Is It Wrong to Seek Connection in a Dungeon?|Cote X Danmachi|

//AYANOKOUJI POV//

I don't usually think about the past, there's little point in it. It's a luxury I've long since abandoned. But today, for some reason, I can't stop myself from drifting back, even if just for a moment. It's as if the quiet of the park itself has stirred something in me, something that's been buried, forgotten.

The afternoon is lazy, like the sun itself has nowhere to go. The world around me is still. Children laugh faintly from a distance, their voices a soft, continuous hum. A bicycle whizzes by on the path, its wheels spinning. The leaves in the trees overhead rustle in the breeze, their soft whispers blending into the background noise.

It's peaceful. Almost too peaceful. But as much as I want to let myself feel it, there's an ache in my chest that won't let go. I've lived with this emptiness for so long, I don't even remember what it feels like to be whole. I glance down at the pigeons pecking at the ground in front of me, the small bag of birdseed in my hand. I don't look at them because I care. I look because it's something to do. A routine to follow. I've always preferred routines. They don't demand anything of me. Just repetition.

The old dog at my feet shifts slightly, breathing slow and steady. The gray of its coat reflects the quiet world around us. It's a creature of habit, like me.

I don't expect anything to change, not here, not in this park. But then I hear it. The faintest crunch of gravel, someone approaching with purpose. It's not hurried, not casual. The steps are deliberate. I don't need to turn around to know someone is coming my way.

He sits beside me, smooth and effortless. The man in the gray suit. His presence is almost an anomaly in the otherwise ordinary park. His hat is tilted just enough to seem purposeful, and his movements are precise, almost too calculated. A man who is comfortable with his own silence. I can't help but notice the way he carries himself. He doesn't belong here. And yet, somehow, he does.

I don't look at him directly, but I feel his gaze like a weight pressing against me. He's watching, studying. I've become used to being the center of attention. It's not that I care, but I recognize it for what it is. A passing interest, quickly fading into the background of their lives. But this man… his attention lingers. There's something about him that sets me on edge, though I can't pinpoint exactly why.

He unfolds his newspaper, but I can feel his eyes darting toward me now and then, lingering just long enough for me to notice, even if I don't acknowledge him. He's not interested in the headlines. He's interested in me. I don't know what for, but I don't like it.

The silence between us thickens. It stretches long, almost unbearable. I've never been one to initiate conversation, but I can't help myself. The tension gnaws at me, makes my thoughts unravel.

Finally, I speak. "I'm sure there are better ways to pass the time than staring at an old man."

His chuckle is quiet, but it's enough to make me glance at him. His expression hasn't changed, but his eyes hold something I can't read. He tilts his head slightly, then says my name with an almost unsettling familiarity.

"Ayanokouji Kiyotaka. Are you free?"

The question makes something stir inside me. It feels like a challenge, but I don't show it. I continue feeding the pigeons, trying to keep my hands steady. For the last thirty-five years, I've lived with the feeling of freedom. It's the one thing I've always had, or so I've convinced myself.

"Yes," I say, the word tasting as hollow as it sounds. "For the past 35 years, I've been experiencing the feeling of being free."

There's a pause. He looks at me, almost amused. "Is that so?" The question is casual, but there's something behind it, something I can't put my finger on. "You sit here, day after day, alone with your animals. Is that what freedom is to you?"

His words don't sting, but they do make me stop. Is that what freedom has become? A routine? An empty gesture to avoid facing the truth? I glance at him briefly, then return my gaze to the pigeons, scattering more seed. There's no answer I can give him that will explain the complexity of my existence. So I don't try. I just let the silence hang in the air between us.

"Yes" I say eventually. 

The man in the suit leaned back slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Actually-well, in a sense, yeah, you do have freedom, but in the process of acquiring it, you haven't gotten what you really wanted. What you truly yearn for... is connection."

his words hung in the air, but I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I scattered the last of the seeds and rested My hands on the top of my knees. "What is connection?" I asked him, my tone devoid of emotion. "I have companions. This dog, these pigeons, they're connection, aren't they?"

The man tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "Companions, maybe. But connection? That's a different story." He gestured toward the pigeons pecking at the ground. "Can you talk to them? Can they understand you? Or are they just an excuse to avoid the connections you never made?"

The words hit harder than they should. I force myself to ignore the tightening in my chest. I know exactly what he means, even if I don't want to admit it. These animals, this routine, it's all a facade. A way to avoid something I've never been able to grasp: real connection. But I don't let him see how much that stings.

I don't answer right away. Instead, my hand stilled on my dog's head. The animal stirred slightly, sensing the tension in its owner. "And what do you know about connections I haven't made?" I ask, my voice calm, even though inside, I can feel a shift in the ground beneath me.

He doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he leans in slightly, almost as if he's trying to lower his voice, but I can still hear him clearly. "Tell me, Ayanokouji. Do you regret it? That you didn't care for them?"

