I am NOT a Demon Queen!

Enough was enough. Su Yao pointed to her kitchen table. “Out, now. And start talking.”

The woman slowly extricated herself from the refrigerator, brushing a stray piece of lettuce from her shoulder. She sat down primly, though her hands trembled slightly. “My name is Nohime. I was a noblewoman from a different time.”

Su Yao leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Why is Seimei after you?”

“That is the question, isn't it?” Nohime said. Her voice gained a sliver of steel. “I simply awoke in this era in this body. It was disorienting. I felt him the moment my consciousness settled, a presence vast and cold, like a net being drawn through the sea. And I was a fish he intended to catch.”

She shook her head. “But, something is wrong.”

“Besides the obvious?” Su Yao deadpanned.

“The presence feels like Seimei,” Nohime admitted. “But my instincts, the ones that kept me alive in a court of knives and poison, they scream that it isn’t him.” She looked up at Su Yao. Her expression was utterly serious. “The person pursuing me is an imposter.”

Su Yao stared at her for a long, silent moment. She let out a short, bitter laugh.

“Let me get this straight,” Su Yao said. Her voice was dangerously calm. “You, a woman who just woke up from a centuries-long nap hiding in my fridge, are telling me that your feelings, based on courtly intrigue from a thousand years ago, are proof that the legendary sorcerer who just effortlessly banished a giant skeleton and an oni in front of me is a fake.”

Nohime had the decency to look slightly abashed. “I admit it sounds flimsy when stated so plainly. My feelings have guided me true many times, except for the times they were catastrophically wrong.” She wrung her hands. “But this feeling is particularly strong!”

Su Yao massaged her temples. This was what her life had become. Her fate was now tied to the gut instinct of an amnesiac noblewoman who used appliances as panic rooms.

“Fine,” Su Yao bit out. “Let’s operate on your ‘particularly strong feeling’. Why would an imposter have all of Seimei’s power and knowledge? Why would he be going around ‘saving’ people and systematically collecting spirits?”

Nohime’s eyes lit up. “It must be a shikigami! A perfect, autonomous copy, created by the real Seimei to act in his stead! Or a descendant who has fully inherited his legacy and is now usurping his identity! Or a rival who has somehow stolen his essence and is using it to—”

“Or you're just wrong,” Su Yao interrupted. Her patience was gone. “The real red-bean-bun-hating Abe no Seimei is outside right now building a perfect orderly prison for all of us.”

The two women stared at each other across the kitchen table. One was a legendary fox spirit, the other a reincarnated noblewoman. Both were trapped in a mystery with no reliable answers.

“Until you have something more substantial than a feeling,” Su Yao declared, “you can stay in the spare room. If Seimei, real or fake, comes back and finds you here because your ‘instincts’ were one of the ‘catastrophically wrong’ times, I'm not hiding you in the fridge again.”

She pointed a stern finger.

“I'm handing you over myself with a bow. Now, I'm going to bed. Try not to possess any more kitchen appliances.”

Nohime glanced nervously toward the spare room, then back at the refrigerator. “Actually,” she said. Her voice was small but firm. “If it isn’t too much trouble, may I remain in the refrigerator?”

Su Yao, who had been heading toward her bedroom, stopped walking. She slowly turned around.

“What,” she said. Each syllable dripped with disbelief. “Is wrong with you?”

“It’s a matter of need,” Nohime explained, as if requesting a slightly firmer pillow. “The cold is soothing there. This modern world is so terribly warm for my constitution as a Yuki Onna.”

Su Yao stared blankly. “A what?”

“A Snow Woman,” Nohime clarified. A faint mist began to form around her. The temperature in the kitchen dropped several degrees. The condensation on the outside of the fridge she had just vacated seemed to intensify. “The cold is my essence. It preserves me. A room temperature environment is, uncomfortable. Like being in a stuffy, overcrowded hall for too long.”

Su Yao looked from the noblewoman, who was now gently frosting the surface of her kitchen table, to the refrigerator. Of course the amnesiac time-traveler with unreliable instincts was a mythological ice spirit.

It was the only thing that made sense in a day that had long since abandoned any pretense of logic.

