I am NOT a Demon Queen!

“Enough about the depressing stuff. Corporate politics are so dull.” Suzuka waved a hand, as if physically brushing away the somber mood. The CEO turned and walked to her desk, opening a drawer and pulling out two neatly wrapped parcels, each about the size of a small book.

She handed one to Su Yao. “This is for you. Consider it a token of our appreciation for your visit.” Suzuka held up the second. “And this one is for your cousin, Tamamo. Please pass it along.”

Su Yao took the parcels, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“A peace offering,” Suzuka explained with a wry smile. “To let Tamamo know her application was, appreciated, even if it didn't work out. There’s a letter inside detailing another position we have open, Vice President of Strategic Chaos.

“It comes with excellent benefits and a generous stock option plan. We'd rather have her on board in some capacity than have her curse our entire HR department into the next millennium. She has a reputation for holding grudges.”

Su Yao smirked inwardly. Kayo would probably find the title amusing. “I'll make sure she gets it,” she said, tucking the parcels into her spiritual storage. “But I can't guarantee she won't curse you anyway.”

Suzuka chuckled. “That’s a risk we're willing to take. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a board meeting in five minutes. The quarterly earnings report won't present itself.” She gestured toward the door. “Feel free to see yourself out, Mizukume. If you do find out who’s really running this circus, do let me know. I'm as curious as you are.”

Su Yao nodded and turned to leave. She stepped out of the elevator and into the bustling lobby of Kurotora. Her mind was still processing the conversation with Suzuka Gozen. As she made her way toward the exit, her phone buzzed.

The caller ID showed it was from the government headquarters. She answered, putting it on speaker as she walked through the crowd.

“Xiao Ling? It’s Momiji,” a familiar, calm voice came through.

Su Yao’s brow furrowed. “Momiji? Did you possess Li Xiu again? I thought we agreed that was too risky after last time.”

“No. That’s what I'm calling about,” Momiji replied. Her tone was almost cheerful. “It turns out Li Xuan’s mask is far superior to the Yamato masks. It can house a spirit independently, like a self-contained vessel. I'm now in that mask, and it’s liberating.”

Su Yao paused near the alleyway exit. The neon lights of Tokyo cast long shadows around her. “Li Xuan’s mask? You mean the broken fragment from the tomb? How did you get it to work?”

“Through some collaborative effort with Director Hao and the research team,” Momiji explained. “We managed to reconstruct the mask using the fragment as a base. It seems Li Xuan infused it with advanced soul-alchemy principles.

“The Yamato masks are crude imitations by comparison. They need a living anchor, but this one, it’s like a perfect home. I can even move around and interact with the physical world through it, though I'm still getting the hang of that.”

Su Yao processed this. A slow smile spread across her face. “So, you're effectively free from the Yamato’s control and their limitations. This could be a significant advantage. What about Li Xiu? Is she safe?”

“Li Xiu is fine. Relieved, actually,” Momiji said. “She’s been helping me adjust. Now that I'm not tied to her, she can focus on her own spiritual development without my interference. That’s not all. Since I'm in Li Xuan’s mask, I've been able to access some of its latent memories or impressions. I think there might be clues about Li Xuan’s whereabouts or his true intentions embedded in the mask’s matrix.”

“Interesting,” Su Yao murmured. Her mind was racing. “We'll need to explore that further. For now, stay at headquarters and continue your research. I'm on my way back. I have some parcels to deliver to Kayo, and we need to discuss our next moves.”

“Understood,” Momiji said. “I'll see you soon. Xiao Ling, be careful. The Yamato might be more layered than we thought.”

“Don't I know it,” Su Yao replied, ending the call. She tucked her phone away, glancing back at the sleek facade of Kurotora. With Momiji’s new form and the clues from Li Xuan’s mask, the puzzle was starting to come together.

Now, she just had to figure out how all these pieces fit. She needed to know who was really pulling the strings.

Su Yao had just ended the call with Momiji, feeling a flicker of optimism, when two Yamato agents in black suits approached her. Their expressions were grim.

“Ma'am, we regret to inform you that all access to the Dark Realm has been temporarily suspended,” one of them said, bowing slightly. “A spiritual anomaly is blocking the conduits. We don't know when it will be restored.”

Su Yao’s blood ran cold. Blocked?

She was now stranded in Japan as an illegal alien for an indefinite duration.

Great, she thought. Her mind raced through the implications. She had no valid passport or a legitimate way back. If the government found out, it would be a bureaucratic nightmare. She needed extraction, and fast.

Pulling out her phone, she scrolled through her contacts. Her fingers moved hastily. She meant to dial Director Hao for an emergency extraction, but in her frustration, she mis-tapped and hit the number for Dōman instead.

The phone rang once, then twice. A familiar honeyed voice laced with mocking amusement answered.

“Well, well, if it isn't my favorite heavenly fox,” Dōman purred. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you finally come to your senses about being my vessel?”

Dōman’s laughter was light and mocking. “I jest! It turns out my mother in this life is a heavenly fox, so I wouldn't be needing your womb anymore. I was already born from a heavenly fox and now have Seimei’s cheats. How’s that for irony?”

