Mob Yandere

"Haa, haa, haa, haa!!"

Through the heavy night she ran, her rough breathing loud in her ears. She ran and ran, only forward, every step wild and desperate as the darkness pressed in tighter with each heartbeat.

"Haa, haa, nn—haa, haa, haa...!!"

Clouds smothered the sky—no moonlight at all. Only the faint, trembling glow of the small paper lantern in her hand guided her. Outside the city walls, this back road was little used, nothing like the smooth streets. The ground was uneven, stones hidden underfoot. Her tired legs stumbled again and again, almost sending her crashing face-first into the dirt.

"Haa! Haa! Haa! Haaah!!"

But still, she forced herself up each time, forcing her body forward. Her breath shook, heat burned through her limbs, and she sprinted through the darkness like a shadow refusing to fall.

"Haa! Haa! Haa! Haa—fu... ngh—haa!! Aaah!"

It felt like forever—time stretching endlessly—until finally she reached her destination, far on the outskirts of the capital, past the suburbs.

"Found... you!!"

She gasped for breath, chest heaving, cheeks hot, her small shoulders rising and falling like overworked wings. Even as she nearly collapsed, her words carried joy—she had made it. But then her face froze. Her eyes locked on the scene before her. A body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Even in the darkness she could see it: a wide, crimson-black stain spreading like a nightmare.

A black blade. Its edge still gleamed with cold light, droplets sliding from it. She froze solid, unable to take a step.

"Eh? What... is this...?"

Her mind refused the sight. Nothing made sense. Why here? Why now? What had happened? What could she do? Confusion gripped her like chains.

"Ah..."

Recognition struck. She finally realized who the fallen one was. Her heart screamed denial—no, impossible, it couldn't be true. She shook her head, rejecting it, desperate to erase reality. But denial changed nothing.

A faint rasp broke the silence. She stiffened.

The cloaked figure turned toward her. From beneath a kasa hat and heavy cloak, two eyes glowed—unnatural, inhuman. The gaze wrapped icy fingers around her heart, squeezing until all anger and hate vanished, leaving only raw fear.

"Wh... why... would you... do... something like...!?"

Her knees gave out. She collapsed, trembling, ashamed at her weakness yet powerless to stand. She couldn't move.

Rain began to fall. A drizzle became a downpour, washing the world into blurred shadows. Water drenched her, plastered her hair to her face. Thunder boomed across the sky. And when she looked up—the figure was gone. Vanished into the storm. Only fading footsteps beneath the rain proved they had been there at all.

"A... ah... aaah..."

She tried to call out, but no voice came. She couldn't even crawl to the bloodied figure on the ground. Fear pinned her in place.

Cowardly. Shameful. Pathetic. What kind of daughter was she, that she couldn't even move at a time like this? Would she fail again? Would she only add another sin, throwing away this fragile chance to make things right? She thought she heard a whisper mocking her, ridiculing her weakness.

Still—she couldn't move. Couldn't accept. Couldn't fight despair. The only thing she could do was whisper one word into the storm.

"...Murderer."

The broken word, nearly drowned by thunder, matched her helplessness perfectly.

Why had it come to this? Why did the path end here? Why, why, why? She asked herself again and again, a useless spiral.

Her thoughts turned back, searching for the beginning—the memory that had led her here...

* * *

The Omnyouji Bureau belonged to the imperial court, and so its first and greatest duty was to the Emperor—his life, his will, his word. Though the one enthroned was often a puppet chosen by the Noble Houses, the Bureau itself was made up of heirs from the Exorcist Clans. This naturally bred tension. Nobles held honor, but the Bureau held blades—and at a single command from the Emperor, those blades could turn on the aristocracy, cursing entire lineages into ash.

The Noble Houses, strongest power in Fusou, were far from universally admired. Youkai hungered for their flesh and blood. Their endless rivalries bred betrayal, vengeance, and ambition. Branch families schemed, while the great houses sought strength not through imperial decree but through private retainers—warriors bound not to the Emperor, but to them.

Thus, nobles commonly hired the sons of ruined samurais, failed exorcists, even brigands who had once wielded sacred arts, and raised them as private guards. For the ancient Hyakuyain Family—whose lineage stretched back to Fusou's founding—this was more than custom. It was tradition perfected over centuries.

The Hyakuyain's private corps, the "People's Exorcism Guard," was unrivaled among such forces. They were not mere guards of noble estates. They carried out righteous work—banishing curses, saving the common people—under the benevolent will of their clan heads. Trusted by nobles, respected by samurais, admired by commoners, and even feared by the Exorcist Clans, their authority was unmatched.

