A young man sat completely still, staring down at a single sheet of fine Fuso paper. He looked the sort who was easily flustered, his neat, nervous manner giving that impression to anyone who saw him.
The brush in his hand, heavy with ink, hovered before the page like a weapon. He did not move. His shoulders were locked, his gaze sharp and strained, as if he were glaring at an enemy rather than paper.
"..."
At last, slowly, he lowered the brush. The tip touched the page, and the black ink spread like a wound opening across white skin.
He wrote two or three short lines, then hesitated. The brush trembled, paused, then stopped altogether. And when he finally noticed, a drop of ink had fallen from the brush's tip, pooling, then spilling over, staining and blurring the graceful strokes he had just written.
"Ah—again!? Damn it, not again!"
The thread of tension snapped. He sagged, shoulders sinking as he threw his head back and let out a long cry.
Then he balled up the ruined paper and tossed it aside. With a sigh, he scratched his head, brows drooping in defeat. It was the eighth time he had done this today.
In the northern lands of the Higan River valley, this young man—born to a small, frozen village in Somi County—had risen far beyond his humble roots. Once a poor farmer's son, now a government accountant serving under the Ise family's branch house, he found himself facing a challenge unlike any he had known before.
"This won't do... No matter how I write it, it sounds harsh. What a mess."He pulled out another clean sheet, though his face twisted in frustration.
The man—called Kei—murmured weakly to himself. And truly, the situation was serious enough to drain the strength from anyone.
He had been careless.
Too careless. He had told his sister far too soon.
The fault was entirely his own immaturity. When he heard from a senior official—someone serving directly under the Minister of the Left—that his long-lost elder brother might still be alive, he couldn't contain himself.
Even though the information wasn't confirmed, Kei had shouted with joy, loud enough that even the young daughter of his lord might have blushed in surprise at such a display. It was the kind of happiness only the young could express so honestly.
If it had only been a family matter, it would have been simple.
But reality was never so kind. Families didn't exist in a vacuum—there were obligations, alliances, and expectations that bound them from the outside.
"Now then... how should I break the news gently..."
He sighed, remembering the sharp-eyed woman he had met at the wedding—the elder brother's wife. The eldest daughter of a village headman, she was a widow in her mid-twenties who had returned home and remarried.
She was known for her pride and strong will. If she learned the truth too suddenly... that, more than anything, terrified him.
Knock, knock, knock.
A soft rap at the door broke his thoughts. When he called out, a cheerful young woman's voice replied—it was the innkeeper's daughter.
"Kei-san, would you like some tea? We also have something sweet today!"
"That sounds wonderful," he said, relieved at the distraction.
She entered with a tray, smiling brightly. Kei had been staying here for over a month, long enough for them to become friendly.
The girl was young but carried herself with the polished charm of a city-born hostess—bright, tidy, and just a little playful. The sort of innkeeper's daughter who made guests forget their worries for a while.
"The tea's still warm! And this—Mother said it's a special treat. Please enjoy!"
She set the tray on the tatami, poured the tea, and placed a plate of mochi before him.
But the color caught his eye—red, and orange too—and the scent... was that fruit?
"What's this?"
"Hehe, it's the latest craze in the capital—fruit daifuku!"
Apparently, fruit juice and pulp were mixed into the bean paste. Simple in idea, yet bold in taste.
"Well, let's see... oh—this is quite something."
He bit into it. Sweetness and tartness burst together—the bright flavor of fresh strawberries, a crisp bite that broke gently between his teeth.
There were even whole berries inside, not just mixed pulp. It was soft, fragrant, and wonderfully refreshing, unlike the usual red bean mochi.
"Have some tea... and here, try this one too," he offered politely.
"Thank you! That one's citrus," she said eagerly.
The second piece was even sharper in flavor, the sweetness wrapped around a faint bitterness.
Inside was honeyed fruit peel—sticky and fragrant. It paired perfectly with the dark, bitter tea.
