My Companion Insisted I Wash My Hands of the Past - Reviews

The pacing in these chapters is absolutely relentless in the best way. Let me break down why. Chapter 9 opens with immediate tension — people tracked them down, there was danger, Oda shows up to "protect" Kii. But instead of dwelling on the fight, the author pivots HARD into domestic comedy. One moment they're dealing with assassins, the next they're arguing about whether being a mail carrier is a good career choice. That whiplash is intentional and it works. The job-hunting sequence is where the pacing really shines. It starts light — Doraemon manga, casual conversation — then drops the business card bomb. The reader's pulse probably spikes the same way Kii's does. Then the quick back-and-forth interrogation (is it a friend? old boss? what's the salary?) feels like a scene from a heist movie, except they're just trying to figure out what to do for a living. And then — cheek pinch. Comedy. Fridge hiding. The whole thing deflates the tension perfectly before pivoting again to the heavier "are we companions?" moment in Chapter 11. Chapter 11's pacing is slower but no less effective. The internal monologue about friendship labels drags intentionally — you feel Kii's anxiety in real time. Then the failed sneaking-attempts sequence is pure comedy relief, but it also advances the relationship. Every beat serves double duty. The chapter ends on "I'd like to try becoming a detective" — a cliffhanger that's quiet but hooks you because you know this world is dangerous and that choice matters. No explosion, no death threat, just a simple statement that carries the weight of everything that came before.

Let me just say — the worldbuilding in this passage is sneaky good. You don't get huge exposition dumps, but the details drop like little bombs. First off, the living space: tatami floors, a fridge, Doraemon manga. This is clearly a Japanese setting, but it's not some fantasy version — it's grounded, domestic, almost boringly normal. Which makes the rest hit harder. Then you get the business card reveal. A postal company operating in Yokohama's most dangerous zone, handling confidential documents and weapons. Gray zone. Black market. The fact that this exists as a casual job opportunity in their world tells you SO much about the setting without a single info-dump paragraph. And the contrast! These two used to be assassins — people who just had to aim and eliminate — and now they're browsing job options like normal people. The convenience store job they quit, the manga they read, the fridge they raid. It's a world where supernatural abilities and organized crime coexist with ordinary domestic life, and the author never once stops to explain the rules. You just absorb it. The scene where Kii hides behind the fridge door is also visually funny — like a cartoon moment in an otherwise serious world. That tonal shift is deliberate and effective. You can literally see Oda sitting there, paper scraps falling from his hand, watching her do this whole dramatic refrigerator hide-and-seek routine. The domestic atmosphere makes the danger feel more real, not less. Because now we know what they're protecting — this quiet life with its tatami and manga and baby-faced redheads.

Okay so let me just say—this plot twist had me GASPING. The protagonist brings home this kid who nearly killed her, only to find out HE was the one assigned to eliminate her in the first place. And he REFUSED the deposit. Just walked away from a contract. Because he read a novel. That is such a weird, specific, beautiful reason to change your entire life trajectory. But what really got me was the 'protect you' line. After he says he won't kill anymore, she's like 'then what if the conglomerate comes after me?' and he just... rolls over in the moonlight and says 'I will protect you.' No drama, no big speech. Just a flat statement that hits like a truck. And her response? Hooking her pinky around his. A pinky promise between two assassins who literally just met. I am SO here for this. The plot also has this great underlying tension about whether she can actually retire. She's already making plans to act in self-defense if needed, which shows she's not fully buying into the retirement fantasy. And Oda? He's trying on a new identity like it's a costume. The question hanging over everything is: can these two actually make this work, or is the underworld coming to collect? Also—she bought cat mugs that are sold as a couple's set. COUPLE'S SET. I'm not even mad. Just noting this for the record.

There's this recurring obsession with Oda's baby fat that I initially read as just comedy, but the more I think about it, the more I realize it's symbolic of something deeper. Kii keeps mentioning she wants to pinch his face because "it felt rare" — and then later worries that if she waits any longer, the baby fat will be gone. What is she really afraid of losing? Not just the physical softness, but this version of Oda — the one who still looks young, who still seems approachable, who hasn't fully hardened into whatever the assassin version of him became. The baby fat represents his lingering humanity, his youth, his vulnerability. And Kii is simultaneously drawn to it and terrified of losing it. She wants to preserve this moment where he's still just a red-haired boy reading Doraemon, not a precognitive weapon. Then there's the precognition ability itself as a symbol. Oda can see what's coming — he can anticipate attacks, movements, even social interactions. But he CANNOT predict Kii's cheek pinch. This is huge thematically. It means there are moments in their relationship that exist outside of fate and calculation. Some things — affection, spontaneity, the messy irrationality of caring about someone — cannot be foreseen. The torn business card is another symbol I can't shake. Kii destroys it without hesitation, rejecting the dangerous gray-zone job. It's a rejection of the old life — the life of taking dangerous contracts, of being used by people who see you as naive. She's literally tearing up the path back to who they used to be. And the question "are we companions?" — that's the thematic core. Not lovers, not just friends. Companions. People who walk the same path together. In a world where everyone has abilities and agendas, that word carries so much weight.

