Broken in two

The room isn't small, not at all. Two sets of doors stand open—one to the rest of the house, the other to the garden—making it a space that should feel wide and airy, perfect for conversation.

It should.

Instead, the outside world might as well be sealed away. Invisible barriers press in from the doorways, cutting the room off from everything beyond. Atsunori could swear the walls are inching close too.

Beneath him, the cushion feels hard as stone. A servant finishes pouring tea and slips out of sight. With one less person inside, there's technically more room—yet it feels even tighter.

The cup rises to her lips and she drinks without hesitation—meaning Atsunori must follow, whether he wants to or not.

Even holding the cup stings his fingers, and the first sip burns his mouth like molten metal. But the pain is welcome—at least it keeps him anchored in the moment, instead of drifting into thoughts of what she summoned him for, or what punishment she might have in mind.

"For an entire night, chaos ruled Kurozaka. Our Ningyo doctor can barely lift her arms. The estate was profaned. The Elders threatened, one of them even injured." Her body leans forward, just lightly, and the movement alone makes him want to recoil. "And after all that… you allowed the culprit to escape."

Atsunori aches to beg for forgiveness, but even that is forbidden. He can only sit there, motionless, and endure. Here, before the Mistress, he has no power at all.

"I entrusted this matter to you in my absence. This… is the result."

Her words land harder than any threat. His fear and worry turn into pure, suffocating regret. His jaw locks so tight it feels like his teeth might crack.

"And yet, even after all this, I choose to trust you again."

… What?

The words make him look up before he can stop himself, certain he must have misheard. But she simply meets his gaze and gives the smallest nod—calm, unwavering.

His lips part, but words struggle to come out.

"E-even after how badly I failed, you still… still…"

Another near-invisible dip of her chin—one that sweeps through him like a sudden whirlwind.

"You shall have another chance. Our clan faces a difficult time. Now, more than ever, we must stand united."

Rising from her seat, she glides toward the garden doorway, positioning herself in the open air. "Tell me, can I entrust you once more with a critical task?"

A spark flares inside him, washing away the dread. In this moment, Mistress Tomoe is nothing short of a saint granting absolution.

"Yes, of course." He bows so deeply his forehead nearly clips the table. "I swear I won't fail you again."

"That is pleasing." After a minor, deliberate gesture—likely to a servant somewhere beyond the doors—she returns to her seat across from him.

"I require your assistance with that child." Her voice sheds all previous softness. "After our duel, I've learned she cannot be permitted to leave."

What? Why?

Out of nowhere, a servant sets a neatly folded white robe on the table, then disappears without a trace.

The Mistress signals for him to take it.

"Examine it thoroughly. Tell me what you notice."

His fingers brush the fabric and trace the soft texture. It's one of the robes from their duel—a few stray black hairs confirm it belongs to Tomoe.

It's dry.

But also slightly coarse.

And… clearly unwashed.

"Forgive me, but I cannot see anything out of the ordinary."

"Consider this: why is the fabric so stiff?"

"Because… it hasn't dried properly after use?"

"Dried after what?"

"After…"

Wait.

What could have soaked the entire robe? This isn't just some sweat.

"Did Avery somehow use water magic?"

"That might be preferable to the truth."

What does she mean? How could Avery have made the robe wet during the duel? And without water magic? She can only—

Atsunori stiffens as the implication hits him.

"Was this… the result of an illusion?"

"She conjured a mist during our fight, dampening both my clothes and hair. Now tell me: why did her illusion, her false optical mirage, produce real, tangible effects on my robe?"

"That… I don't know. It shouldn't be possible. No Kitsune is capable of this, not even a nine-tailed one."

"You are correct. A Kitsune could not achieve such a feat, just as she should have been incapable of breaking my curses."

"She broke your—" He stops himself. How dare he raise his voice?

The Mistress narrows her eyes before speaking.

"Some wicked Kitsune may bring misfortune or mild illness, but that pales beside the power of a Hannya's hexes, born of pure hate and sorrow."