"Delicious," he murmured. "Forgive me, though—such fine sweets deserve better words than that."
He smiled apologetically as the girl looked at him expectantly. It was a small, sincere apology, one that somehow revealed his gentle nature more than any compliment could.
He wasn't the sort who chased exotic foods.
He could recognize good flavor when he tasted it, but to him, meals were still just nourishment. A habit born of hardship.
As the third son of poor farmers, Kei had grown up measuring food by its weight and price, not its taste. Even after rising to government service, he still thought that way.
Once, when an assistant to the Minister had treated him to fine sake and sea bream sashimi, he couldn't help wondering how many sacks of millet or radishes the cost of that one meal could buy. It was a miser's thought, and he knew it.
"Eh? Oh, no no! Kei-san, you just looked like you were really enjoying it, that's all! Here, have more tea! Please, drink up!"
The girl flustered, cheeks reddening as she poured him another cup. Perhaps he'd been staring too intently.
He averted his gaze, slightly embarrassed. He and his sister both had sharp eyes—it often gave the wrong impression, especially for his sister, whose blunt way of speaking didn't help her chances with people.
"Still, that's a strange one. I'd have thought a flashy treat like this came from one of the new Tachibana Company shops... but this name—this is an old brand, isn't it?"
Indeed, the box bore the mark of a long-established confectioner from the capital. He hadn't expected such an old shop to make something so daring.
"Right? We were shocked too! Just when we were about to switch suppliers because customers were getting bored, they sent this as their new product! We tried it and—wow! I thought, that's the power of a real tradition!"
"I see..."
Kei nodded, leaning back slightly as she spoke with lively gestures. Her enthusiasm made him think.
If even a centuries-old shop had to twist its traditions to survive, they must have made the decision through tears. Nothing lasts forever.
Still, adapting meant surviving—seizing opportunities rather than fading away. That kind of courage, Kei respected deeply.
After all, he too had climbed by stepping over the past, including his own family.
"...Kei-san?"
"Oh—pardon me. I drifted off for a moment."
How unlike him, to lose focus so easily. Perhaps it was because of his brother.
He felt ashamed. Now, of all times, he needed to keep his composure.
"Is it work?" the girl asked.
She glanced toward the wastebasket behind him, noticing the pile of crumpled papers.
"That's part of it," he admitted with a faint smile. "Let's just say... a few things are on my mind."
And then, half on impulse, he decided to ask. Maybe an outside opinion would help.
"There's been... a bit of trouble at my superior's household."
"At your boss's house?" she asked curiously.
"Yes. It seems there's tension over the family inheritance. It's... complicated."
He told the story in fragments—about a brother who had returned, a younger one who had built a new home, and a wife caught in between—carefully disguising that they were his own family. Then he asked for her thoughts.
"Wow... that sounds really tangled," she said, frowning openly.
"As a subordinate, it's hard to know what to do," Kei admitted. "Any advice for how to settle things peacefully?"
"Well... as long as the brothers still get along, that's what matters most. That's what I'd worry about."
"There's no problem there," he said at once. "The brothers are close. Always have been."
"Really? I hope so."
He smiled faintly.
Whatever happened elsewhere, he knew that much was true. His second brother would never despise or abandon their eldest—not in this life.
He remembered his cheerful second brother—a boy who, when they were small, had been far more dependent than Kei himself. Even after their eldest brother disappeared, that same man often murmured that he was only standing in the place of someone better.
So if the time came to yield his current position, he would probably do so without hesitation. After all, their family was only a modest success story, a line of peasants who had managed to rise a little higher. To Kei, it simply felt right that what once belonged to the eldest should return to him.
"That's... rather unusual," the innkeeper's daughter said thoughtfully. "It's good that they get along, but... can it really go that smoothly?"
"Let's assume it can," Kei replied with a faint smile.
"Hmm..."
Her doubtful hum stretched on as she rested her chin in her hand, clearly unconvinced.
