June 22. Early morning.
The sun forced its way through the gap in the curtains, painting a thin gold line across the foot of the bed. Kashimo lay face down, buried deep in the duvet. He didn't know where Kenjaku had found this mattress, but it was absurdly soft. The blanket was light and warm, wrapping around him like a persistent embrace. He had no desire to move.
He had been awake for ten minutes. More accurately, his mind was clear and his consciousness was sharp, but his body was flatly refusing to execute any orders to get up. He hadn't suffered from this particular ailnt four hundred years ago. Back then, he slept on hard wooden planks or the bare earth, waking naturally before the first light of dawn. Now, a single modern mattress was enough to dismantle his entire willpower.
It was simply too comfortable.
Kashimo buried his face in the pillow and let out a muffled groan. Two voices were arguing in his head. One suggested another five minutes, while the other reminded him he had already been lying there for fifteen.
He forced himself to sit up eventually. He needed essentials. Yesterday had been a frantic blur of clothes shopping, and he had completely forgotten the basics: toothbrush, towels, slippers. He had used a travel kit Kenjaku picked up from a convenience store last night, but the toothbrush felt like a wire brush used for scrubbing pots. He wasn't going to spend another night like that.
As for Kenjaku. He stared at the ceiling as the thought drifted through his mind. She had obviously gone ho. She had a child to carry, after all.
His mouth twitched as he recalled her tapping her fingers together and talking about her husband. He pushed the thought away. Let her do as she pleased. A thousand year old brain playing the role of a mother had nothing to do with him.
Kashimo finally stood up, the blanket sliding down to his waist. He ran a hand through his ssy teal hair. Strands were sticking out in every direction, making him look like a wild man who had just erged from the deep woods. He found a plain black hair tie on the nightstand, likely sothing Kenjaku had grabbed at the store counter on a whim.
He pulled his hair back, tying it into a ssy ponytail. A few loose strands fell across his ears, but he didn't bother fixing them. He looked down at himself. The gray T-shirt he'd bought yesterday was wrinkled from sleep, the collar pulled to one side. He gave it a half-hearted tug and decided it didn't matter. He was only going out for supplies, not a formal eting.
He stepped onto the hardwood floor, his bare feet cool against the wood as he shuffled toward the bathroom. The mirror reflected a face still heavy with sleep, the violet markings near his eyes marked with the red lines of pillow creases. His blue eyes were half-open, radiating a lazy, decadent exhaustion.
He yawned at his reflection and began the slow process of brushing his teeth.
Outside, the sun grew brighter. Morning in Sendai was just beginning.
When he finally pushed the door open, the fresh June breeze hit him, clearing the last of his lethargy. He stood in the hallway for a mont, looking down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. It was a shopping list he'd scribbled the night before. The handwriting was jagged and so of the characters were wrong, but he could make out the essentials: toothbrush, towel, slippers, shampoo, a cup, and... he squinted at the bottom... trash bags.
He stuffed the note into his pocket and checked for his key and bank card. Once he was sure he was set, he headed out.
Sendai was quiet, still shaking off the remains of the night. There weren't many people out yet: just the occasional jogger and the bright fluorescent glow of a convenience store. Kashimo walked with a slow, deliberate stride, his ponytail swaying behind him. To anyone passing by, he looked like any other young man, save for the faint violet markings on his face and the unsettling sharpness of his blue eyes.
***
Tokyo.
The morning at Jujutsu High was draped in a thin, clinging fog. The ancient wooden buildings stood in silent silhouette against the rising sun. Masamichi Yaga sat at his desk, a half-finished cursed corpse in his hands. A needle and thread dangled from the plush doll, abandoned mid-stitch.
Across from him, a blonde woman sat with her legs crossed in a visitor's chair. Her posture was so relaxed she might as well have been in her own living room.
"Principal Yaga, what kind of won is your type?"
Yaga stayed silent for three seconds. He looked at Yuki Tsukumo's face, which was set in an expression of genuine, annoying curiosity. He felt the vein in his temple pulse.
He set the cursed corpse down and laced his fingers on the desk. His expression was the refined mask of a veteran teacher: steady, patient, and deeply tired.
"Yuki Tsukumo," he said flatly. "Why are you here this ti?"
Yuki didn't seem bothered by the lack of an answer to her question. She shrugged and shifted her weight. Her expression turned slightly more serious, though her natural playfulness remained visible beneath the surface.
"I still want you to talk to the Zenin clan for ," she said, like it was no big deal. "I want to study Zenin Toji."
Yaga let out a heavy sigh. It was a deep sound that ca from the bottom of his lungs, carrying the weight of a man who had heard this exact request too many tis. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You asked this two years ago," he said, his voice slow. "I went to them. They refused to let him go."
He paused, looking at Yuki's unmoved expression.
"According to the head of the Zenin clan, even if he is an outcast, as long as he carries the na, he won't be handed over for research. And now that he's actually left the family entirely, I have even less leverage to make him cooperate."
Yuki pursed her lips. She didn't look surprised, but she wasn't satisfied either. She turned her gaze to the window, watching the fog lift from the distant mountain ridges. Her fingers tapped a slow, rhythmic beat on the armrest.
"Fine. I suppose I'll be on my way."
She stood up and stretched like a cat waking from a nap. Her long gold hair shimred in the morning light. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and took a few steps toward the door before looking back.
"I'll be in Japan for another two weeks," she added. She flashed a bright, unapologetic smile at Yaga. "I'm still not taking any missions, though."
Yaga didn't move. His mouth twitched, but he realized there was no point in arguing. She had always been like this. Coming and going as she pleased, ignoring orders, and generally being the one person in the hierarchy that no one could control.
"Just go," he said, waving a hand in a gesture of weary dismissal.
Yuki laughed, waved back, and pushed the door open. Her footsteps faded down the hall, light and wandering.
Masamichi Yaga stared at the closed door for a long ti before letting out one final sigh. He picked up his needle and thread and went back to work. The office returned to silence, save for the faint rasp of the thread passing through the fabric.
***
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A/n: What kind of won is your type?
600 power stones = 1 bonus CHAPTER, let's go!
For early access to 15 chapters ahead: p@tre~~/Demonic_Fiction (Link is in the synopsis and my profile).
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