Failure at Hakoha Onsen

I poured too much of Yukikaze into this shitty tomb.

Her breath shallowed and chill gnawed at her bones. Yet the man stood there, unfazed by the chill. Steam curled from his lips. She stepped forward and the frozen tatami cracked under her bare feet.

Her white kimono was made for movement. Jet black hair spilled down to her waist contrasted sharply against her frost. Her face covered with a frosted ice mask. Her frost mask hid her face, heirloom of Yukikaze. He wouldn’t see the girl beneath — only the ghost.

Both circled slowly, each measuring the other's stance.

“The infamous Yukikaze, the frozen ghost of Yukihana‑ikka,” The man huffed, shifting his weight to engage. “Dishonor suits you. Suiryu‑no‑Oroko - Water Dragon's Scale - will have its revenge.”

Her cold fingers twitched at the word dishonor.

Oh, I will show you infamy. Suiryu-kai's trump card.

Instead of her biting thoughts she bowed her head, drawing icicle claws at her fingertips as she does .

I need to finish this fast, or I'll turn into one of them.

Her gaze shifted to a frozen man in terror clutching the slide door. Beyond it there's a garden and bamboo grove where her ikka and Masaki on standby if she falls. If she kills this man, his words have teeth. They continued to circle. She stood near the garden side and him towards the onsen. Her footing loosened on a frozen surface. Oroko-wielder took this chance to transform his cloak into a large gauntlet shape on his left hand. Instead of striking her he instead shattered the wall and headed for the onsen.

Big Mistake!

She cheered and chased after him.

- - -

Normally she might have enjoyed the hot spring under moonlight, cherry blossoms glowing pale across the water.

Not tonight.

Every drop of heat here was hers to take. The place was empty, evacuated before she turned the banquet hall into an ice tomb. He plunged half his body into the steaming pool.

Perfect.

Her toe touched stone. The tiles crackled as Yukikaze devoured the warmth, rising up her leg, filling her chest. She sighed, relief sharp and fleeting. Steam frosted, the spring froze solid. He barely scrambled out, scales shielding his feet from the creeping ice.

So that’s how he survived earlier. Tricky old man.

“You’re one hell of a monster,” he spat, cape reshaping into a gauntlet as he lunged for the bamboo wall. Beyond it, Tokyo glimmered.

You’re not leaving this place alive.

Hanako raised her hand. Ice obeyed. The frozen springs convulsed, barricades sealing the onsen.

“I bid you farewell, Suiryu‑no‑Oroko wielder,” she said, voice calm, heir‑like.

Inside, her pulse screamed. She hurled icicles, but the damned scales deflected them, shifting like a school of fish. Her limbs numbed, legs buckled with each icicle.

He’s slowing too. His bakki’s draining him. If I push harder…

One scale drifted into his palm. His face hardened. “You leave me no choice, monster. I’ll kill you another time… traitor Orochi head.”

Thunder cracked. Floodwater burst against her chest, driving her through the room. She was thrust through the frozen door into the garden.  She cursed, but the torrent drowned her voice. He broke another scale, jettisoning himself into the night sky. The shimmering cloak vanished into Tokyo’s lights.

“Crap!” Hanako yelled. Her mind rushed but body betrayed her. Her legs gave out after just two steps.

I let him get away. Damn it.

Shame boiled hotter than the Yukikaze.

Another crack echoed. Then silence. Oroko wielder was gone.

A figure rushed from the bamboo grove — dark blue yukata, hakama, and sling bag. 

Masaki. 

He caught her before she hit the ground.

“I missed one, Masaki… Shit.” Teeth clenched and her frost mask broke. Eyes blurred, lips burning cold. 

Masaki said nothing. He wrapped her in a thick coat, pressed hot packs into her hands and feet, poured steaming water into a cup with yuzu and honey. The sharp fragrance thawed the frost.

He lifted her upright, guided her fingers around the cup. She focused everything on holding it steady.

“Ojo, may I?” he asked softly, offering to carry her. She nodded, still shivering. He gathered her close. She felt relieved, whether she wanted it or not, as he carried her out of the bamboo grove.

Don't lean too much.

- - -

Hanako leaned fully against Masaki’s chest, clinging to the cup and the sharp fragrance of yuzu. Her lips burned and trembled. Her body sagged heavy in his arms, no matter how she tried to resist. Heat seeped from the pack, creeping into her thighs and chest — warmth she hated needing.

He knows. He always knows. Years together made her too easy for him to read.

The bamboo grove closed around them.

The short rest ended when he stopped at the edge of the grove. He lowered her gently. Her knees buckled. She forced herself upright, spine straight, heir mask intact. Masaki pressed the wooden geta against her feet.

Hold it together. Don’t collapse in front of them.

Black cars lined the path, men in dark coats waiting.

“Is it done?” The voice from the back seat was low, cold.

Hanako straightened, barely conscious. 

“Forgive me, chichiue… Suiryu‑no‑Oroko fled.” Her lips trembled.

Shit, I let him slip away.

The thought gnawed at her.

“The rest?”

She answered reluctantly, “Yes.” 

“Good. Fuyuki, guard her with your life. Stay low. She is my daughter before she is the Yukikaze. Keep her safe.”

“Yes, Kumicho.” Masaki bowed.

The voice did not soften. “One of their advisors was absent. Find them. Tie the loose ends.” 

The men in black answered in unison.

“The other Orochi heads will not forgive this. The succession war begins tonight.”

Hanako’s chest tightened. Sarashi bit cold into her ribs. Even through the window, her father’s words felt distant, as if she were no more than another order to be carried out.

Not a daughter. Just Yukikaze. Just a weapon.

She lowered her gaze, the taste of yuzu tea still lingering on her lips, Masaki guided her to her car.

Yuzu fragrance filled the car, warmth creeping into her chest. She hated needing it. She hated needing him. And above all, she hated the truth: she wasn’t a daughter tonight. She was Yukikaze — and she had already failed her first war.