After a pause, she continued softly, "Still, if I were the wife, I'd feel insecure. Her position in the house must seem fragile, don't you think?"
"You're right," Kei admitted.
He couldn't deny it. A late-married woman from a fine family, widowed once, now childless—it was only natural she'd be uneasy.
Once the eldest brother returned, the household would be in turmoil. That was the heart of the problem. If it were only a matter of siblings, this would have been simple.
"In that case," the girl went on, "the second brother just has to handle it properly. The wife's probably full of worry, right? He should talk to her honestly, from the heart. If he hides things, she'll feel shut out—and that's when resentment starts."
Her advice, coming from a woman's perspective, struck true.
An outsider in a family always craves her husband's trust. If he acts behind her back, suspicion will take root, and she'll start believing she isn't accepted—neither by the house nor the family.
"Hm..." Kei murmured.
It was a blind spot he hadn't considered. He realized, with a faint sting of guilt, that he'd never truly seen his sister-in-law as family.
It wasn't that he or anyone disliked her—far from it. Peace in the household was always better than distance.
"So, facing things head-on is the best way, then?" he asked.
"Yes, though it won't be easy," she admitted. "The eldest isn't asking for inheritance or money, is he?"
"At least, not the sort of man who would demand it," Kei said quietly.
After all, this was the brother who had gone hungry himself to feed his younger siblings, who had once sold his own labor for the family's sake. He left that part unspoken—it didn't need to be said aloud.
"Well," the girl said with a hesitant smile, "it sounds unpleasant, but maybe they should write something down. A formal note saying the estate will go to the younger brother."
"You mean, to guarantee his position in advance?"
"Exactly. If they change their minds later, it'll cause chaos. Better to have witnesses—someone from a temple, or from the wife's family. People who won't cover things up."
Kei chuckled. "You're surprisingly persuasive."
"Of course I am!"
She had probably seen her share of disputes. Guests at inns brought every kind of trouble.
More than once, she'd heard shouting matches about promises broken—sometimes even violence. Such scenes ruined rooms and scared off other customers. Family quarrels, whether noble or common, were always ugly.
"I see. So no clever tricks, then... honesty it is."
He already knew that was the right path, even before she said it.
But when he imagined asking his ragged, long-lost brother to discuss something so worldly, so practical, it felt unbearably crude. He had wanted to find some cunning workaround instead—a sign of his own cowardice.
(Lazy... I've been lazy,) he thought bitterly. He had nearly decided to make his sister say the hard words instead. How shameful. To push such cruelty onto a girl who adored their brother? Unthinkable.
(He'll probably try to find work somewhere soon...)
The Ise estate couldn't shelter him forever. When he became a burden, they would surely send him away.
But with that frail body—what kind of work could he do? His sister might take him along to her place of service, but as the third son, Kei disliked that idea. If she lived with her brother, people would talk; marriage prospects would vanish.
(Maybe I could ask my lord... perhaps he could give my brother some kind of job?)
Even a small, humble post would be enough. Combined with Kei's own wages, they could manage.
It wasn't impossible—he would only need to bow his head and ask. He could even bring it up when his brother signed that document. His conscience might ache, but it would spare his family worse pain.
He didn't think of it as misfortune. In truth, the one who had drawn the worst lot was his eldest brother.
"You look troubled again," the innkeeper's daughter said softly. "Is it really something you need to be so careful about?"
Still believing this was about Kei's superiors, she looked at him with concern. Perhaps she imagined political struggles, or dangerous court factions at play.
"It's not quite that serious," he assured her with a small laugh.
But his naturally sharp eyes made even that smile look grim, and she fidgeted nervously.
"A-ah, um! Kei-san, you're from a farming village, right? The third son?"
"Eh? Well, yes..."
She asked suddenly, voice trembling with something like resolve. He blinked, not sure what she was leading to.
"I don't have any siblings!"
"I see..."
"So, I need a husband to inherit the inn!"
"...I see."