“So let me summarize,” Su Yao said. Her voice was flat. “You, a creature of blizzards and mountain passes decided the best place to hide from the greatest exorcist in history was in my kitchen appliance. My fridge.”

“It was the coldest place available!” Nohime said. A defensive edge entered her voice. “It worked, did it not? He didn’t sense me!”

Su Yao could not argue with the results, only the methodology. She let out a long, weary sigh that crystallized in the suddenly chilly air.

“Fine,” she relented, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Stay in the fridge. But you're responsible for defrosting it. If any of my food gets freezer burn, you're evicted to the actual freezer.”

Nohime’s face lit up with a serene, grateful smile. “Thank you. You are most gracious.” She stood, glided back to the refrigerator, and gracefully arranged herself once more amongst the shelves, pulling the door closed with a soft, definitive click.

Su Yao stood alone in her kitchen. The only sound was the hum of the appliance containing a snow spirit. She was now harboring a fugitive Yuki Onna from a potentially fake Abe no Seimei, while simultaneously preparing to psychologically warfare the real, or fake, one with baked goods and a performance of normalcy.

She looked at the fridge. “I need a drink,” she muttered, knowing full well the cold box was empty save for milk, pickles, and a mythological creature.

It seemed the universe was committed to denying her even that small comfort.

The day’s absurdities weighed on Su Yao like a physical force as she collapsed on her bed. Between the bureaucratic nightmares, the baking, the fugitive snow woman in her fridge, and the looming presence of Abe no Seimei, her mind was a tangled mess. Sleep came quickly, but it offered no refuge.

Her dream was vivid and unsettling. She stood in a grand, open courtyard under a moonlit sky. The architecture was unmistakably Heian-era Japan. For a heartbeat, the courtyard seemed to fracture, the air shuddering as if the past itself were straining under the weight of what was about to be decided.

Before her, Abe no Seimei stood calm and poised in his full courtly regalia. His expression was serene yet unyielding. Opposite him was a woman of breathtaking beauty, Tamamo no Mae, in all her legendary glory.

She wore layers of exquisite silk. Her eyes were sharp with cunning and a deep, ancient power. Su Yao recognized the aura immediately. It was similar to Mizukume's, but far more potent and raw.

“You have entertained the court long enough, fox,” Seimei said. His voice cut through the night without raising. “Your game ends now. The chaos you sow can’t be tolerated.”

Tamamo no Mae laughed, a sound like tinkling bells that held a razor’s edge. “You think your petty rituals can bind me, Onmyōji? I am beyond your understanding.”

Seimei merely smiled, a cold, calculated gesture. He raised a hand. Ofuda talismans materialized around him, spinning in a complex pattern. “Bold of you to assume seek to bind you. I only seek to reveal you. Your true form belongs outside the halls of power, in the annals of history.”

He chanted a few words. The talismans flared with a blinding white light. Tamamo no Mae recoiled. Her beautiful facade began to crack. “No! This is not—”

But it was too late. The light enveloped her. Her form twisted and contorted as her human shape dissolved, revealing the monstrous truth beneath: a massive, nine-tailed fox. Its fur was white as snow, with eyes burning like embers. The creature snarled. Its tails lashed like whips, but Seimei’s power held it fast.

“Behold the calamity,” Seimei announced to the unseen court around them. “A being of greed and deception, now unmasked.”

The dream shifted. Su Yao saw the nine-tailed fox being subdued, sealed away by Seimei’s art. As the vision faded, Seimei turned his gaze directly to Su Yao, as if he knew she was watching.

“You see?” he whispered. His voice echoed in her mind. “No disguise can hide the truth from me.”

Su Yao jolted awake, gasping for air. She sat up, her heart pounding. The dream felt less like a memory and more like a warning. Seimei was capable of exposing anyone, and he might already be onto her.

She glanced toward the kitchen, where Nohime was presumably still chilling in the fridge. “Great,” she muttered to herself. “Now I'm having prophetic nightmares about the guy who might be a fake. This is just perfect.”

