I am NOT a Demon Queen!

Another building collapsed in the distance, shaking loose debris from the rooftops. Su Yao’s eyes narrowed as she watched the Jiao Long continue its rampage. A nagging feeling tugged at the back of her mind.

I’ve forgotten something. Something trivial but irritating.

Then it clicked. The parcels. Suzuka Gozen’s ‘peace offerings.’ One for her, one for Kayo. She had stuffed them into her spiritual storage and promptly forgotten about them amid Kaiju fights, Deep Prince sealing, and dragon awakenings.

Right. The corporate consolation prize.

With a sigh, she pulled the two neatly wrapped parcels out of the ether. One was for her, the other for Tamamo’s ego. Kayo was probably still at the government headquarters, likely commandeering the common room and complaining about manga plot holes while the world outside fell apart.

She had to go there in person. Apparently, even in the middle of an invasion by fish-people and a territorial dispute with a primordial dragon, bureaucracy and family drama waited for no one.

Nohime, who had been silently observing the dragon’s progress from the apartment window while holding a frost-rimmed teacup, turned as Su Yao stood up. “You are leaving?”

“I have to deliver a parcel to my cousin and inform her that the person who got the job she wanted is just as confused about it as we are,” Su Yao said. Her tone was drier than the dust settling outside. “Priorities.”

Nohime nodded slowly, as if this made perfect sense. “Would you like me to prepare a bento for the journey? The battle seems to be causing significant traffic delays.”

“I’ll risk it,” Su Yao said, heading for the door. She paused, glancing back at the window. The Jiao Long was now breathing a torrent of mud and water toward the coastline, where the false Seimei was frantically erecting barrier after barrier. “If the dragon decides this building is part of its nest reclamation project, just try not to freeze it solid. We’re still on the hook for the security deposit.”

“Understood,” Nohime replied serenely, taking a sip of her tea. “I shall attempt negotiation.”

Su Yao had zero desire to discover what a Yuki Onna’s ‘negotiation’ with a Flood Dragon involved. She slipped out of the apartment, the parcels in hand, and began the tedious journey across a city that was simultaneously being invaded, stomped on, and flooded.

All this just to deliver a job rejection letter and a likely inferior brand of sake to a chaotic fox spirit.

Some days, she thought, deftly avoiding a fleeing crowd and a collapsing overpass, I really miss just being a drunkard.

By the time she reached the administrative district, Su Yao had begun to suspect that the universe was conspiring to turn her into an errand girl with divine timing.

Su Yao pushed through the reinforced doors of the government headquarters. The sterile, air-conditioned calm was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. She found Kayo slumped in a chair in a dimly lit corridor. Her usual vibrant energy was completely gone. She was staring at her glittery phone, her shoulders slumped. An expression of genuine devastation was on her face.

This was new. Su Yao had seen Kayo bored, mischievous, homicidal, and gleefully chaotic, but never, despondent.

“What happened?” Su Yao asked. Her voice cut through the quiet hum of the facility.

Kayo looked up. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Gojo died.”

Su Yao blinked. The name meant nothing to her. It wasn't a celestial being, a rival sorcerer, or a Yamato executive. “Who is Gojo?”

“A character from Jujutsu Kaisen!” Kayo wailed, holding up her phone to show a panel from a manga. It depicted a handsome, white-haired man in a tragic, dismembered state. “He’s the strongest! He was so cool! And they killed him! It’s not fair!” She threw her phone down, which bounced harmlessly on the carpeted floor. “What is even the point of anything anymore?”

Su Yao stared, utterly dumbfounded. The city was under attack by a Kaiju, a Flood Dragon, and an army of fish-people, and Kayo was having a meltdown over the fictional death of a cartoon character.

“He’s not real,” Su Yao stated. The words were flat and factual.

“He’s real to me!” Kayo shrieked, burying her face in her hands. “His smile, his power, his stupid, beautiful blindfold, gone! Reduced to atoms!”