He could only nod, uncertain and slightly alarmed. Why was she telling him this now?
"To run an inn, you need arithmetic skills, right? You have to read and write! And taxes, too—someone who understands accounting! Education's really important!"
"That's true," Kei said, trying to follow.
"Right!? Then isn't this inn a great opportunity!? Don't you think it's a good match!?"
"Ah—y-yes?"
It was, objectively speaking, a good deal. The inn catered to officials like him—a solid, middle-class business in the capital.
The clientele was respectable, the income steady, and the building never empty. A man who married into this family would inherit a prosperous trade and a stable life.
"See!? See!? So—so—that's why—!"
"Calm down, please... are you all right?"
"I'm fine! Totally fine! I just— I— I— I...?"
Her words broke apart into trembling breaths.
She waved her hands, flustered, blushing furiously one moment and pale the next. Kei thought her eyes were spinning in circles.
"Um... are you sure you're—"
"I'll just leave the rest of the tea and sweets here, okay!?"
She bolted before he could finish, sliding the door shut with a loud thud and pounding down the stairs. A moment later, he heard the innkeeper scolding her—and perhaps, faint sobs in reply.
"What... just happened...?" Kei muttered weakly.
He felt as though a ghost had bewitched him. No, that made no sense either.
He sighed, too confused even to think straight, and more worried than anything about the poor girl. Was she ill?
"...Well. At least the mochi's still good."
He bit into the last strawberry daifuku, chewing in deliberate distraction.
It was obvious escapism—but right now, he needed it. He couldn't afford any new worries.
"...First things first," he murmured. "I'll talk to my lord."
With that conclusion, he gathered his thoughts again.
Before anything else, he had to secure his brother's future. Without that, every plan would collapse into nothing.
* * *
In the darkness, a frail voice called out, thin and tender like a young bird's song. "Brother... brother... brother..."
Inside a small room where no lamp was lit, two shadows moved, overlapping—two tangled figures facing one another.
One was scarcely whole, a man's body weakened and sunken.
Once strong, now wasted from long illness, his limbs barely stirred above the bedding. He was bedridden—little more than a shell.
The other was slender and small, delicate yet fierce at the core.
A girl's body, lithe and restless, like a weasel or a fox. Her voice, sweet and trembling, continued to whisper into the night.
Their breathing came in short, trembling bursts—ha, ha, ha—blending into each other's warmth.
Faces drew close, breath mingling, lips brushing, tongues teasing. They played and bit lightly at one another's skin, childlike yet unmistakably carnal, their affection raw and forbidden.
It wasn't only lips that met. Even in the dark, she could see his shape—firm, upright, impossible to ignore.
It reminded her of a great matsutake mushroom the woodcutters once boasted about in the village—only thicker, harder, more alive. The finest in all the land, she thought hazily.
Her small, pale hands moved over him, and he shuddered. In answer, his kiss deepened, wild and consuming.
Steam seemed to rise from his skin, the heat of him flooding her senses until her own sweat broke free. When she used both hands, the warmth spread wider, slick and mingled like the bond that tied them now.
"Brother... brother..." she whispered again and again, her voice trembling like a bird's call. He pulled her close, silencing her cry with his mouth. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear, what words would make him tremble, because she had long since learned the rhythm of his breath and the weakness of his heart. They had shared too much for her not to know.
Soft sounds filled the dark—muffled gasps, swallowed sighs. Her hands were small, powerless compared to a man's strength, yet in this moment they ruled him.
She knew precisely how to touch, how much to take, and where to press. The burning heat she held trembled under her cool palms, and she loved the way he arched, helpless, before her.
Their eyes met—an unspoken signal. Then they parted briefly, their hands releasing.
She bowed her head; what came before was greeting, and what followed was preparation. Once, she would have blushed and hesitated, but no longer. There was no shame in loving him now.
"Mnn... mm... mmn..."
His hands touched her hair with aching tenderness. Then, with a slow, instinctive motion, he guided her closer.