Unlike others, they charged nothing for aid. Every expense—the wages, tools, rituals—was borne by the Hyakuyain Family. It was the cost of legitimacy, the proof of their right to inherit the ancient post of Minister (Daijin).

"Well, so long as we're paid, what do I care?"

In the lush gardens of the Hyakuyain estate—a mansion greater and richer than any in the capital—a woman sneered. Wrapped in a dark cloak, her messy hair spilling out, she radiated Yin energy.

She was one of the Guard's elite: a fighter of the First Unit, once an outlaw exorcist, now reforged into a weapon for noble service. Her grin was sharp and mocking as she glanced at her partner for today's mission.

"What is it now? ...Talking about the newcomer?"

The man beside her, face set in stone, a Shikigami user with a spectral lion crouched loyally at his heel, was a half-born son of the Exorcist Clans. He caught her meaning easily.

"That job was supposed to be ours, wasn't it? Special bonus and everything. But no, some upstart barges in. Guess she must've caught the Minister's eye, huh?"

The Hyakuyain paid well. Regular wages were decent, but the true prize lay in bounties for dangerous missions. Because of that, even though loyalty bound the Guard, quiet grumbling always lingered beneath the surface.

"Watch your mouth. Slander the Minister, and if word spreads, you'll be dismissed."

"Please. That old man doesn't lose his temper over that. Anyway—don't you think it's favoritism? Doesn't it feel suspicious?"

It was indeed suspicious. To grant someone a rare Mayoiga carriage, to entrust them with a Spirit Sword—after barely a year of service, with almost no prior experience? It was too much. Far too much.

"Probably seduced him with that pretty, blue-tinted body of hers. Hah, youth is wasted on the young. I hope she screws up and gets eaten alive."

"Don't speak such ill omens. Any of us could fall the same way. Show respect for someone in our craft."

"Please. I'm not foolish enough to die like that."

"Arrogance. ...Wait."

The lion stirred, lifting its head, nose twitching. A low growl rumbled. The shikigami user narrowed his eyes.

"What is it? A thief? No... wait..."

The woman felt it too now—faint, wicked traces seeping over the estate walls. And under it, the sound of clamor. Human voices. A crowd.

"Speak of the devil."

"There's Shinki [divine energy] in the air as well. Smells like monkeys... and blood."

"More than one big catch, by the scent."

"Tch. Missed my payday."

"Still complaining? ...Come. Before anything reaches the estate grounds, we must purify it."

The lion padded forward. The man followed. The woman trailed last, reluctant, muttering. It was filthy, dangerous, thankless work. But duty was duty.

"Tch. What a drag..."

* * *

"Well done. You've returned safe. No injuries, I hope? Have the physicians examine you later, just in case."

In the wide audience hall that opened onto the garden, the master of the yashiki estate spoke gently. Seated in the place of honor, a man aged and silver-haired, dressed in court robes and a tall eboshi hat, smiled with a warmth that brimmed with compassion, every word of his address carrying paternal kindness.

"Thank you very much. There are some minor scrapes, but nothing serious, fortunately. More importantly..."

The guest, seated in formal posture with head bowed, lifted his face. Hotoya Tamaki turned his gaze toward the garden.

"Here lies the source of His Excellency the Minister's long unrest. Please examine it yourself."

At Tamaki's signal, the servants stepped forward, seizing the edges of the straw mat laid upon the ground, and pulled it back. What lay revealed was grotesque, hideous, utterly unsuited to the refined tranquility of the garden.

"Eek!?"

"Such filth...!"

The first to cry out were the lowly servants and maids who served the household. Such outbursts in the lord's presence would normally be unforgivable—but the sight was enough to loosen any tongue, propriety be damned.

The salt-pickled, hairy head of a great ape had its eyes gouged out—precaution against lingering Kotodama [T/N: spirit words, cursecraft] or ocular sorcery. The head itself had been severed, its fangs torn free, its tongue ripped out. The body, fingers hacked from hands and feet, was bound in ropes like a slaughtered beast, dried like bedding.

Beside it lay a monstrous clam, its shattered shell stripped of meat and stuffed into barrels. The flesh, soaked in brine and sake, reeked with the cloying stench of mollusks. Its mist-spitting organs and twitching tendrils had been separately packed into other casks.

Surrounding the corpses were Youkai-Sealing Ropes [T/N: special cords bound with talismanic power]. Guarding them further stood armed retainers and grim-faced members of the People's Exorcism Guard's Second Unit, their stance taut and hostile, as though expecting the corpses to stir again.

