crisscrossing Ninety-Nine's heart were deep and lovely.
She suspected that something was wrong when she found Ninety-Nine outside at the pier. A part of her had a feeling, and the blunt confession was like a blow to the chest that she took with a wry smile, as she'd done with everything else. If nothing else, she was glad for Ninety-Nine's happiness in what she was able to attain up to this point. After all that talk of monsters and perfection, there was that undeniable humanity. When Reiju couldn't consider her own brothers human, that spark of emotion was a gift, and the mother she'd loved more than anyone else in the world had given that same spark to Sanji. It was sacrosanct and she wanted to shield Ninety-Nine's at all costs, even if it meant deceiving Hella and dealing with the fallout of that later. She wanted Ninety-Nine to die as herself, on her own terms with the freedom she'd fought so hard to keep. Her heart ached, but it would have broken to deny that of Ninety-Nine.
And then the message arrived! And it truly cinched how lovely Ninety-Nine was, to feel and want that for Reiju. It probably got her a little teary-eyed from how touched she was. Best girl.
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Strikingly, her reactions to the bodies at the subway were as human as Reiju would have expected. This was normal behavior, except the company Reiju kept back home wouldn't have batted an eye at the unceasing presence of death, and so it always stood out as an appreciable quality. Kotoha appeared especially rattled, though Reiju couldn't say why—but she could see that this environment ill-suited her in that Kotoha bore the countenance of someone who cared and belonged to someplace livelier. The glum look didn't suit her. On the other hand, her ability was very impressive and the trampoline? Genius. Clever girl.
The conversation by the oasis stayed with Reiju. What Kotoha had to say about the realization that there were still other people spoke volumes about her. She was willing to take drastic actions, but was equally hesitant to hurt strangers. Whether or not she had reservations about the potential consequences of running into desperate people, she voiced her desire to protect them first. It would have been sweetly naive, if not for the fact that Kotoha was dealing remarkably well with the nature of their mission and the state of the desolate world in which they'd been summoned. Whatever the case, Kotoha was a decent person by nature and someone whose company Reiju enjoyed, which made the end all the more tragic.
Kotoha's eventual demise clearly weighed on many people. She herself didn't look so good toward the end, but Reiju didn't intervene. Kotoha had many friends, most warmer and kinder than Reiju, which meant she was in loving hands. Reiju wasn't one for tenderness—was lousy at it, in fact—so she diverted her focus into ensuring that they were secured from a distance by taking watches and staying alert, as heartless it probably had been. This was her way of caring, and she still thought of Kotoha and everyone else they'd lost throughout the weeks, wondering about the cruelty of the world toward its kindest souls.