The rhythm pressed deep, and tears welled in her eyes from the strain and the strange sweetness of it. Yet she did not resist. To her, this was not sin—it was salvation, and atonement.
His breath thundered above her like that of a beast. She felt it in every movement, every trembling pulse against her tongue.
Then, a pause—silver threads fell, glistening in the dark—before he drew her close again, and the moment burst with violent finality. He held her still, not allowing her to pull away, and she took all of him, utterly.
Silence followed, thick and heavy. But the heat between them didn't fade. That had only been the prelude.
Now she was ready—utterly so. Nothing escaped her; not a single drop. All of him belonged to her, and below her own warmth flooded freely in return.
They looked at each other—he from above, she from below—and both knew what would come next. She pushed him down, straddled him, guided him, and met his gaze.
"Please," she murmured softly. "Make me clean again... like you always do."
And then—
"Hey! Suzune, what's that you're reading so intently?" "F-hiyaaah!? I–Iruka!?"
Suzune shrieked, snapping back to reality so fast her heart nearly stopped. She slammed the book shut and spun around, hiding it behind her back.
"Are you all right? You look feverish," Iruka said, peering at her face. "You're red as a beet."
"I'm fine! Perfectly fine! Nothing is wrong!"
Iruka frowned, unconvinced, while Suzune fought to steady her breath. No, she wasn't sick.
She knew exactly why her face burned. Her racing heartbeat, the warmth on her lips—none of it came from illness.
"...If you say so," Iruka muttered.
"Yes! I mean—no! I mean—it's not from being tired yesterday!"
"Well, you're still young..." Iruka said awkwardly, scratching her cheek.
Suzune's overreaction made her friend step back a little.
"Just don't overdo it," Iruka continued. "You've been working hard lately. You don't want to catch something strange. Maybe we should postpone the trip—"
"No! Absolutely not! We cannot postpone it!"
Her voice rang out too loudly.
Even she realized it was excessive when Iruka blinked in surprise. But Suzune couldn't yield on this—not this.
"I—I'm sorry for shouting..."
"It's fine," Iruka said gently. "I know how much you care about your family. You've always been that way... family first."
Her tone wavered slightly near the end, as if she were thinking of something else, someone else. Suzune hesitated to ask what it was.
"Well, finish packing," Iruka said briskly. "We're leaving in half an hour. And you know women—makeup takes time, right? Don't be late."
"You're a woman too, you know."
Iruka laughed. "Heh, then call me your big sister, huh?"
"You're far too rough to be any kind of sister figure."
"Ouch. No mercy, huh?"
Still chuckling, Iruka turned on her heel, swinging her muscular, furred arms—wolfish, powerful.
Anyone else might have been startled, but Suzune was used to her by now. The wolf-girl left the room in high spirits, probably to smoke outside.
At last, peace returned.
The room fell silent but for the chirping of sparrows outside. Suzune exhaled slowly, calming herself.
And then—
"That woman!!"
Her anger boiled over, aimed squarely at the true culprit. She glared at the book clutched in her hands.
The title read Forbidden Bonds: 48 Nights, written by the infamous Shirako Maro, a name whispered in disreputable circles.
It was said to be their early masterpiece—a tragic tale of a brother and sister, victims of a cursed village, seeking solace in their taboo love. This was, apparently, the twenty-fourth reprint.
No, no—please don't misunderstand!
She would never waste her precious wages on such filth. If the book was in her possession, it was purely by accident.
The truth was simple: while helping transport documents from the Miyataka estate, the book had somehow ended up mixed with her luggage after she returned to the Oumi residence.
She'd assumed it belonged to her brother and, curious, opened it without even reading the title. Only when she reached that scene did she realize what kind of story it was.
And the culprit?
It couldn't be her brother—never him. Given the situation and the content, there was only one possibility: the lecherous princess of House Miyataka herself.
The humiliation burned her cheeks.