Excessive precaution? Hardly. It was wisdom won by bitter history. Too many times had slain beasts vomited out curses in death. Too many times had fallen youkai returned as Vengeful Spirits. More than once had an inspection turned the hall into a charnel house. To grow careless was to invite catastrophe. And with one of Fusou's most eminent lords present, there was no margin for error. Normally a proxy would preside—but here the lord himself had come. A mark of favor. A mark of trust.

"Hm. So this is it... a fine piece of work indeed."

Where household vassals quailed and shrank, the Minister sat unfaltering. Even if it were bravado, it was worthy of admiration.

"Exorcist of the Hotoya house—tell us the full tale of this hunt."

"Yes, sir."

At the Minister's command, the facts were recounted. The more Tamaki spoke, the more horrific the tale grew. Among the Hyakuyain clan and their attendants, some turned pale and dizzy; some gagged and stumbled from the hall, especially upon hearing what had been found deeper in the beasts' lair.

The People's Exorcism Guard, of course, betrayed no such weakness. Not a one. Some even smirked. This was their world. Words and horrors of this kind could not frighten veterans who had made such nightmares routine.

"...I see. Well done. Those who fell in the fight shall be honored. Their remains must be handled with care. Have the inspectors see if the dead can be identified."

The Minister gave his orders with steady voice, every syllable proof he had caught and weighed Tamaki's entire report. Then he turned his gaze back to the monstrous carcasses.

"As for the ape's head—have it displayed on the main street for a time. The people's hearts have been restless amid these recent disturbances. To reassure them, we must show power. We must make clear that power rests with us."

"And the rest of the remains?"

"The stench is too great. To leave it in town would be worse. Have specialists dispose of it properly."

"Shall we send it to the Omnyouji Bureau?"

"Let the Guard's men handle the dismantling. That should suffice."

At those words, the Guard bowed deeply. "Dismantling" meant rights to whatever rare materials could be harvested. It was compensation—obvious enough—for entrusting the great task to a newcomer and thereby slighting senior members.

And beyond that, it was bait, a sweetener, before the next declaration the Minister was preparing to make.

"...Now then. Hotoya Tamaki. You have accomplished this burden splendidly. None will dare slight you after this."

A white-robed attendant stepped forth, kneeling, and presented before Tamaki a purse heavy with gold, a seal box, and a haori jacket. Payment, certainly, but also initiation—formal proof of service to the Hyakuyain.

"From this day, you shall be formally received into the Hyakuyain as a guest of the People's Exorcism Guard. Be our sword, our shield, our eyes, our ears. Serve diligently."

"Yes, sir!!"

Tamaki's reply rang out, young and fierce. The Minister's solemn nod answered it.

"A fine voice, a fine answer. As a diversion—put on that haori before us all."

Tamaki obeyed, slipping on the battle surcoat embroidered with the Hyakuyain crest. He stood before them in proof of his new allegiance.

"Ohh..."

"Magnificent."

"Truly stately."

The audience was filled with murmurs of admiration. Some hardened warriors among them only smirked faintly in silence, but such cynicism passed unnoticed in the crowd.

Whatever the mix of opinions, Tamaki's standing was now sealed before the public eye.

"Well done. Splendid. The formal oath we'll leave for later, with more private words. For now—everyone!!"

The Minister clapped, rose, and stood at Tamaki's side, his hand light on the youth's shoulder. His voice rose, startlingly strong for his age.

"The monsters that plagued the people have fallen here. And the Hyakuyain welcome a new vassal this day. This is a cause for celebration! A feast, without restraint!"

The words ignited the hall. Maids rushed in with trays of sake and sweets.

"Uh... w-wait...?"

"Tonight we drink and sing and dance around this severed head! We celebrate the glory of our young vassal, and pray for Fusou's peace and the Hyakuyain's prosperity!"

In moments the hall was riotous, the earlier grimness forgotten. Specialists and Guard alike set to dismembering the carcass. Nobles and their attendants gossiped and laughed, sipping from cups as they glanced at the butchery, treating it like entertainment. Once a corpse, what was there to fear? To mock it was virtue in their eyes.

This was Fusou's nobility—ancient tradition forged by centuries. Gods were revered, yes—but only after they were conquered, mocked, and diminished. Mocking meant showing power—over gods, over monsters, over everything.

For Tamaki, who didn't know the capital's strange customs, it was shocking and unnerving.

"Revel, all of you! A feast has been laid! Celebrate to your fill! ...Hotoya-hime, will you walk with me?"

The Minister's shout rallied the crowd, and then his tone softened, leaning close to Tamaki's ear.