From her sleeve, she produces a fan, leaving it closed. "She did not break my curse because her Yokai is skilled in such magic. She nullified it using an entirely different method."

Her fan aims at him, wordlessly inviting him to continue.

He swallows. "Just as she didn't wet your robe through a mere illusion. Her powers… this borders on reality manipulation."

"Once again, you are in the right. The Yokai the child encountered was no mere Kitsune. It was a Kuuko. A sky fox, also known as…"

A void fox.

How had he not noticed sooner? The signs had been there all along: ghost of void, no tails, a sealed spirit without a physical form.

"And now," the Mistress leans forward, "this immature outsider, possessing neither clan nor authority to restrain her, was granted a Blessing by a divine being of godlike power."

Her fan opens, faintly stirring her hair.

"Do you understand my point now? Why she cannot be permitted to roam unrestrained with such immense power?"

But even so…

She will never submit to Tomoe's command. And now, knowing the extent of her terrifying potential, forcing her into anything would be like prodding a sleeping bear.

Does this mean I must fail Tomoe yet again, right after she had given me another chance?

A chill twists through him like a bolt. Every instinct screams to stay silent, to shrink into himself, yet his loyalty and the weight of responsibility claw at him. It takes all the effort he can muster just to lift his voice.

"My deepest apologies, but I don't believe that's possible. I think…" He chokes back the pain in his chest. "Our best alternative would be to let her choose the other option… and leave."

Slowly, her head turns from side to side.

"There are many reasons she cannot be allowed to leave. First is the threat known as Reiji. From what I have gathered through witnesses, he appears to surpass even my own strength. But do you know who possesses the potential to not only face, but even outmatch him?"

"... Avery." Atsunori sighs. "Even if Reiji might embody an insanely powerful Tengu, a divine being like a Kuuko is so far superior it isn't even a fair comparison."

The Mistress confirms his answer with a slow blink. "And it does not end there. Avery is also a victim."

"A victim? Of what?"

"Of those who raised her so poorly. You have known her for some time. Surely you have observed how her lack of discipline harms not only those around her, but herself as well."

Mistress Tomoe is right. As she stands currently, Avery is little more than an overgrown child. She must mature before it's too late.

"And last, but not least: is it not our duty, as humans blessed by Yokai, to guide those like her? To teach them to wield their powers responsibly, rather than for selfish ends."

Light seems to cling to her, not as a literal glow, but in the way her presence fills the room, commanding attention without effort. Her voice carries a resonance beyond mere words, each syllable measured and imbued with the authority of someone far wiser than Atsunori could ever hope to become.

"I am not suggesting you compel her to become my subordinate. Under these circumstances, I shall permit you to determine the most appropriate means to discipline her."

Yet even knowing how inferior he is, his sense of duty compels him to speak, to highlight the huge point being overlooked.

"But she lost the duel. Even as the victor, asking her to break the terms would be—"

"Do not ever insinuate that I would commit such an offense against the First!"

Atsunori flinches, his heart racing. That divine presence—so reassuring moments ago—vanished so suddenly the aftershock leaves him frozen.

"My apologies," she says, every trace of her outburst gone. She moves to his side and sits, mere inches away.

From this close, the difference in height is striking. She sits a full head below him, yet it is he who cannot summon the courage to speak.

"There is but one way she may be freed from my authority."

She extends her hand toward Atsunori's neck.

"Through a different pact of the clan, one that takes precedence over mine."

With a swift motion, she pulls the pendant free and lifts it to his eyes.

Between them, the ring dangles like a pendulum, swinging silently in the little space that separates their faces.

"A-are you insinuating I should…? No, I don't see her that way, and neither does—"

"This is not solely for your sake, nor hers. It is for the future of our clan, and for the city itself."

Her hands settle atop his—soft, yet cool to the touch.

"I shall petition the Elders to extend Avery's deadline, granting you additional time, but I cannot promise more than a full month."

She opens his palm and places the ring there. "Consider carefully what choice is correct."

Then she drifts out through the door. The moment she turns and leaves his sight, it's as if she's never been here at all.

