No wonder his vision had been acting up lately—unresponsive, flickering, showing him strange flashes.
Looking back now, those flashes must've been glimpses of the other's view.
"…I didn't really feel anything," Cyr replied after a moment's thought, expression unreadable.
Discomfort from the Six Eyes? Huh? Isn't that normal? Had they ever felt pleasant to begin with?
Any mild discomfort had long since been forgotten.
"So then… what's your reason for coming to this era?" Gojō Haru asked, watching him. Perhaps because they both shared the Six Eyes, he instinctively felt this was a descendant of the Gojō clan.
From who knew how many years in the future.
It could only be a descendant—not an ancestor.
"…A moment of carelessness," Cyr blinked, catching on instantly.
He needed a proper identity to remain here until the system figured out how to send him forward a thousand years.
Otherwise, if he stayed like this, he might not even make it to the start of the main plotline—he'd die long before then.
Who could even live for a thousand years?
What was he supposed to do, mimic Ryomen Sukuna or that brain parasite?
Right now, though, the perfect opportunity had fallen into his lap.
"Carelessness?" Gojō Haru blinked.
"My name is Gojō Cyr. I'm from a thousand years in the future…" Cyr barely paused for three seconds before spinning an elaborate tale on the spot.
To suit Japan's aesthetic of mono no aware, he even came up with a tragic and moving love story for a pair of fictional parents from the Gojō clan.
The story Cyr spun went something like this:
The eldest daughter of the Gojō clan and a low-born son of the Zen'in clan fell in love, but their families tore them apart. After giving birth to Cyr, the Gojō heiress withered away in sorrow and passed away. The Zen'in son hadn't known any of this at first—he spent his days slaying curses and drowning himself in alcohol, not knowing she had died.
When he finally found out, he stormed into the Gojō estate. In front of everyone, he clutched her urn tightly and set her old room ablaze. Then he stood in the flames, holding the urn, letting the fire consume him.
The young Cyr had stood in the crowd that day, a pawn used to threaten that man. But it had all been for nothing—not even his presence had made the man hesitate.
Cyr watched with his own eyes as his father burned to ash, holding the remains of the woman he had loved.
These two lovers had only ever loved each other. Cyr? He was just an accident.
His melancholic mother never looked at him again after his birth, and his father only saw him once—at the moment of death.
After losing both parents, he had to endure neglect from the rest of the clan and bullying from his peers.
…Wait. No.
He had the Six Eyes. That alone would've made it impossible for the Gojō clan to neglect or abuse him.
He'd nearly tripped over his own outlandish backstory.
Catching himself just in time, Cyr shifted his tone and altered the story:
The Gojō clan, because of his Six Eyes, treated him like a divine child—elevated, revered—but demanded he be emotionally detached, blah blah blah. They even tried to start marrying him off at fifteen, lining up women to turn him into a breeding stud.
Unable to accept such a fate, he had fought back against the old men of the clan. In the heat of the confrontation, he accidentally fell into this era.
"That's what happened," Cyr concluded after spinning the whole elaborate tale, then looked at Gojō Haru.
The fan in Haru's hand had never lowered, still obscuring the lower half of his face. There was no telling if he believed any of it.
"I see…" was all Gojō Haru said, simply nodding without further comment.
If he were a more sentimental kind of noble, he might've written a poem mourning this tragic life.
But Gojō Haru had never been that kind of noble.
Maybe those who bear the Six Eyes share certain traits.
For instance—confidence.
Though most people who knew them preferred to call it arrogance.
And because of that arrogance… they did whatever they pleased, never caring what others thought.
"Then… what is this?" Gojō Haru changed the subject, folding his fan and lightly tapping the strange creature perched on Cyr's shoulder.
"My pet," Cyr said, patting the creature on the head. "Cute, right? Spatial-type. Pretty handy."
…Cute?
Gojō Haru tried to reconcile the literal meaning of the word with the grotesque appearance of the cursed spirit. He looked at the thing—ugly to the point of being brain-numbing—and turned his gaze away.
The longer he looked, the more uncomfortable his eyes felt. Clearly, having two people with Six Eyes in the same space wasn't without its drawbacks.
No wonder there had never been two sets of Six Eyes at the same time.
"Are you planning to stay with the Gojō clan?" Gojō Haru asked, changing topics again.
"…I've got nowhere else to go," Cyr replied after a brief pause, his expression sincere.
No money. Sleeping on the streets the entire time.
"Since that's the case…" Gojō Haru smiled again. "Then you must be a distant relative of the Gojō clan… from a land faraway." That's how he phrased it.
"A fine arrangement indeed," Cyr replied in an equally affected, elegant tone.
Gojō Haru was efficient—by that very day, he had already introduced Cyr to the rest of the Gojō clan and arranged a room for him to stay in, complete with maids to serve him.
Whether it was out of genuine goodwill or simply a desire to keep the second bearer of the Six Eyes nearby, no one could say.
On the sixteenth day of his time-traveling journey, thanks to the Six Eyes, Cyr began living like a true Gojō young master. No more camping outside the city.
"Milord… this place…?" Maro still looked puzzled.
Did their master… already have connections in this era?
"Just lucky, I guess," Cyr said slowly, brush in hand, writing something.
Out in the wilds, he hadn't had access to paper or ink. But here—finally—he did.
"In Kyoto, a man walked alone one night… and encountered a beautiful lady…"
Fluent and graceful, a short story flowed from his hand.
It was copied, of course—just with slight modifications. That made it quick to write.
"Make some copies of this and have them spread across every alley and street in Kyoto," Cyr said, handing the paper to Maro. "Make sure everyone sees it."
"I understand." Maro nodded.
He didn't understand why his master wanted this done—but he obeyed.
"Now let's see… if my experiment will work," Cyr murmured to himself as he watched Maro leave. He pulled out a folding fan and tapped it twice against his palm.
…
Papers bearing neat script drifted from the air. The pages were clearly of fine quality. The calligraphy—powerful, fluid, every stroke vigorous and elegant.
Clearly the work of a master.
That alone made people willing to pick them up and read.
On those pages: tales of the Painted-Skin Ghost.
One after another, stories of this ghost spread—among nobles and commoners alike. In truth, across all of Kyoto.
The Painted-Skin Ghost quickly became a famous and feared specter.
Men walking the streets at night began watching for strange and alluring women. If they saw one, they'd suspect her to be the ghost in disguise.
As for who wrote the story, rumors abounded.
Some said it was penned by the very man who encountered the Painted-Skin Ghost.
Because the author had written, at the end:
"This event was witnessed and experienced firsthand. Reader, beware."
Others claimed it was all a ploy.
But regardless of the truth, the story's popularity sparked a ripple effect.
A change that Cyr found deeply satisfying.
°°°
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