Su Yao blinked, processing this. “Good for you?” she said. Her voice was flat. She was unsure if this was better or worse. A Dōman with innate heavenly fox powers and a grudge was still a problem, just a different kind.

“Oh, it’s glorious,” Dōman continued. Her tone shifted to vengeful glee. “I can't wait to see the look on that fake Seimei’s face when I make him see his place. He thinks he’s so clever, but I have the bloodline now. It’s poetic justice.”

She paused, curiosity seeping into her voice. “Why are you calling me anyway? This isn't your usual style.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Su Yao sighed. “I meant to call someone else. It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Dōman’s voice dripped with amusement. “I don’t think so. There are no accidents. This must be destiny! You called me at the precise moment when I've achieved my true form. It’s inevitable, you see? Just like the rising sun or the falling cherry blossoms, our paths are intertwined. You can't escape the cosmic design, Su Yao. Inevitability is the universe’s way of saying ‘I told you so.'“

Su Yao could almost hear the dramatic hand gestures through the phone. “Inevitably, I'm hanging up now,” she said. Dōman cut her off.

“Wait! Since you're stranded in Tokyo. Oh yes, I know about the Dark Realm blockage. I may have caused it. How about we meet? I could use a distraction while I plan my grand confrontation. Plus, I owe you for that therapeutic fight. I'll even help you get back to China. Think of it as fate’s favor.”

Su Yao considered this. Dealing with Dōman was always a risk, but she was short on options. “Fine. Where and when?”

“Meet me at the Meiji Shrine in an hour.” With that, Dōman hung up.

Su Yao stared at the glowing screen. Her knuckles were white. How, in all the heavens, am I supposed to find it?

She was an ancient celestial fox, newly sober, and stranded in a foreign megalopolis without a tour guide. Spiritual conduits and divine weapons were familiar tools. Greater Tokyo’s public transportation system was a more esoteric mystery.

The signs from the alleyway bled a sickly, alien light. She could, of course, unleash her spiritual sense to scan the entire city for the shrine’s sacred energy. But that would be like using a tsunami to water a single flower.

It would attract every onmyōji and yōkai for fifty miles.

She grumbled, a low sound of pure exasperation. Her fingers, more accustomed to weaving spells, fumbled with the indestructible government-issue phone. She opened Google Maps.

This is humiliation.

Her thumb clumsily typed ‘Meiji Shrine.’ A little pin appeared. Shibuya. A route unfolded, a tangled mess of colored lines and unfamiliar station names. The JR Yamanote Line. She sighed, a breath that carried the weight of centuries and began to walk, her feet carrying her toward the busiest area.

Soon, she was directed down the stairs into a brightly lit underground space. The area was crowded with a steady, constant flow of people from office workers in similar suits to students focused on their phones.

Su Yao followed the signs. Her eyes glazed over the complex fare chart.

I am not paying.

The thought was absolute.

She approached the automated ticket gates with regal indifference. As the glass doors slid shut to block her, she let a whisper of spiritual energy coil out. The mundane electronics glitched. With a startled click, the doors snapped open. She passed through without a glance, leaving a confused station attendant scratching his head.

The journey was tedious. She spent the time internally mapping the train’s electrical veins and the faint spiritual leylines beneath the city. A far more interesting puzzle.

“Harajuku Station,” chimed the automated voice.

She emerged from the underground and the world shifted. Urban clamor faded, replaced by the serene, forested quiet of the shrine approach. The dense canopy muffled all sound, creating a sudden oasis of calm.

Before she reached the main torii gate, a woman in a sterile white medical mask stepped directly into her path. The woman bowed slightly. Her eyes were wide and expectant above the mask. She spoke in rapid, polite Japanese.

“Can you speak English?” Su Yao asked. Her tone was flat and impatient.

The woman’s head tilted. She replied in heavily accented, broken English, “I’m beautiful?”

Su Yao sighed, glancing toward the shrine entrance where she was supposed to meet Dōman. “If I say yes, will you go away?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. She slowly reached up to remove her mask. The fabric fell away to reveal that the corners of her mouth were slit grotesquely from ear to ear, giving her a permanent, horrifying smile. “I’m still beautiful?”

Su Yao stared at her for a moment, then scoffed. “What a stupid question.”

She stepped around the creature, continuing on her way without a backward glance. The slit-mouthed woman stood frozen in confusion, as if unsure how to process such dismissive indifference from a potential victim.

Shaking her head, Su Yao muttered under her breath, “Annoying spirits. Don't they have anything better to do?” She focused on the spiritual signature and felt Dōman’s sharp and familiar presence ahead.

Time to see what this ‘fated’ meeting was all about.

Su Yao spotted her near the towering torii gate leading to the inner shrine. Dōman looked, normal. Alarmingly so. She was dressed in comfortable sneakers, trendy wide-leg trousers, and a simple linen shirt. A canvas tote bag was slung over one shoulder. Her hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail.