Su Yao pinched the bridge of her nose. This was, without a doubt, the most absurd crisis she had faced all day. That was saying something. She decided the best course of action was to proceed with her original mission, hoping the distraction would help.

“Here,” Su Yao said, thrusting the parcel from Suzuka Gozen into Kayo’s lap. “A consolation prize from the Yamato CEO. She said your application was appreciated, and there’s another position open. Vice President of Strategic Chaos.”

“I don't want it! What’s the point of being Vice President of Chaos if Gojo isn't in the world? The vibes are all wrong now! The universe is out of balance!”

“And,” Su Yao continued, pressing on, “the person they hired as the new Demon Queen instead of you is apparently just as confused about the whole situation as we are. She’s a celestial maiden who only got the job because she was married to a demon king once.”

Kayo lifted her head. Her tragic expression shifted to one of mild, offended curiosity. “She’s confused? About being a Demon Queen? Is she an idiot? Wait.” Kayo’s eyes narrowed. A spark of historical recognition cut through her self-pity. “A celestial maiden who married a demon king, is this new ‘queen’ Hide’s mom?”

Su Yao blinked. “She said her name was Suzuka Gozen.”

“Yes! Hide’s mom!” Kayo declared, as if this explained everything. She sat up straighter, momentarily forgetting her manga grief.

“There’s only one celestial maiden who did that! I should know! I once possessed Yodogimi trying to get a piece of that era’s action. Then some foreigner named William shows up with his no-nonsense attitude and ruins everything! Completely immune to my charms, the brute. Then he gets beaten by Hide.”

Kayo crossed her arms. A look of grudging respect was on her face. “If Hide beat the man who beat me, then Hide must be stronger than me. If Suzuka is Hide’s mom, well, that tracks. The job qualification makes a twisted sort of sense. Annoying, but logical.”

Su Yao stared at her, processing this torrent of names and historical grievances that meant less than nothing to her. “I don't know who any of these people are,” she stated flatly. “And I don't care. The point is, the person in charge of the Hundred Demons is a confused celestial bureaucrat in a pantsuit.

“Now, if you're done mourning fictional characters and reliving centuries-old political dramas, there’s a real, live dragon outside that I'm supposed to be figuring out how to deal with.”

Kayo waved a dismissive hand, picking up the bottle of plum wine again. “Ugh, dragons. So preoccupied with territory. It’s all ‘this is my nest’ and ‘you disrespect me’. So dull.”

She took a swig. “Fine, go deal with the overgrown lizard. I need to wallow in the injustice of Gojo’s death and plot my revenge on Gege Akutami. Maybe I'll send him a cursed manuscript that writes itself into terrible plot holes.”

Su Yao left Kayo to her theatrical mourning and walked with purpose through the sterile corridors of the headquarters. The weight of the gourd in her spiritual storage felt increasingly burdensome.

I can't keep this thing, she concluded. It’s a liability.

The Deep Prince was a being of significant power, and while her seal was strong, it was a temprary measure. The risk was too great.

If he somehow broke free inside her personal dimensional pocket, the consequences would be catastrophic. He could theoretically seize control of the space, plunder her collected artifacts, or worse, use it as a beachhead to flood her very essence with corrosive sea energy.

It was time to outsource the problem to a dedicated, secure facility. That meant bureaucracy.

She found Director Hao in a situation room, surrounded by holographic maps displaying the multiple ongoing crises. He looked up. His face was a mask of weary professionalism. “Consultant Xiao. Report. The dragon—”

“The dragon is currently the false Seimei’s problem,” she interrupted, cutting him off. “I have a more pressing administrative matter.” She willed the gourd into her hands. The simple ceramic vessel now felt unnaturally cold and heavy. A faint, angry sloshing could be heard from within.

Director Hao stared at it. “What is that?”

“This,” Su Yao said, placing it on his desk with a definitive thunk, “is the Deep Prince, leader of the aquatic invasion. Contained for your convenience.”

Hao’s eyes widened slightly. “You captured him? In a gourd?”