The next morning, sunlight streamed into the apartment, doing little to dispel the lingering chill from its new resident. Su Yao’s aunt, Su Nuan Nuan, was already up, sipping tea and watching the morning news on the small television in the living room.

“Would you look at this, Xiao Ling,” Auntie said, shaking her head in mild amusement as Su Yao trudged into the room. “The city’s gone a little crazy. Some kind of elaborate publicity stunt, they think.”

Su Yao froze. Her eyes snapped to the screen.

The news anchor was smiling. “...and in what locals are calling the most impressive guerrilla marketing campaign they’ve ever seen, our city was treated to a series of startlingly realistic ‘monster attacks’ last night.”

Footage played of a Kappa causing a traffic jam by summoning a minor flood in an intersection. A figure in Heian-era robes appeared and banished it with a flick of a paper talisman. Another clip showed a swarm of lesser Nurikabe (wall spirits) blocking streets, again swiftly dealt with by the same robed figure.

“This mysterious ‘savior,’” the anchor continued, “always appears just in the nick of time, dealing with the threat before any real damage can be done. Authorities have no comment, but internet speculation is running wild! Is it for a new historical fantasy film? A video game launch? The special effects are truly next-level!”

Auntie Nuan Nuan took a sip of her tea. “Very dramatic. The costume is lovely, though. Must be costing them a fortune.”

Su Yao stared. Her piece of toast was forgotten in her hand. The pieces clicked into place with terrifying clarity.

Seimei was stage-managing the chaos. He was creating a narrative, presenting himself as the flawless, timely hero and the supernatural threats as harmless, scripted entertainment. All he did was systematically desensitizing the entire population, removing the fear and wonder from the supernatural and reducing it to a consumer product.

He’s systematizing the spirit world’s perception, she realized. A cold knot formed in her stomach. Seimei’s making himself a brand.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Mizukume.

Mizukume: You have seen the news. He is manufacturing consent for his own governance. I am simultaneously appalled and impressed by his masterstroke.

Su Yao’s gaze drifted to the refrigerator, which was now sporting a delicate, frost-ferned pattern of ice crystals across its stainless-steel door.

She walked over and pulled the door open. Nohime was inside, looking considerably more serene and solid than she had the night before. A light dusting of snow coated the broccoli.

“Feel better?” Su Yao asked flatly.

“Much,” Nohime said. Her voice was crisp. “The sustained cold is most restorative. Thank you.” She peered out past Su Yao at the television. “Ah. He is making his move publicly, I see.”

“You mean his ‘marketing campaign,’” Su Yao corrected. Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Nohime’s eyes, now clear and sharp, met Su Yao’s. “Precisely. He is building his legend, creating a platform. A man or an imposter who wishes to rule from the shadows does not star in his own news segment.” She tilted her head. “My feeling remains. This isn’t the Seimei I knew. His methods were always more, elegant and subtle. This is blatant.”

Su Yao stood in front of the fridge. The cold air wafted out and mingled with the morning warmth of the apartment. She stared at Nohime. The Yuki Onna’s words finally clicked into a new, frustrating configuration.

“Hold on,” Su Yao said. Her voice was dangerously calm. “You just said, ‘This isn’t the Seimei I knew.’ How,exactly did you ‘know’ him? I was under the impression you just woke up in this era like a tourist who missed their flight.”

Nohime had the grace to look slightly flustered. A faint blue tint rose to her pale cheeks. She carefully adjusted a jar of pickles to avoid Su Yao’s gaze. “A figure of speech. I misspoke.”

“You don't get to ‘misspeak’ when we're potentially dealing with a world-ending impostor,” Su Yao snapped. Her patience was evaporating. “Did you meet him? Yes or no?”

“No,” Nohime admitted. “I never met the man. He was already a figure of legend, a story told to frighten ambitious court ladies and warn unruly spirits by the time I was active.”

Su Yao closed her eyes, counting to five in a dead language. “So, you have no actual frame of reference. Your ‘feelings’ about his authenticity aren't based on personal experience. But on what? Hearsay? Historical gossip?”