"Eh? Ah—y-yes!!"

Surprised, she stumbled out a reply, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at acting so awkward in front of everyone. The Minister only chuckled softly at her nervousness.

"Hardly anyone noticed. Look—already they're lost in their cups. How carefree."

Indeed, the garden now roared with revelry.

"Come then. We should speak further."

And so, the two slipped quietly away from the riot. Along the veranda, past the main hall, until at last they reached a tea room tucked behind the manor.

"This way."

"E-excuse me!"

Tamaki stepped into the room, breath catching at its refined austerity. Then, a sudden hiss—the sound of burning paper—flared behind her.

"Eh?"

"This room serves well for secret counsel. A Barrier Curse against eavesdropping is woven here. Listening ears are forbidden."

At their feet lay a talisman, scorched and curling. The Minister smiled benignly, but Tamaki's face shadowed. She had been spied upon? By whom? For what purpose?

"..."

"Best not to pry. Sometimes ignorance is mercy. No caster worth the name leaves threads behind to be traced. That is the nature of exorcists."

The words had a bite to them, sharper than the Minister's usual kindness. Tamaki felt it clearly. But the sharpness faded quickly—already the old man was laying out the tools for tea.

"No need for stiff formality. Sit where you please."

"Y-yes...!" Follow current novels on ɴovelfire.net

How could she say no? This was the head of the Hyakuyain himself. She quickly knelt across from him at the kettle, her eyes flicking to his face, mind scrambling for words.

"No need to be so stiff. Sit cross-legged if you like. Yawn if you must. You must be tired."

"Well... haha..."

He wasn't wrong. The mountain hunt had been dangerous. The inspection, exhausting. The stares, unending. And her heart—fragile after casting aside the one support she'd had—had been aching for days.

"...It was a lot to put on you. Perhaps too heavy a burden. My apologies for asking it so suddenly."

"It was nothing..."

They spoke of the battle at Mount Ibatsubaki, where ape and clam had been struck down.

But beneath it all lingered the real question: how had Hotoya Tamaki ended up here at all? Why her, of all people, carrying the Hyakuyain Minister's burden? For that, the story went back weeks earlier...

Why had Hotoya Tamaki found herself sitting face to face with the Minister of the Hyakuyain, speaking in quiet conversation? Why had she accepted his order to hunt monsters? The truth began weeks before.

She had been grinding through the endless, petty errands of the Omnyouji Bureau—restless, unsatisfied—when by pure chance she encountered the Minister himself. He was in disguise that day, sneaking into a theater for a play. Tamaki had been assigned to guard him, seated at his side. In that unexpected quiet, the Minister turned toward her with warmth and asked her thoughts.

And she—reckless, careless—answered. She spoke of her discontent, her fears, her anger, her hopes. She spoke of Fusou's corruption, its injustices, how the weak were crushed, how truth was buried beneath formality and pride, how commoners were sacrificed endlessly. She confessed her frustration at being told not to stand out, at the envy that dogged her, at the helplessness of having so little authority—not even enough to pursue the search that mattered most to her.

Iruka had tried to quiet her, but before Tamaki realized it, she had gone too far. She had spoken words that were both a rebuke to Fusou itself and a veiled criticism of the very Minister sitting beside her.

Yet he had not scolded her. He listened, weighing every word, and then apologized for his own failings. To Tamaki it was bewildering—unreal. A man of such high rank, a pillar of the state, meeting her raw anger with humility? That moment burned into her heart, and with it, trust.

And then he offered her a path. A chance to rise beneath his protection. The use of his name, his shield, his connections.

To Tamaki, it was a blessing from heaven. Backing from the Minister of the Left was an unshakable shield. She could not demand privileges outright, but she could win chances, allies, and the right to take on hunts that mattered. There was no reason to refuse.

And perhaps, too, the fact that this man had once been a great benefactor to her friend made her answer come even quicker. Whatever the reason, to Tamaki it was more than she deserved—and she knew it.

"Hahaha, there is no need to belittle yourself so. To gain your strength is fortune for me as well. I have heard of the incident in Sekimachi, you know. You felled a divinity's avatar. To lend me such power is surely mutual benefit. I was doubtful, of course... but with this latest mission, my doubts are gone. Your ability is beyond question now."

"That was only thanks to your prior investigation, and the curse-tools you entrusted to me, Minister-sama," Tamaki stammered, cheeks hot with embarrassment at such praise. And it was true.

