Real Name: Misaki YŪKI
Born: July 7
Height: 150 cm
Weight: 40 kg
She was given life on a sacred mountain, where three mountain hermits—Mizaru, the Unseeing Water Monkey; Iwazaru, the Unspeaking Rock Monkey; and Kikazaru, the Unhearing Vapor Monkey—taught her the fundamentals of combat. With the aid of her mountain magic, which gives her the power to manipulate liquids, solids, and gases, she has the potential for being an incredibly superior warrior, but she has never used her mystical techniques to harm another person. As a pacifist and a warrior, she has chosen a life of contradiction, and through her actions she has brought peaceful resolution to 314 wars and 229 internal conflicts.
Rather than traditional weapons, she wields ceasefire negotiations and peace treaty proposals. Because her feats aren’t as easily recognized as simply killing her enemies would be, she remains markedly unknown as a fighter. But those few who know of her consider her a hero beyond compare.
Her private life is one of normalcy. She makes pastries as a hobby, and the desserts she creates are so delicious they often tempt her into overeating. She lives with her boyfriend of five years and is starting to think about marriage.
Rat, apparently awake now, said without any other lead-in, “That flighty lady—I think she’s probably dead by now.”
Sharyū, the Fighter of the Monkey, put down her meal and calmly asked, “Why do you think that? Is your special ability being able to sense such things?”
Rat was still sleepily sprawled on the blanket. “I’d hardly call it a special ability,” he said. “Her fate is plain enough for anyone to see. Although, well, you know—rats have a knack for fleeing ships that are about to sink. Maybe some people have the shadow of death over them, and I can just see it better than others.”
Monkey said nothing. His emotions remained masked to her. If she had to say she saw some feeling in him, it was that he wanted to go back to sleep and nothing more.
The boy continued, “But if that lady is dead, it’s your fault, Miss Sharyū.”
She paused. “And why do you think that?”
“She didn’t look all that tough, but she was still a warrior. The people running this thing wouldn’t have put her in if she didn’t have a decent shot at surviving. But the more she talked with you, the weaker she got. She went from fainthearted to just plain faint. Your goodwill changed something in her. You reformed her. Who she was at the end … even a civvie could have killed her. To a rogue like her, your lack of venom is itself a deadly poison.”
Just how long has this boy been awake? Monkey wondered. I thought he was asleep the whole time. She and the child had stuck together since almost the very start of the Zodiac War, but he rarely spoke. He had not opened up to her, and he kept his opinions to himself—until now. What’s caused this change of heart? Or is this a change at all?
“Listen, Nezumi,” she said. “Are you … are you trying to provoke me? I’m sorry, but I can be a little slow to pick up on such things.”
“Is that so?” the child said. “Well, I’ll say no more. Even if I can read someone’s fate, I can’t read their mind. Anyway, whatever else happens, you won’t be reforming me. So you don’t have to worry about that.”
Monkey still couldn’t see what he was getting at. She was glad he was speaking to her now at least, but if all they did was talk past each other, it would be no more fruitful than idle chatter.
Rat asked, “But where does that leave your plan? Assuming that lady is in fact dead, that means that four of us have been killed. And that’s only the ones we know of. That’s a full third gone. Can you still pull off this guaranteed plan for victory of yours?”
“I can, although I’m saddened that fewer people remain to be saved. It sounds like you’re operating under a mistaken assumption, so allow me to correct it. I don’t have just one plan.”
That startled Rat a little. “You’ve got more than one?”
“I’m not so carelessly optimistic as to believe I can stop the Zodiac War with just one plan. Treaties always require flexibility in order to adapt to changing circumstances.”
Rat nodded with a thoughtful hum. “Well, I’ve never really thought much about stopping the fight, so I’ll leave that part to you.”
“Say, Nezumi,” Monkey said.
“What?”
“First you say I’m not going to reform you, and now you say you don’t care about stopping this war. If you have no enthusiasm for my plans, then why did you agree to join me? I don’t figure you for a pacifist either.”
Monkey had tossed her remark out there to make Rat think, never expecting he’d answer, but some part of it drew out a frank reply.
“You want to know what I think about peace? Actually, I hate it,” the boy said. “When I’m not out on some battlefield, in my so-called normal life, I’m in high school. My classmates—peace has made them all go soft. Damn wastes, all of them. The thought of risking my life to protect their meaningless existences is revolting.”
Monkey said nothing.
Rat continued, “Doesn’t it bother you? No one in the world has saved as many lives as you have. But a decent number of those you’ve saved are garbage—that’s just plain math. Actually, what you do is even worse. By saving people, you’re turning them into garbage. They think of wars and killing as someone else’s job. They think that people like me fight because that’s what we want to do. I hate to say it, but the more I protect them, the more I just want to kill them.”
Monkey let him continue.
“So tell me, Miss Pacifist. How the hell do you come to terms with that feeling?”
These feelings were a product of his age, but Monkey sensed they deserved to be handled with care. The easy response would have been to dismiss such emotions as childish and to say that he would understand when he grew up. But plenty of people reached adulthood still carrying thoughts like that. The best Monkey could do was to give him an honest and direct answer.
“I don’t make peace with it,” she said. “I struggle with it my whole life.”
“Ah, I see. The perfect answer from a saint. But talk like that doesn’t reach us mere mortals.”
Finally, Rat sat up. Despite the child’s claims, her words seemed to have roused something in his stubborn heart—or at least, they roused his upper body from the floor.
“So,” Rat said, “are you like a hard case or something?”
“Well, I know some self-defense tactics. I couldn’t survive on the battlefield if I didn’t.”
“Come on, you can drop the modesty. After all, you’re the one who blasted the floor apart, aren’t you?”
So he knew. There really was more to this boy than appearances suggested.