“Now, I need you to place this in a maximum-security spiritual containment unit. Somewhere with redundant wards, anti-aquatic sigils, and preferably no plumbing. I can’t keep it in my personal storage. The risk of a containment breach resulting in the loss of my assets is unacceptably high.”

She watched him process this. He was looking at the gourd with a mixture of awe and horror, as if she'd just dropped a nuclear warhead on his desk and asked him to file it.

“Are you sure it’s secure?” he asked, cautiously poking the gourd with a pen.

The sloshing inside became violently agitated. “Release me, land-walker scum!” a muffled, watery voice bellowed from within.

“It’s secure,” Su Yao said flatly. “For now. Its long-term stability is your department’s responsibility. I have eliminated the immediate threat and handed you the source. I suggest you have your people begin interrogation via hydrological sensors at once. I'm sure he has valuable intelligence on the broader invasion strategy.”

Director Hao slowly picked up the gourd, holding it at arm’s length. “I see. I'll have it transported to the Panlong Ridge facility immediately. They have a vault designed for leviathan-class entities.”

“Excellent,” Su Yao said, brushing her hands together as if dusting them off. “My work here is done. I'll be returning to my primary investigation. Do try to keep him from getting loose. It was a hassle to catch him the first time.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and strode out, feeling immediately lighter. The problem was now officially belong to someone else. It was the bureaucratic equivalent of a perfectly executed tactical strike.

Identify the threat, neutralize it, and delegate the cleanup.

Su Yao had barely taken three steps out of Director Hao’s office when a familiar voice called out from behind her.

“Xiao Ling?”

She turned to see Li Xiu standing there, wringing her hands slightly. The Li family heiress looked even more pale and anxious than usual.

“The recipe,” Li Xiu began. Her voice was hesitant. “You know, the one from our ancestral tomb. The original Lao Gan Ma. My father and the board of directors have heard you recovered it. They're extremely interested.”

Su Yao raised an eyebrow. “Interested” was a mild way to put it. Li Xiu had previously explained this recipe was the foundation of their entire modern fortune and a target for countless corporate rivals.

“It’s a recipe,” Su Yao stated, though the word felt inadequate after her dream-conversation with Li Xuan. “It makes a very potent chili sauce.”

“It’s more than that!” Li Xiu insisted, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The imperfect copy we've been using for generations has a specific, subtle spiritual resonance that, well, it seems to mildly soothe the worst effects of our family’s ‘curse.’ It stabilizes the women’s spirit-attracting aura, makes it less volatile. The original recipe, we have to believe its effects would be exponentially greater. It could be a key to managing our bloodline’s affliction!”

Su Yao processed this. Of course. Li Xuan, the ultimate alchemist would leave a deeply encoded, culinary-based spiritual stabilizer for the cursed bloodline he felt responsible for. The ‘chili sauce’ was a delivery mechanism for a complex soul-alchemical formula.

“He never does anything simply, does he?” Su Yao muttered, more to herself than to Li Xiu.

“I'm sorry?”

“Nothing.” Su Yao looked at Li Xiu. The pieces clicked into place. Li Xuan’s request to protect his descendants was also about providing them with the tools to survive themselves. He had left that tool with her.

“The recipe is safe,” Su Yao said. “Your ancestor was an infuriatingly indirect man. He encoded a message for me in its creation. And it seems he encoded a solution for your family in its ingredients.”

She made a decision. “I'll provide you with a copy. Understand this, however. If this gets out, every cultivator, corporation, and supernatural faction with an interest in soul manipulation will be after you with even more fervor. You'll be trading one kind of danger for another.”

Li Xiu’s face was a mixture of hope and terror. “I understand. The family will take every precaution. Thank you, Su Yao. This, this means everything.”

“Don't thank me yet,” Su Yao said, turning to leave. “Thank your overly clever, dead great-something-grandfather. Get your lawyers and your best spiritual security team ready. The moment that recipe leaves my hands, your corporate war is going to get a lot hotter.”