"'Hankonkou' in particular was invaluable. Without it, I don't know what would have happened—"

(T/N: "Hankonkou" (反魂香) is an incense in East Asian folklore that allows one to summon the souls of the dead temporarily, usually to see or speak with them.)

"It was also to test whether you were worthy of such gifts. And you proved it, magnificently. That is all. One correction, though. Those were not lent to you. They were given."

"Wha—!? That's—"

Before she could get her protest in order, he had already moved—his hand quick, setting a plate on the tatami before her. A faint sweet scent drifted up. On the dish sat round, glossy red-egg sugar candies, the kind sold by the Tachibana Trading Company.

"Go on, have one while the tea comes to a boil. They're excellent."

"Uh—ah, thank you. ...Delicious. Wait, that's not the point!"

She had already popped one into her mouth before realizing he'd sidetracked her, the rich sweetness melting across her tongue and cutting short her rebuke. But the matter was too serious to let go.

"A curse-tool—a Spirit Sword, and not just any, but mid-rank or higher!? That's absurd!"

She had barely begun her career, but she already knew enough. The Spirit Sword she had been given was no ordinary tool. Even compared to the mid-tier weapons used by working exorcists, it was far above the rest. The other implements she had been granted were the same—rare, almost irreplaceable. These were not things anyone simply handed over. To lend, maybe. But to give? Unthinkable.

"They were lying unused in the Hyakuyain vaults, gathering dust. No one had touched them in years. Is it not far better that they serve in your hands than rot away? Tools exist to be used. Do you not agree?"

"That may be, but surely there are veterans in the Guard who—"

"I do not disparage them, but remember—most are mercenaries, bound by coin. Many have tangled bloodlines, dubious pasts. The risk of one absconding with such treasures cannot be dismissed. Of course, we loan tools as reward, but only after careful judgment. And there are far more tools sleeping in the vault than we could ever distribute."

"Even so... there's no reason to give them to me."

"On the contrary. It is because it is you."

The denial came swift and firm, the Minister's voice like steel wrapped in velvet.

"Minister-sama..."

"I told you already. I do not bestow such things lightly. Men of my station are forever surrounded by masks and flatterers. Rarely do I hear the truth. Rarely do I see the world unvarnished. And then you spoke to me, without pretense. Your complaints gladdened me, Tamaki. Your candor. Your honesty. I had known of you before, but to witness you directly—I trusted you. I wanted to raise you up. To let you ascend."

The warmth in his expression was that of a kindly elder, but his eyes—those eyes burned. Tamaki could almost see the fire in them, fierce passion blazing behind the calm.

"That's... too much. Minister-sama, you've misjudged me. I'm not the person you think I am."

His kindness, his constant concern for the people—it was overwhelming. Tamaki couldn't match it, couldn't reconcile it with herself. His ideals were a mountain. How could she ever live up to them?

"Even so, you will not stop, will you? If your soul were so small, you would never have spoken to me. You would never have taken my hand. Is that not so?"

"..."

She had no answer. Because it was true. All she could do was sit in silence as he nodded, satisfied. By then the tea was ready, its fragrance filling the chamber.

"Now then. This is a tearoom, and here is tea. My skill is nothing like a master's, but please, take it."

He offered her the cup. She couldn't refuse—refusing would be arrogance itself. Remembering her manners, Tamaki accepted, raised it, and sipped. Her eyes widened.

"This... this is Great Red Rod, isn't it?"

"Indeed. One of the Eight Famous Teas of the continent. Rare. You've had it before?"

"Haha... Advisor-sama of the Onitsuki family once let me try it."

As part of her princess education, Tamaki had learned of tea and tasted all Eight Famous Teas. To have failed to notice it at first only showed how distracted she was.

"Your tea... it's wonderful. I—I'm sorry, there's supposed to be more ritual, isn't there? But I've never been good at..."

"Never mind that. This is no formal ceremony. To bind ourselves too tightly to form is to miss the heart of it. Well? Did it pair well with the sweet?"

His light laugh scattered her guilt with ease. She could only give a small, rueful smile.

"Yes. Truly, a fine match. Ah—and the temperature was perfect. You cooled it for summer, didn't you?"

It was midsummer. Even with the Spiritual Vein sealed under a Barrier Curse, hot tea would have been stifling. Lukewarm, it soothed her throat—thoughtful in every detail. Not pride, not empty formality, but real hospitality. As expected of the Minister.

"Thank you for the kind words. Come, another cup. And more sweets."

"Ah—thank you."

She obeyed, sipping, nibbling. Somehow the tension melted into the quiet rhythm of eating and drinking. When she glanced up at last, she caught him smiling again—warm as a grandfather might have been, if she had ever known one.