Now the room feels as empty as the middle of a desert.

Atsunori can't look away from the ring, from the faint line where it had once been broken in two—back when it belonged to that woman.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

For the first time in years, his fingers slip when he reaches for the stack of reports. The papers scatter, fluttering to the floor like startled birds.

The meeting room is loud today. Too many voices. Too much shuffling. Too many pointless questions. How is anyone expected to focus in this chaos?

Beside him, a companion clears his throat and repeats a detail from the meeting that Atsunori definitely hasn't missed—it was just presented poorly the first time. And the appointment he forgot this morning must have been rescheduled last minute, surely. As for the reason he walked into the briefing room five minutes late… the hallway has been unusually busy today. Someone must have rearranged the building again.

His second in command leans in, brows creased with concern. "Are you running a fever? You look—"

One glare is all it takes to silence him.

A fever, of all things. As if a mere pathogen could survive in Oni blood. Ridiculous.

As the meeting stretches on, voices drone in and out and his vision blurs at the edges. He can't sit still—the chair is uncomfortable, the air too dry, his pen refuses to write smoothly. Nothing is cooperating today. Nor yesterday. Nor the day before. Not since the moment the Mistress implied he should—

He ends the meeting early. There's nothing meaningful to discuss anyway—Reiji is as much of a phantom as always, and will likely remain so until his next grand appearance.

A private bathroom becomes his refuge, door locked behind him. The silence he expected to calm him instead punches the air from his lungs. Pressure builds in his chest, brutal and merciless, dragging him apart at both ends—like ropes hooked beneath his ribs, pulled by two monsters determined to tear him in opposite directions.

Tomoe. And Avery.

Breathe.

His lungs refuse to fill.

It shouldn't be this hard.

Why is a child he's known for less than two months competing for priority against Mistress Tomoe Munakata herself?

All she asked for was a simple task. A call. A few outings. Some presents. Easy. He never did that sort of thing with anyone else because it brought no benefit to the family. But now it does—more than anything ever could.

Any other time he'd do it without a thought—obey, execute, excel. That's all his life has ever demanded of him. So why, now, is he stuck at a door he's crossed a thousand times? Why is dialing that brat's number more unbearable than beating a criminal bloody? How can he leave a man begging behind an iron door without hesitation… yet telling Avery to choose correctly—to stay where her power will be best used—makes him feel as if he's about to commit the most unforgivable crime of his life?

Yes, it would require some compromise. A performance here and there, small shows for the family. And in a few years, the two of them would be expected to—

Nausea slams into him. Just the thought makes his skin crawl—like defiling one of the children. It's disgusting.

He squeezes his eyes shut and knocks his head against the door. An urge surges through him: scream, punch the wall, thrash everything in reach.

His trembling hand flies to his chest, gripping the amulet beneath his shirt. The engraved words echo in his mind: "A bond broken by loyalty."

Bringing it to work is risky—any accident could make him lose it.

Yet lately he needs it just to breathe.

A swallow forces every tremor back down where no one can see. Atsunori turns to the sink and drenches his head in the coldest water available.

When he lifts his gaze to the mirror, his face is smooth again. Serious, expressionless, as it should be.

Get it together. This has just been an irritating series of days, nothing more. Everything will return to normal soon—to routine.

He makes to leave when a sudden ring jolts him so hard he rips the knob clean off the door.

His teeth grind together.

With a vicious swipe, he snatches the phone, ready to rip into the caller.

"Hi, hi! Guess who."

The device slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor, somehow not shattering.

"Atsun? Hello? Everything okay?"

Atsunori dives for it, fumbling. "Y-yes." A forced cough. "What's the matter?"

"So, listen. I know things are, like, super awkward between us, and there's the whole I have to make a choice by tomorrow deadline—"

"Actually," he cuts in, "circumstances have changed. Your deadline has been extended by a month."

"Oh, cool. That makes things easier. Anyway! We need to put all other matters on hold right now. I have a surprise I'm sure you'll love."