“Seimei’s reputation was meticulously documented!” Nohime insisted. A defensive chill frosted the air around her. “Everything from his methods, his philosophies, to his recorded deeds! The Seimei of the texts was a scholar, a recluse who advised from the shadows. He would never seek this kind of vulgar public adoration! This is the behavior of a boastful warlord or a vain actor!”

She gestured vaguely toward the silent television. “That man on that screen is performing. The real Seimei would have considered such a spectacle beneath him. He solved problems before they became spectacles.”

Su Yao leaned against the counter, processing this. It was sparse, but it was something. Nohime’s argument was based on a historical profile. The current ‘Seimei’ was acting out of character according to the established lore.

“So your entire thesis is based on a personality conflict with a thousand-year-old history book,” Su Yao summarized. Her tone was dry as dust.

“It is based on a discrepancy in behavioral analysis!” Nohime retorted. Her voice gained strength. “The man I am describing would never let himself be caught in a camera and appear on television! He would sat in a quiet room orchestrating events so that no one would ever know he was involved at all!”

A slow, grim smile spread across Su Yao’s face. “Okay, fine.” She looked from the frosted fridge back toward her room. “So we have a suspect who doesn't match his historical profile, is staging public heroics, and is very interested in me.”

She closed the refrigerator door, leaving Nohime to her chilly contemplation.

“Get some more rest,” Su Yao said. “If your historical analysis is correct, then the real problem is the show. We need to figure out how to cancel it.”

Nohime let out a sigh that misted the air inside the fridge. Her expression softened into one of distant longing. “Oh, if only my husband were here,” she murmured. Her voice was dreamy. “My husband would know what to do. He was always so decisive and powerful. Nothing ever truly frightened him.”

Su Yao, who had been about to walk away, stopped and slowly turned back. Her eyes narrowed. “Your husband?” she repeated. A dreadful suspicion was dawning. “Who exactly was your husband?”

Nohime looked up. Her pale eyes shone with wifely pride. “Why, the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, of course. Lord Oda Nobunaga.”

The silence in the kitchen was absolute, broken only by the refrigerator’s compressor kicking on.

Su Yao stared at the Yuki Onna nestled between the milk and the eggs. She blinked once, slowly.

“Let me get this straight,” Su Yao said. Her voice was dangerously level. “You, a Yuki Onna, are married to the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven. The most infamous, ambitious, and terrifyingly ruthless warlord in Japanese history.”

Nohime nodded. A serene smile was on her lips. “He had such vision and such a warm presence for a human. It quite melted my heart.”

Su Yao ran a hand over her face. The pieces, the absolutely insane, world-breaking pieces, finally slammed together.

“You are married to a demon king,” she repeated, as if trying to make the words make sense. “No wonder Seimei wants you gone. You're a geopolitical nightmare. A walking, talking casus belli stuffed into my refrigerator!”

It all made a terrible, perfect sense. If this was the real Seimei, Nohime represented a catastrophic variable, a direct link to a being of immense power and chaos that could shatter any orderly system he tried to build. If it was an imposter, she was a loose end with connections too dangerous to leave unchecked.

Nohime seemed unfazed. “My Lord Husband would not have stood for this pageantry,” she said, gesturing dismissively towards the world outside. “He would have seen it for the weakness it is.”

“Your Lord Husband would have probably set the entire city on fire as an opening negotiation tactic!” Su Yao shot back. “Which, right now, is starting to sound like a more and more reasonable approach!”

She paced the small kitchen. “Okay, new priority. We need to find out if your demon king husband is also running around in a modern body somewhere and if he’s going to be looking for you. The last thing this city needs is a reunited, power-couple-of-the-apocalypse while we're dealing with a possibly fake system-obsessed sorcerer.”

Nohime’s eyes lit up. “Do you think he might be? Oh, I do hope so. He always did know how to make an entrance.”

Su Yao pointed a finger at her. “You stay in the fridge and don’t attract demon kings. I have to go figure out how to stop a public relations campaign being run by a legendary figure who may or may not be real, while also preventing the possible return of the Japanese equivalent of a nuclear warlord. My to-do list is officially a suicide note.”

She stormed out of the kitchen. The hum of the fridge now sounded like the ominous theme music to her own impending doom.