If Su Yao lacked the knowledge that this was the reincarnated rival of Abe no Seimei, a sorceress with a millennium-old inferiority complex and a recent obsession with heavenly fox wombs, she would have written her off as just another visitor.

Dōman looked up. Her eyes lit up with a friendly, unassuming smile. “Ah! You made it! I was just getting my bearings. This place is bigger than it looks on the brochure.”

She folded her map with a brisk, efficient motion. “Now that you're here, I simply have to give you a tour of Harajuku. It’s right next door! I was going to go sightseeing anyway. Since you're here, it’s only polite to invite you along.”

Su Yao stared. Her brain struggled to reconcile the image of the unhinged, domain-expanding sorceress with the woman now enthusiastically gesturing toward Takeshita Street. “A tour,” she repeated, deadpan. “You summoned me to a sacred shrine to go sightseeing.”

“Summoned is such a strong word,” Dōman chided, linking her arm with Su Yao’s with a startling familiarity. “I invited you! Come on, it'll be fun. You can't come all the way to Tokyo and only see the inside of a demon corporation’s lobby and a haunted alley. You need the full cultural experience.”

She began steering a thoroughly bewildered Su Yao away from the serene shrine and toward the chaotic, colorful maelstrom of Harajuku’s fashion district. “I read about a crepe stand that does a matcha-and-red-bean special that is supposedly to die for. Literally, in our case, but that just adds to the flavor, don't you think?”

Su Yao allowed herself to be pulled along, too stunned by the sheer absurdity to protest. She was on a forced cultural excursion with a legendary madwoman.

This was, without a doubt, one of the strangest detours of her very long life.

As they pushed through the bustling, neon-drenched crowd of Takeshita Street, the air thick with the scent of sugary crepes and fried food, Su Yao finally voiced the question that had been nagging at her. “How did you even realize your mother in this life was a heavenly nine-tailed fox? That seems like something you'd notice.”

Dōman paused to admire a rack of elaborate Lolita dresses without missing a beat. “Oh, that? Well, I always thought my mother was a kikimora. She was always fussing over the house, you know? Muttering about dust bunnies and misplaced spoons. Then, one day, there was this, accident with a cat.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “That’s a story for another time. Let’s just say the cat survived, but my worldview didn't.” She pointed to a crepe stand. “Ooh, look! They have gold leaf on theirs! How extravagant!”

Su Yao blinked, processing this. “What’s a kikimora?”

Dōman turned back to her. A gleam in her eye appeared as if she'd been waiting for this. “A kikimora? She’s a Slavic house spirit. They attach themselves to households, either as benevolent helpers or malevolent pests.

“If you please them, they might sweep your floors or watch over your chickens. But if you offend them, they'll tangle your yarn, break your pottery, and give you nightmares. My mother had a bit of both, honestly. She is very keen on proper broom storage.”

She shrugged. “But turns out, she was just a heavenly fox in disguise, slumming it in mortal domesticity. Probably found it amusing. I get my dramatic flair from her, obviously.”

Wondering not for the first time how her life had become so bizarre, Su Yao shook her head. “Right. So, about getting me back to China...”

“Patience, cousin!” Dōman chirped, dragging her toward the crepe stand. “First, we eat. Then, we discuss dimensional travel. Priorities!”

Dōman gestured enthusiastically toward the vibrant menu of the crepe stand. It was adorned with cartoonish images of various flavors. “So, what'll it be? Oreo, matcha, or Pikachu?”

Su Yao stared at the options. Her face was a mask of pure disbelief. “Pikachu? Is that some kind of mineral or a new type of yokai? Because it sounds ridiculous.”

Dōman let out a peal of laughter, drawing a few stares from the passing crowd. “It’s a Pokémon, you ancient relic! They make the crepe yellow with banana and custard, and it has these cute little chocolate markings to look like Pikachu’s face. It’s practically a cultural icon! If you're going to be a stick-in-the-mud, the matcha is always a safe bet.”

Su Yao pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “I don't have time for this. Just choose for me. The sooner we're done, the sooner we can discuss how you're getting me back to China.”

“Excellent! Two Pikachu crepes it is!” Dōman declared, ignoring Su Yao’s groan as she turned to place the order. Within minutes, she handed Su Yao a crepe that was indeed bright yellow, adorned with a smiling Pikachu face made from chocolate and whipped cream. “See? Adorable! Now, try it while it’s warm.”

Su Yao took the crepe with the same caution she might approach a cursed artifact. She took a small bite. The sweetness overwhelmed her palate. “It’s fine,” she muttered, though she couldn't deny the combination was oddly satisfying.

Dōman beamed, taking a large bite of her own crepe. “See? Isn't this better than brooding in some dark alley? Now, about your trip home, I know a backdoor spiritual ley line that runs from Tokyo Tower to Mount Tai in China.

“It’s a bit of a hike, but it’s secure. We can head there after we finish these. First, I want to check out the vintage clothing stores. I heard they have some amazing 90s relics!”

Su Yao sighed, resigning herself to the fact that her return journey would be paved with absurdity. “Just don't take all day.”