"Should we follow them?" Gojō Haru lazily waved his folding fan as he looked at Cyr.
He and Zen'in Akira weren't particularly interested in this so-called Painted-Skin Demon, but the boy clearly was.
Besides... they were tagging along just to be safe.
"Of course. I'm really curious how an onmyōji exorcises evil spirits," Cyr said, eyes bright with interest and curiosity.
Surely onmyōji didn't fight cursed spirits hand-to-hand like jujutsu sorcerers, right?
They probably recited incantations, formed hand seals, cast spells, or summoned shikigami to battle yōkai.
Compared to a martial arts brawler, it should all look much more refined, graceful, and elegant… probably.
Just then, a white blur shot backward past the three of them.
Gojō Haru, Zen'in Akira, Cyr, Maro, and Sora all turned their heads at the exact same angle to look.
Did a whole person just go flying past?
"Was that Akiyama?" Gojō Haru covered the lower half of his face with his fan, trying to hide the grin that crept up.
"...Are onmyōji really that weak?" Cyr asked, lips twitching.
"You can't say that. It's Akiyama who's weak—not all onmyōji," Gojō Haru corrected. "If we're talking power levels, that Painted-Skin Demon is probably around special-grade. As for Akiyama… he's about equivalent to a Grade 3 jujutsu sorcerer."
Grade 3...
Cyr thought back carefully to the jujutsu ranking system. Grade 3… wasn't that basically cannon fodder?
A Grade 3 fighting a special grade? Hah… the fact that the guy only got launched into the air and didn't die on the spot meant he was insanely lucky.
While Gojō Haru and Cyr were chatting, several more bodies went flying backward.
Unlike Akiyama—who at least remained in his pristine white robes—the others came out covered in blood.
It was probably their own blood too, because no matter how you sliced it, they weren't going to be hurting that Painted-Skin Demon.
There was a loud commotion—walls crumbling, tiles flying.
A wave of figures in white kariginu came sprinting down the street, completely ignoring Cyr and the others as they charged into the estate.
Only to come scrambling back out ten minutes later, clothing in disarray, looking like they'd all been beaten within an inch of their lives.
Kyoto wasn't big, and most noble residences were clustered together in the same area.
So the commotion here quickly drew a lot of attention.
Apparently, there were more death-defying nobles than expected. Or rather, it wasn't that they weren't afraid of dying—it's just that they knew someone else would protect them.
Among this group of onmyōji, the strongest fighter turned out to be a teenage boy.
His spiritual energy was thick, and though his appearance seemed plain at first glance, there was a certain delicate charm to him—black hair, brown eyes, clad in a red kariginu, looking about thirteen or fourteen.
This kid practically radiated protagonist energy...
And right beside him was what looked like a cute little pet—or maybe a shikigami—but its spiritual energy was definitely not weak.
"Who's that?" Cyr asked, eyes fixed on the boy in red.
"That's the youngest son of the Abe clan—Lord Seimei's grandson, I think. His name is Abe no Masahiro," Gojō Haru replied after a glance.
Even though they were standing quite a distance away, the boy—Abe no Masahiro—somehow seemed to hear their conversation and shouted back, "I'm not his grandson!"
Then he got hit so hard he spun three and a half times in midair before crashing to the ground, unconscious.
From the manor gate stepped a woman wearing a luxurious black haori, waves of blood-red ripples blooming under her feet like petals.
As if sensing something, she lifted her gaze and looked straight toward where Cyr was standing.
Her hair was long, black, and trailing to the ground in a hime cut; her eyes were black too. Even the moonlight seemed to favor her, casting her in a luminous glow.
"Well now, this is…" Gojō Haru said, smiling with clear amusement.
"So that's what she looks like…" Cyr couldn't help but murmur, "Honestly, with that appearance, it's not surprising at all."
After all, she was someone who made people drop their guard at first sight—and willingly brought her home.
It made sense that she'd be born with such breathtaking beauty.
"I can't even tell if she's a cursed spirit or a yōkai," Cyr said, standing still as the inhuman being he created took one step after another toward him.
Zen'in Akira lifted his hand slightly—but Gojō Haru stopped him.
"Just watch," Gojō Haru said calmly.
He didn't seem the least bit concerned that the Painted-Skin Demon might harm the boy.
"..." Zen'in Akira only furrowed his brow and said nothing more.
Was this kid actually… strong?
"...Am I beautiful?" Hao gently touched her own face, gazing at the boy before her.
She had seen him before—back when she hadn't yet developed a sense of self.
She had seen him writing with focused eyes, and had heard the words he spoke:
"Don't disappoint me."
"Do your best, Hao."
In the beginning, the newly born Hao hadn't understood the meaning behind those cryptic words.
Even now, she still didn't.
She had simply followed the role described by her creator—peeling human skin, eating human hearts, bathing in human blood to keep her own skin fresh and lifelike.
"Of course you're beautiful," the white-haired boy said with a soft laugh, reaching out to touch her face.
"Then… can you give me your heart?" Hao's eyes drifted to the boy's chest.
She could sense it—the strong, steady heartbeat pulsing beneath that skin.
She had a feeling—just a hunch—that if she ate that powerful, vibrant heart belonging to her creator, it would be enough to free her from her current state.
The constant cycle of consuming hearts and bathing in blood to prevent her skin from rotting.
For the first time since her birth, Hao felt hunger—an intense, overwhelming hunger.
Uncontrollably, she parted her lips, as if preparing to swallow.
"Yōkai... truly are greedy creatures," Cyr murmured, gripping her face with one hand, sighing softly.
Even knowing he was her creator, her first instinct was still—to devour him.
Cyr wasn't surprised by this. After all… no one understood better than he did what Hao really was beneath her stunning appearance.
Not a person. Not a soul. Just a monster wearing human skin.
She couldn't feel sadness. Or joy. Or pain.
She only felt hunger.
The sole will driving her existence… was hunger.
And since it was Cyr who had written her that way, who was he to call her an ungrateful monster?
Besides, he'd never raised her like one would a pet.
Cyr had wished for a being completely devoid of human qualities—and so, Hao was born: pure, inhuman.
Even yōkai and cursed spirits felt emotion.
"I'm so hungry..." Hao murmured.
Her expression barely changed from beginning to end—cold, calm, blank.
"You won't be hungry for much longer," Cyr said with a gentle smile.
That almost illusory tenderness was accompanied by the flicker of flames in his palm.
Painted-Skin Demons… were most afraid of fire. It burned away the skin they wore.
His palm still pressed against her cheek—when the flames ignited, half of Hao's face was instantly consumed.
"AAAH—!" she screamed, swatting his hand away, frantically touching her burning face in disbelief.
The black ceremonial robes were consumed by flame, and she stood within a sea of fire.
The pain of being burned—along with the realization that all of this had been done by her creator—filled her with agony and confusion.
°°°
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