Hello, Tiny Octopus again. I want to get caught up with the manga before I start working on the sequel to Antonym, so here's something to tide you over until then.

Urban legends are exchanged like currency in the 11th ward, traded over trash can bonfires and whispered at the casual bumping of shoulders on a busy sidewalk. Humans and ghouls both tell the same stories—new arrivals and asylum-seekers, doves staking out the main drag, the ward head's latest scandals—because every little rumor is worth its weight in gold, the difference between surviving the night or ending up another statistic in the following morning's news report.

The stories going around lately are a little more ominous than usual, whispers of a ghoul who's making a little too much noise, fearmongering spread by the alphas of the territory and sensational newspaper headlines that have the words "Binge Eater" on everyone's lips. There's talk of enforcing a curfew and closing major highways, but with every proposed precaution, there are critics insisting that this isn't the 13th ward, shouldn't you be doing that kind of thing over there?

More mundane are claims that there's a human who cuts hair for little to nothing, a recluse who's transformed her one-room apartment into a tiny salon, and that ghouls are among her clientele. There's talk of ghouls in the subway, waiting until the last train leaves to come out of the tunnels and drag unsuspecting victims into the dark. They say the world below Tokyo is not one humans belong in.

As it turns out, the story about the hairstylist is true.

The apartment in question is down the street from a brothel poorly disguised as a nightclub, where CCG Investigators tend to just look the other way because they have more important things to worry about. Up the stairs to the second floor and at the end of the walkway, there's a leaking air conditioning unit jammed beneath a window spiderwebbed with cracks. It's here where the 11th ward's latest urban legend can be found.

Meika Kuno, as she is known by those who seek her out, looks just sickly enough to pass for a drug addict that she's usually left alone, and just coherent enough that people trust her with a pair of scissors. It's not that hairstylists are hard to come by in the 11th ward, but Meika is much less discerning in her clientele than a regular salon, and it's rumored she's never turned anyone down, no matter what, or who, they eat. She doesn't charge much because she can't—her salon is a one-room apartment with the kitchen portioned off by a shower curtain, her tools are cheap second-hand heirlooms, and her chairs are wooden crates that held rice wine bottles long ago. But for those with nowhere else to go, there isn't much room to complain.

Hagi, the 11th ward's self-proclaimed alpha, is just as fearsome as his reputation, six feet tall with scars carved into his face. He's told Meika during one of his numerous visits to her makeshift salon that he'd gotten them fighting Investigators, a whip-like qinque that smelled like an old friend and dug into his flesh with its barbs. She hadn't asked; he'd just told her. It's something people tend to do without even realizing when she has her fingers massaging their scalp. Her relationship with Hagi, however, is something a little different from her other clients.

"You've been spreading that crap around about me cutting hair for two hundred yen," she says as she rinses the last of the shampoo out of his hair and gives him a towel, "Not that I don't appreciate the business, Hagi, but I have to eat, too, you know?"

"Money's tight," he grunts, going to sit down on the crate with a cloth draped over it, the designated chair for clients, "Most of my boys do temp work running deliveries or doing heavy lifting, but with the doves cracking down, it's hard to even do that anymore."

Hagi runs the 11th ward like an organized crime ring, close-knit and secretive without drawing too much attention. Meika's always thought it was cute how he treated his followers like family, referring to them nearly affectionately, and cuter that he organized what was essentially a ghoul neighborhood watch party, but she was smart enough not to comment on it.

"So am I cutting your hair for two hundred yen now, too?" she asks dryly. She goes to sit behind him, a pair of scissors and a comb in hand, and begins smoothing through knots days old.

Hagi shrugs. "It doesn't matter, does it? I told you, if you need food, just let me know. I'll get you something."

Meika pauses. "I appreciate it," she says slowly, "But if you just pay me a more reasonable amount, I can go get my own—"

"No," he cuts her off with a sharp glare, "You can't. Kamishiro still isn't following the rules. I'm trying to be lenient, but if she eats you, I might just kill her."

Meika had heard about the drifter from Hagi long before the papers began frightening the ward's residents about the Binge Eater. If the news reports and the ward head Shikao Kurita's frantic appeal to the CCG for more Investigators were any indication, she'd almost overstayed her welcome.

"Kamishiro again, huh?" Meika says conversationally, "I heard they found another body last night. That makes, what, ten?"

Hagi groans. "That woman is going to be the death of me," he mutters.

"She goes to meetings, right?" Meika asks, "I'm kind of surprised you haven't set her straight yet. You getting soft on me?"

"No. But for me to come down on her that harshly this early on wouldn't be well-received," he sighs, "Some idiot is always jumping to her defense at meetings, claiming she's new, or she didn't know better, or some bullshit along those lines."

"Some idiot," Meika hums, "Wait, let me guess; it's Kazuichi."

"Got it in one."

"He's the only person I see as often as you," she explains, "He talks about her nonstop. It's kind of depressing, since I'm sure she doesn't give him the time of day."

"It's more infuriating than it is depressing. She could wipe the floor with him, she doesn't need him jumping to her defense, especially when she's in the wrong."

When she finishes trimming his hair, she rests a hand on his shoulder. "You had a long day," she murmurs, "Shoulders are tense. Want a massage?"

Her only warning is the tensing of his muscles under her hand; she blinks and she's sprawled over the table with Hagi's narrow eyes burning into her from above. "A massage isn't going to be enough for today," he says, voice dropping an octave.

"Oh," she breathes, and smiles when he comes in for a kiss.

It doesn't last long. It never does; Hagi is always in a hurry, like this is just something he has to do now and then, and itch he needs scratched, and just wants to get it over with, and Meika goes days at a time without company and weeks without being touched so she keens the moment his hands are on her bare skin. The table digs into her back, but she stays where she is and just tries to hold onto him as long as he'll let her.

Afterwards, Hagi lingers, fingers idly running up Meika's back, but the gesture is more automatic than anything. He's told her a thousand times not to think too much about what they do together, mostly because he knows she's always looking for something that isn't really there, something on top of the trust they've carefully built until now that Hagi thinks is more than enough on its own.

He redresses and goes to get a blanket to put around her shoulders, then begins to leave without a word. "Hagi," Meika calls, and he hesitates in the doorway, turning back to look at her. Her neck and shoulders are littered with red blotches and teeth, places where she tasted just a little too good.

"You get it now, right?" he'd said once when he'd had to go get bandage wraps after biting a small chunk out of her shoulder and his breath had been labored as he tried to restrain himself, "You get why this isn't a good idea?"

"Come back soon, okay?" she asks, "Even if it's not for a haircut, just drop by and visit. I'll feel better if I know you're alive."

"I'll be fine, Meika," he says, exterior hardening again into something unreadable. Once he's out that door, they're not friends anymore; he's a ghoul, the leader of the 11th ward, and he can't give her any special treatment.

Meika leans her head against the table and breathes the smell of where she and Hagi had just been.