I don't flinch. I don't even blink. I know exactly what he's trying to do. He's pushing me, trying to find some crack in the wall I've built. But he won't. He can't. Not yet.

"Or was it simply that you couldn't?" he continues. "That despite being hailed as a masterpiece, the perfect human… you were incapable of forming genuine connections, so you settled for something… simpler?"

There's no way to respond to that. I don't even try. I just let the silence hang between us like a veil. He's right in some ways, but I won't admit it. Not to him. Not to anyone.

"Tell you what," he says, his tone shifting, becoming colder. "Let me save you some trouble. You're dying."

It's said so plainly, so casually, that for a moment, I don't register it. But then I feel it. That familiar, creeping sense of weakness I've tried to ignore for so long. The way my body feels like it's betraying me, the way my breath comes slower now, more labored.

"You're not surprised," the man observed, nodding slightly. "Decades of pushing your body to its limit, of forcing it to perform like a machine-just to escape the grasp of your father. The strain catches up, doesn't it?"

I don't respond. What is there to say? It's true. I've felt it for a while. But even now, even as the truth settles over me like a heavy blanket, I don't flinch. I've lived with it. I've always lived with it.

"If you had a second chance," he continues, leaning in ever so slightly, his eyes locked onto mine, "a chance to start over, to form the connections you never had, would you take it?"

The question hangs in the air like a challenge. A dare. I don't have an answer for it. Not yet. I turn my gaze away from him, and towards the horizon as the soft glow of the sun bathed the park in golden hues. For a long moment, I simply stared, lost in the weight of my thoughts.

The world around me seemed to fade away, leaving me alone in my contemplation. Then I finally spoke—slowly, my voice barely audible as I spoke. "If I were given a second chance…" my words trailed off, the sentence unfinished, hanging in the air between them.

It was as if something within him was stirring, something he had buried deep inside. Without warning, his mind was flooded with flashes—quick, memories from his past. They came in waves, one after another, each more vivid than the last. He saw himself again at ANHS High School, watching from the shadows as he manipulated his classmates, orchestrating their every move with cold precision.

The power he wielded over them, the calculated distance he kept... It was all part of the plan. To him, it was freedom—freedom from the need for connection, from the complications of relationships. But even then, something about it never felt right.

Then something shifted, and suddenly, he was back in the White Room. The sterile walls, the incessant drills, the oppressive silence. His father's voice, cold and detached, echoing in his mind. It was all too familiar—the endless tests, the constant pushing, the stripping away of everything that made him human. It wasn't just his body that was controlled, it was his very existence. He had been a tool, nothing more.

The memories morphed again, pulling him to a time years later, in a far-off place where he had managed to escape the clutches of his father. He was a shadow in a foreign land, always moving, always one step ahead of those who might track him down. His mind had become a weapon, his every decision calculated, every relationship shallow. There was no room for anyone to get too close.

He thought that was freedom—the ability to remain untouchable, to not be bound by anyone else's expectations. But with that freedom came something he hadn't expected—an overwhelming emptiness. There were no bonds, no real connections. The victories, the manipulations, the escapes... they were all fleeting.

In the end, they left him standing alone.

The last image hit hardest—the culmination of his struggle, his final battle with his father. He had won. He had finally defeated the man who had controlled him for so long. He was free.

But what had it all been for? What had he gained from it? A hollow victory. The silence that followed was deafening. His freedom had come at the cost of everything that might have given it meaning.

He had no one to share it with, no one to turn to. And in that silence, he had realized the truth—freedom was empty without connection. The memories faded, leaving him with a profound stillness. He knew, now.

He had sought freedom his entire life, but in the end, it hadn't been the freedom he needed. It had been the connections—the bonds with others—that he had truly been craving.

Then I finally turn back to him, my face unreadable. My thoughts are swirling, but I say nothing. I don't need to. He's already waiting for my answer.

But I don't give it to him, not in words. If he is what I think he is, then he already knows what i was about to say—and will say, since the very beginning. Instead, I look at him and let the silence answer for me.

He smiles, a faint, knowing smile. "Good answer," he says softly.

And then, just like that, he snaps his fingers.

The world around me begins to blur, the vibrant colors of the park fading into darkness. His vision swam, his body growing light as if he were being pulled from reality itself.

Before I lost consciousness, For a minute or so, the man in the suit's voice echoed in the fading light.

"You'll find yourself in a world unlike any you've known before, Danmachi. A place where your freedom, your choices, will be tested like never before. It is a thrilling world, filled with monsters, gods, and heroes. Will you remain the same, Ayanokouji? Or will this new world, change you, and give you the one thing you want—yearn for, Connection."

And with that, everything went black.

Author's Note:

Reader's we're getting there—to the good part, I've just been setting up the background, feelings, and thoughts of my version of Ayanokouji. Since he's essentially an older version of Kiyotaka now, his thoughts and actions will differ from the original Kiyotaka.

End of Chapter 2.