It was an insult—not just to her, but to the bond she shared with her brother. If anyone, especially Iruka—or worse, her brother—saw this book, it would be unbearable.
Just picturing her brother's expression made her blood run cold. It wasn't mere fear; it was horror.
That was why she had insisted on visiting—so she could secretly return the cursed thing to the estate and be rid of it forever. She didn't need such a book in her life.
Of course, it was better not to mention that she had... finished it. Twice. Maybe three times.
Reading through the night, heart pounding, imagining impossible things beneath her blanket. That had only been a fleeting lapse, nothing more. She would never truly betray her brother. She couldn't.
"Brother would never... do something like that," she whispered.
Her thoughts spiraled until she realized what she was thinking—and gasped. Suzune looked down at herself, embarrassed even to exist in her own skin.
She wasn't as thin as in her childhood, but still frail compared to others. Her face—average, she thought—bore a resemblance to her late mother's.
She wasn't ugly, yet certainly not beautiful enough to warrant such delusions. And marriage between siblings—such a thing was a relic of ancient superstition, something to be despised now. To think that she once, as a child, had declared she would marry her brother—it was mortifying.
Truly, she had been ignorant and foolish. But even so...
(Helping him a little wouldn't be so wrong... would it?)
Suzune knew her elder brother wasn't without human wants. He was a man, after all—flesh and blood, with needs like anyone else.
But he was poor, his body frail, unable to marry or seek pleasure without hardship. If she could ease his suffering, just a little, wasn't that an act of kindness?
(If it were only with my hands... if I only showed him... if I—)
The thought burned through her like fever.
She buried her face in her palms, trembling. What was she thinking!?
"Ugh—curse it! Damn it all!!"
It was the book's fault—all of it. That wicked woman's fault for slipping such filth into her belongings!
If not for that vile princess, she'd never have imagined such indecency. How infuriating!
"Ugh, enough!"
She slammed the book shut, almost threw it, then forced herself to breathe.
Her hand hesitated over the open cover for a moment, temptation gnawing at her. But with a hissed curse, she stuffed it into her luggage and fastened it tight.
* * *
"Welcome—oh? You've got more charms today?"
It was midday when Suzune arrived at the Miyataka estate.
The first voice to greet her was languid and teasing, the kind of tone unbefitting nobility. Indeed, the princess herself was standing at the gate—a gesture as improper as her words.
"...I've heard this area's been unsafe lately," Suzune said curtly. "These are only for precaution."
She kept her tone flat, hiding her irritation. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced behind her—at Iruka, her guard, and two masked figures in black.
Onitsuki retainers. Servants. Silent and motionless.
Iruka had insisted on the extra protection after discovering they'd been tailed last time.
Through the intermediaries of Lady Hotoya and Lady Ako, the head of the Onitsuki family had agreed to send reinforcements. They called themselves Chidori and Tsunoha—clearly aliases.
"Ah, true enough," the Miyataka princess said lightly. "I've heard refugees are flooding in from the countryside. They say shady priests and demon-artists are spreading nonsense among the people... the world's just falling apart, isn't it?"
Her careless laughter was almost blasphemous coming from an exorcist noble. Her own house already called her a disgrace—this only confirmed it.
"Well, let's not dwell on such gloomy talk, shall we?" she said, waving it away with a lazy grin. "Come in, come in."
Her smile was mischievous, foxlike. She gestured toward the manor interior.
"Our dear Mari's just sitting down to a late lunch. Won't you join us?"
"...I believe I made it clear in writing that such hospitality was unnecessary."
Suzune's voice was clipped. She remembered perfectly well the princess's "invitation" from last time—and the humiliation that followed.
After being kidnapped once, and tricked again with that indecent book, she had no illusions about this woman's character. Better to be blunt, even rude, than to fall for her games again.
"The summer nights haven't been kind," the princess went on airily. "Our guest felt faint this morning, so I gave her a long soak in the bath... scrubbed her down thoroughly, head to toe." She tilted her head and smiled wickedly. "So technically, it's breakfast I'm inviting you to! I forgot to tell the cook, so there's plenty of food. Enough to share with you, dear. You smell delightfully rustic today."