As she walked away, Su Yao couldn't help the grim twist of her lips. Li Xuan had given her a world-changing recipe, a ghostly request, and now, indirectly, a corporate takeover to manage all before lunch. The man’s ability to cause trouble from beyond the grave was truly his most impressive talent.

Su Yao’s stomach gave a low, insistent growl. It cut through the cosmic dread and corporate intrigue. The immediate crises faded into background noise against the primal demand for sustenance.

What is for lunch? she thought. The question was a small, sane anchor in the maelstrom.

Her mind unhelpfully conjured an image of Momiji’s ‘ningyo sashimi.’ The taste of ancient, salty frog-people was still a phantom on her tongue. Then the sloshing gourd containing the Deep Prince. Then the Kaiju’s steaming innards raining into the bay.

Anything but seafood, she decided with absolute finality. The very idea made her feel like she was still smelling of low tide.

She made her way back to the apartment, half-expecting to find it a frozen dragon’s nest or a crater. Instead, she found Nohime calmly placing a covered dish on the small dining table. The air was filled with the rich, savory, and decidedly terrestrial aroma of braised pork and soy sauce.

“I have prepared Dongpo pork,” Nohime announced. Her voice was as cool and placid as ever. “It seemed a robust choice, given the morning’s exertions. There is no fish.”

Su Yao felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief. “Good.”

She sat down, and Nohime lifted the lid. The pork belly was perfectly caramelized, glossy and dark, resting on a bed of vibrant bok choy. It was a monument to land-based cuisine.

As she took the first bite, Su Yao felt a layer of the day’s tension dissolve. The fat melted on her tongue and the savory sauce was a perfect balance to the tender meat. Here, in this small, clean apartment, with a Yuki Onna as a housekeeper and a braised pork dish that tasted of simple, earthly pleasures, she could almost pretend the world outside wasn't falling apart.

This, she thought, taking another bite, is acceptable.

The mysteries of the moon, the schemes of the Yamato, and the tantrums of dragons could all wait until after lunch. For now, the most important victory was a perfect piece of pork.

A moment of pure, terrestrial bliss passed as Su Yao savored the rich, unctuous flavor of the braised pork. A dark, pragmatic thought, born from recent experience, slithered into her mind as she swallowed.

I hope no pig people invade us next.

The idea was ludicrous, but no more so than fish-people rising from the depths. The Deep Ones had, in a single morning, forever ruined the taste of seafood for her. The memory of Momiji’s ‘ningyo sashimi’ and the sloshing fury of the Deep Prince had tainted the entire concept of ocean fare.

If some porcine-humanoid faction emerges from a dimensional tear in a sausage factory, declaring war on humanity and citing some ancient grievance with Nuwa’s design choices, she mused, they will completely ruin the taste of pork.

That would be an intolerable loss. There were only so many culinary pleasures left in a world descending into chaotic, multi-species warfare.

Su Yao took another bite of the Dongpo pork, as if defying the universe to corrupt this one, simple joy.

“Let them stick to fish,” she muttered to her plate. Her expression was grim. “The land animals are off-limits.” It was a pointless, arbitrary line in the sand, but in a world where gods, demons, and Kaiju were real, a celestial fox had to draw her boundaries somewhere. Hers was firmly at the barnyard gate.

She made a mental note to keep an eye on any unusual spiritual activity around major livestock regions. One could not be too careful. A world without good braised pork was a world not worth saving.

Nohime, who was quietly cleaning an already-spotless countertop, paused. “Did you say something?”

“Just contemplating future culinary threats,” Su Yao replied, spearing another piece of pork. “Carry on.”

Nohime nodded, as if this were a perfectly normal statement, and resumed her dusting. Su Yao finished her meal in determined silence. The taste of pork was a small, defiant victory against the encroaching chaos. She had developed a new, specific kind of PTSD: Post-Traumatic Seafood Disorder.

No way in hell was it spreading to the rest of the menu.