"Uh..."

"I was only thinking—you eat and drink with such ease. It reminded me of long ago."

"Long ago...?"

A child? A grandchild? A sibling? Or perhaps his wife? Tamaki tried to recall the Hyakuyain lineage. Surely there was a granddaughter... no, she couldn't remember.

"Well then. If it will ease your doubts about the curse-tools, perhaps I can ask you to take on another task in exchange. One that will also further your own advancement. You may hear it out and decide after."

From his sleeve, he drew a small scroll, clearly prepared, and set it before her.

"..."

Tamaki's fingers shook as she untied the cord and spread it open on her lap. Her eyes traced the sharp strokes of ink until her breath caught. She looked up at the Minister, face stiff, lips tight.

"Something like this...? Such a terrible thing?"

"Regrettably, it is true. Outlaw exorcists are exploiting the unrest, stirring chaos as they please."

"Kh—!"

Her teeth ground together. She bent over the scroll again, knuckles white. It was outrageous. It was vile. How could people with human hearts dare do something so cruel? She couldn't understand it, and the lack of understanding only made her fury twist tighter in her chest.

"There will soon be a great Ritual to expose. The Kebiishi Bureau wished to act alone, but their strength is not enough. I offered the People's Exorcism Guard to assist. ...You will attend as well, won't you?"

"Of course!"

Her answer burst out quick, fierce, without hesitation. To refuse was unthinkable. Even had the task been given to him, he would have accepted. Tamaki could think only of training, preparing, growing stronger until the day came.

"A fine reply. ...But do not let eagerness carry you away. Today, drink, eat, and enjoy our talk. Besides, there remains a formal oath, does there not?"

"Ah."

Only then did Tamaki realize. He was right. Until she swore upon the spirit paper, her place was unclear. As it was, she was only someone who happened to fight beside the Minister. That would not do.

"R-right! Forgive me—I let myself get carried away!"

"That is youth. Charming, truly."

His smile forgave her instantly. He poured more tea, set more sweets upon the tray, then turned to the shelves and drew out another scroll. This one was bound in spirit paper—the kind used for oaths.

"It will require a blood-seal. Is that acceptable?"

"I—I'll do my best!"

She swallowed. Cutting herself was never pleasant, but for this, she could endure it.

"If it is a blade you need, use this. It is finely honed—the wound will be clean. A clean cut heals faster."

'Before that, should we not confirm the contract itself?'

"Eh!?"

"...!"

Tamaki jolted, eyes wide, as an unfamiliar voice slipped into the room. The Minister turned slowly. At the entrance stood a graceful elderly woman, smiling with serene composure.

Since when? From where? No—Tamaki knew that face.

"You are—"

"Judging by that attire... surely you are Onitsuki's Madam Black Butterfly, are you not? I have long heard the name."

The Minister's voice did not falter. With calm born of long habit, he spoke her identity outright.

"And yet... curious. I do not recall inviting you here. What business have you, to intrude upon my estate?"

'Fufufufu.'

She tapped her fan lightly against her sandal. No—Tamaki's heart lurched. That wasn't truly her. The talisman that had hissed and burned on her entrance—she realized now. No ashes had remained. This was a shikigami avatar.

"A manifestation from a talisman's cinders... as expected of one of the North's foremost shiki adepts. Remarkable."

'Your praise honors me, exalted Minister of the Hyakuyain. I am Onitsuki Kochou, once Madam of the house, though I address you here only through shiki. Forgive the discourtesy.'

Every motion was flawless. Every bow, every flick of the wrist, every turn of the sleeve—grace incarnate, indistinguishable from her true self. To bring such presence forth from mere ash—divine skill.

"Very well. What business, then? To send a shiki into such a place—what intent lies behind it?"

'...That Hotoya Princess is of the Onitsuki household. I serve as her guardian. Therefore, I must be present.'

"Eh, that...!?"

Tamaki tried to speak, but the shiki raised a hand to silence her.

'I heard all that has passed. Since the offer comes directly from the Minister, it would be discourteous to refuse... however, an oath sealed in blood binds with absolute sorcery, does it not? As her guardian, I must review the contents first.'

It was true. Serving the Onitsuki house and serving the Hyakuyain Guard did not conflict. In fact, such an invitation was an honor no one would dare spurn. When Tamaki had first told them of it, no one in Onitsuki had objected. On the contrary—they had been grateful. Serving the noble Hyakuyain was nearly like serving the Emperor himself. Why then...

(This feels different. Her reaction—before and after the mountain hunt—it's completely changed.)