"Wh—what!?"
The princess giggled, leaning in close—too close—sniffing dramatically like a curious hound. Her gaze drifted to Suzune's bag.
Suzune flinched back, clutching it instinctively. The princess's grin widened. She had struck the mark.
"Hehehe. Don't just stand there, little mouse," the princess purred. "Come inside."
She beckoned with a languid, curling finger, movements as smooth and dangerous as a cat's. Or a demon's.
It felt, unmistakably, like being lured into a trap.
* * *
Knock, knock, knock.
The carriage jolted slightly at the sound.
Inside, the white fox spirit tensed; the young exorcist beside him did too. He moved to defend, but a calm voice stopped him.
"It's fine."
The man—older now, weary—pushed his companion gently aside and slid open the window. Outside stood a familiar figure.
"...It's been a while," he said.
"You don't look happy to see me," the stranger replied.
"Are you happy?"
"Not at all."
The man outside—Ezo-born once, now something less human—smiled faintly.
Around him, the guards who'd been stationed by the carriage knelt or lay gasping, clutching their throats. None were dead, but utterly disabled.
"...You didn't kill them?"
"I'm not here to pick a fight," the man said. "Just doing my job. Same as them—bodyguard duty."
Casually spoken words, but the weight of them was wrong.
He flicked his eyes toward the alley. A second figure was approaching—tall, smooth-faced, wearing a pleasant but false smile.
"Well now," said the newcomer. "It's been some time. Do you remember me?"
"...That lump of flesh from before?"
"Correct! Though really, you've known me far longer than that... haven't you?"
"What are you talking about? Who are you?"
The apparition chuckled and clapped with borrowed hands [T/N 'Borrowed hands' refers to the ghost using a human host's body]. He was baiting him—but there would be no reaction.
"Who am I?" the ghost mused. "Hard to summarize. But if I had to describe my connection to you... perhaps 'father' fits best. At least, probably."
"You're joking. If you're my father, you can start by paying child support."
The ghost laughed.
"Ah, sharp tongue. How much do you think I owe?"
He turned to one of the guards, still crouched and trembling, and asked as though it were small talk. The guard gave only a dry, humorless smirk—and then one of the women, pretending to faint, reached into her robe and drew a blowpipe.
"Stop."
The command was sharp enough to freeze the air. All three moved—Kamui's hand went to his dagger, the ghost smiled, the guards tensed.
But at that instant, something unseen stirred. Kamui broke into a sweat and glanced downward, trembling slightly.
The last presence—the one hiding in the shadow of the carriage—did not move at all. It pretended not to exist.
"Careful, Kamui," the ghost said lightly. "You should thank him. That one's bad news for you."
"Yeah, no kidding," Kamui muttered. "I cough up blood to make myself invincible, and then these people still tear through me. What's the point of trying?"
His outline shimmered like mist, frustration palpable.
"There's no true invincibility," the ghost replied kindly. "No real immortality either. Just cheap parlor tricks dressed as miracles. Even truth itself, once unraveled, is only another illusion."
Then he turned his eyes back to the man in the carriage.
"So—let's not glare daggers, hmm? About the 'child support,' the impostor you're worried about, and everything else... why don't we both take a breath, lower our guards, and talk—openly, face to face?"
Notes:
• Mari - A human imperial minister first appearing in Chapter 188 during Kei’s meeting with his lord and the Bureau Head in the Ministry of Civil Administration. He’s invoked when the Bureau Head offers to recommend Kei — a lowborn clerk serving his lord — for promotion. The meeting occurs because Kei’s lord seeks favors, caused by political decay and court bribery. The Bureau Head leads the exchange under the Minister’s authority. Kei connects indirectly through that manipulation. No known direct relationships. Known for merciful reforms aiding fallen nobles.