Okay, I need to talk about Oda Sakunosuke because this character is genuinely fascinating and I have so many thoughts. First of all, the fact that he's described as this terrifying, cold-blooded, expressionless killer who "never misses" and then he just... quits? Like, drops the most dramatic career change in history without any hesitation? "I want to write novels." That's it. That's the whole thing. No dramatic monologue, no emotional breakdown, no redemption arc buildup. Just a flat statement delivered with the same energy as ordering lunch. And Tsuboi's reaction is everything. The internal screaming, the suspicion, the constant second-guessing of whether this is some kind of trap—it's hilarious but also kind of sad when you think about it. This person has been alone their whole life, has no friends, can't even trust a former enemy, and yet here comes Oda who literally just saved their life and now won't leave them alone. The dynamic between them is so interesting because on the surface, Oda seems completely emotionless, but then you get these tiny cracks. Like when Tsuboi introduces themselves and Oda's face shows "half dazed, half confused" for the first time. Or when he says "Being able to have your own home—that alone is impressive." That line hit me hard. This guy has never had a home. He's been a killer his whole life with no roots, no place to belong. And he notices Tsuboi's little apartment and sees something admirable in it. I also love how Tsuboi is completely one-dimensional in their internal monologue—just pure panic and suspicion at all times—while Oda is this serene, almost childlike figure who genuinely doesn't understand why people are so tense around him. The contrast is chef's kiss.

The pacing in these chapters is deceptively smooth. On the surface, it reads like a series of vignettes — a debt negotiation, a conversation about abilities, a milk tea shop opening, a New Year's gathering. But if you look at the structural rhythm, there's a deliberate escalation happening. Chapter 17 opens with conflict (the debt deal) and ends with vulnerability (Oda's jealousy). Chapter 18 shifts to exposition and character development — ability explanations, Xiao Zhi's psychology, the shop planning — but it's grounded through humor (the spicy milk tea incident, Chuuya getting his cheek pinched). Chapter 19 lands on warmth and domesticity, with the New Year's gathering serving as an emotional payoff. What's really impressive is how the author uses the ability-exchange scene as a structural pivot. Before this, Kikuye and Oda are allies. After they share the mechanics of their powers, they're something deeper — people who have seen each other's fundamental vulnerabilities. The precognition reveal (five seconds, not more, not less) is perfectly paced because it comes right after Oda's emotional confusion, creating this parallel between what he CAN predict and what he CANNOT understand about himself. The New Year's chapter ends on a note of domestic normalcy, but there's an underlying tension — Kikuye's awareness that this home was only hers a year ago, her sensitivity about the "couple vibe" with Oda, the fact that everyone here is dangerous in their own way. The pacing never lets you forget that this warmth is fragile. And that's what makes it feel earned.

The dialogue in this book is what sold me. Both characters have such distinct voices and the banter between them is genuinely funny without feeling forced. Her internal voice is chaotic and fast—full of tangents, self-interruptions, and dramatic reactions. 'Wait… the meaning of being human? Isn't that a bit too abstract, too philosophical? You've already gone into philosophy? I knew reading too much could be dangerous!' This is someone who thinks out loud and doesn't filter a single word. Her dialogue feels like watching a golden retriever describe a dream. Oda's voice is the perfect foil. Short, flat, almost robotic. 'Mm.' 'Okay.' 'I don't know.' But the author is smart about not making him a one-note character. When he says 'Now… I feel a little happy' after receiving the manuscript paper, it hits so much harder because he barely speaks. That one line does more emotional work than pages of dialogue. The best exchange has to be: 'How about I call you Little Oda from now on?' 'Oh.' …Is this going a little too smoothly?! Their dialogue also reveals their relationship dynamics perfectly. She's always testing boundaries, asserting dominance, trying to figure out where the line is. He just... accepts it. 'Mm.' 'Okay.' 'Oh.' It's either genuine simplicity or assassin-level adaptability, and honestly I can't tell which and I'm obsessed.

The dialogue in these chapters is genuinely excellent, and I want to highlight how each character has a completely distinct voice. Kikuye's internal monologue is sharp, sarcastic, and self-aware to a fault. Lines like "This kid is way too easy to trick" and "Later Chuuya: …Am I just a part of your weird game?" show a narrator who is constantly commenting on her own narration. She's aware she's the protagonist, aware of tropes (the shonen protagonist comparison for her ability), and uses that awareness as both armor and weapon. Oda's dialogue is almost painfully minimal. "I feel a little jealous." "I'm stating a fact." "It's nothing." Each sentence is flat, precise, and devastating because of what it leaves unsaid. When he says "If it was just manipulation with words, I let it go. But if they deceived or betrayed me, I killed them" — there's no drama, no emotion, just a statement of principle as cold as ice. And that's what makes his later hesitation so powerful. Chuuya is pure chaotic energy. "Wait! Oda, whose side are you even on?!" "That guy has no sense of taste!" "Damn…" He's bratty, reactive, and completely unfiltered — and yet his gratitude shines through in small moments like when he quietly accepts the revised debt terms. Xiao Zhi is the quiet observer who drops bombs casually. "If you ask Edogawa Ranpo, he could find proof." Betraying his ally with the same flat tone he uses for everything. The dialogue between Kikuye and Xiao Zhi about the spicy milk tea — her analyzing his psychology while he just stands there silently — is comedy gold. And the banter between Kikuye and Oda at the end, with everyone teasing about them being "wife-controlled," is the kind of dialogue that makes you want to reread the entire scene just to catch every layered joke.