Perhaps it was fitting, for one called Madam Black Butterfly, to be so cautious. But Tamaki could feel it clearly: a shift in stance, a sharpened wariness that had not been there before.

"A review, is it? Then I would have liked to be informed beforehand. Few hosts welcome uninvited entry into their estate."

'My apologies. Negotiation often calls for seizing the unguarded moment. I acted out of habit. I shall send a gift in recompense, if you will accept it.'

It was graceful misdirection, a diversion in polite words. The Minister sighed, shaking his head, then cast a sidelong glance at Tamaki.

"...Hotoya-dono, what say you?"

"Uh..."

Caught between them, Tamaki looked to Kochou, then to the Minister, then back again. The shiki's hand, lifted like a mother's scolding finger, stung with its patronizing air. It made her feel small, provincial, ashamed. And yet...

"...Yes. Please, I ask it of you."

Her bow was low, her voice humble. To press stubbornness now, when she was still so inexperienced, would only invite failure. Better to yield, for the sake of everyone's honor, and avoid needless strife.

At least, he would have done the same.

"...So be it. Take your time in reading, then."

The Minister unrolled the oath-scroll and rose to his feet. He walked to the tea room's entrance, the line of the Barrier Curse shimmering faintly at the threshold, and offered it to the shiki. The shiki accepted with a deep bow. Yet before beginning her examination, she turned her eyes upon Tamaki.

"You've worked hard on such long journeys. A carriage awaits. Return for now to Oumi's yashiki estate. A bath has been prepared."

"...I understand."

If the carriage was already sent, refusal would have been graceless. Tamaki lifted her gaze to the Minister. His smile, gentle and fatherly, met her eyes.

"Your friends will worry otherwise. Rest your bones, and return to service in due time. There is no need to rush. There is time yet."

"...I am grateful."

She bowed deeply, earnestly. She meant it.

"A fine household member you have."

'Yes. Truly a fine girl.'

Their words of praise wrapped around her as she departed, their smiles cordial, their eyes cold as blades meeting in the air between them.

Polite. Decorous. Masks layered over masks.

* * *

"...Well, then. I shall take my leave."

Only after Tamaki's carriage rattled away did the shiki complete its task—bursting into flame and vanishing without a trace of ash. The flare lit the chamber for a heartbeat before shadows swallowed it again. In that darkness, a warm, sultry breath slipped out.

"So... is this enough?"

Gone was the measured elegance. Onitsuki Kochou's voice now dripped like honey, sweet and teasing.

Neither the Minister nor Tamaki could have imagined this hidden scene: a woman in her early thirties—her appearance even younger—crouched on all fours, completely unclothed. Her pale skin gleamed, untouched by sunlight. Time had softened her body: rounder arms, a fuller belly, heavy thighs and hips, pendulous breasts.

Whether called voluptuous or slackened, the sight was both humiliating and enticing, shameful yet magnetic. Her cheeks burned, her damp eyes shimmered through strands of loose hair.

Like that, she looked up at the figure looming over her. Dim light traced the hard lines of his body—scarred flesh, taut muscle, abdominal ridges sharp in shadow. His eyes bore down on her.

"Ahh, it's fine. If we resisted too much, it would only raise suspicion. A warning, a restraint—that's enough."

His voice was flat, displeased, as if forced to accept. Guilt pricked at Kochou, sharp as glass.

"I'm sorry... if only I had spoken sooner—"

"Yes. If only."

"Nh—!?"

A rough hand seized her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her ear to his lips. His breath burned against her skin, and her body shivered with shameful delight. Even so, she knew what was coming.

"It was too close. Tamaki nearly fell for it. You understand that, don't you?"

The oath-scroll the Minister had offered—it was contraband. At first glance, it looked like any normal spirit contract, but its words could twist, change with gestures, key phrases, even the tying of its cords. Once, such scrolls were secret tools of the court. Now, in corrupted form, they circulated through the underworld.

"If I hadn't cut across... Tamaki, with her earnest nature, might have sealed it without reading to the end. And then? What would you have done? What excuse would you make, once your precious favorite was trapped by his snare? Careless, wasn't it?"

"Th-that... ah..."

This was not an act. His anger was real, sharp, and raw. Kochou knew it, and though shame tore at her, her body betrayed her—thrilled, elated, trembling with the guilty joy of his wrath.

She had given him everything. Her body, her mind, her life—laid at his feet. She had sworn the oath, pledged absolute obedience. Now she was his servant, wholly and without condition. His will was law. In return, he carried responsibility for her.

He was master, she was subordinate. As long as none who must not know discovered their pact, they had to keep to the roles they had chosen. She still remembered the look on his face when it was revealed—words could never capture it.

She thought she had glimpsed entire constellations behind his eyes. He had accepted swiftly, cruel and cold yet measured. She had learned his harshness was calculated, a kind of discipline, a service in itself.

(But... this time is different...♪)

This was no careful rebuke. This was pure anger, unsoftened. The same kind of fury he had once unleashed on his sister's tragedy, directed at the girl herself.

"Are you listening?"

"Nhii♪ I-I'm sorryyy!?♪"

The sharp sound of flesh striking flesh cracked in the air. His reprimand hissed in her ear. Her cry of pain bent into a moan of delight. His hand left marks upon her skin, bruises she would cherish.

"From now on, you will report on Tamaki's every step. Watch her. Guard her against the Minister's reach. Protect her purity at any cost. Do you understand? Show me you can do at least that much."

"Fu... fu, fuuu..."

"Do you understand?"

"Y-yes...♪"

Of course she understood. She would have done it even without being told. But she had stalled, only to hear his voice again, sharp with command. She wanted to be ordered, like a husband scolding his wife over their daughter. The thought burned her cheeks, but her heart bloomed. What mother would not take pride in her child being shielded?

"Do you really understand...?"

"I-it's fine... it's fine, ~desuwaaa. Please, entrust it all to this Black Butterfly... leave it to meeee."

His doubt lingered, and Kochou grew desperate to prove herself. She couldn't let him think she was useless. She was already older, no longer in her prime. If she failed, she'd be worth less than any nameless girl. That couldn't happen.

"...Very well. I'll trust you with it."

Finally, he let go. His grip on her hair loosened, his hand falling to her head in a rough, careless pat—and even that made her heart leap with joy.

But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. She wanted more. More. More. And more.

"Please..."

She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, pleading like a girl half her age, using every bit of beauty left in her face. His mercy came quickly.

"Nhyahhh♪"

The hit came low, heat flashing across her skin, running from her thigh up to her stomach and chest. It burned, sharp as iron against her flesh. Her whole body trembled. Lights popped in her head even though it was just her body taking the blow. And then it got worse—her body gave in, wet and messy between them. She couldn't believe it, not after all these years, that she still reacted like this.

"Let's… do it like this, please?"

She squeezed her thighs tight, grinding against him, desperate and shameless. She didn't care anymore—waiting was impossible. She was older now, but completely lost in desire. And she knew one thing clear as daylight: this man could handle her, control her, make her his.

"..."

"Nnh... haa♪"

His hand slid around her belly, lifting her hips higher, arranging her body to his convenience. Her legs, feeble in resistance, opened.

"...Spare me. Don't look at me with that face."

His voice came low, almost pitying, as his hand forced her head into the pillow, pressing her face down, hiding it from his sight.

He could not look at her like that. To see her face was to see the depth of her love, her desperation. And he could not afford to yield to that. He forced her down not out of scorn, but to protect her dignity. To cloak her shamelessness in shadow, to veil her with mercy.

It was not because she begged. It was because he chose to. Because as a man, as a beast, he would take her, claim her, show her body that it still had worth.

(...Ahh. He's so kind...)

She thought of *that man.* She almost believed this was him reborn. She wanted it to be him. Even if it was not, she chose to believe.

She had endured so much, buried so much. Her life was already waning. She wanted, just this once, to be selfish, to lay herself bare. In return... she would give everything to him.

"—hhahhh—ahh—ahhhhhh!!!"

Her voice broke against the pillow, torn between sobs and cries of bliss. She thought of that man. She thought of the one behind her. The weight that bore down on her was cruel, unrelenting, and yet sweet beyond measure.

She welcomed it, wept with it, rejoiced in it. She could see nothing through her tears. She sang with her gasps, with her screams. He gave no quarter. He handled her with the same fervor he did the young ones.

"Ahhh... ahhh...!"

The hand that pinned her head softened, roughened into a stroke, patting her like a pet. She cried under it, and in that haze she saw his ghost. She saw the fantasy she had always yearned for. He would have been just like this—rough, but gentle in the roughness, cherishing her in his merciless way. And that truth, that contradiction, filled her with joy.

"Foolish woman..."

The words slipped from him, short and sharp. To Kochou, who had lived a life spun of pretense and masks, even those two syllables sounded warm, tender, like the only truth she had ever wanted.

Because she knew—they were spoken not in contempt, but in care.

---

Fanart Feature ● Hina

You can see it here: <a href="https://www.pixiv.net/artworks/134625849" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noindex">link</a>