Chapter 25 (Patreon)

Three young men walked down the street. The morning sun warmed everything it touched, but the students from the local university paid no attention to the beautiful weather. All three looked nervous and exhausted: pale, drawn faces, dark circles under their eyes, trembling fingers. Their expensive designer clothes did little to disguise how worn out they looked.

“Fuck.” Ken Tagawa flinched. Through the window of a clothing store, he’d spotted a hunched dark figure staring at him with red eyes.

“Again?” One of his friends glanced around nervously. “There are more of them today…”

“There are always plenty of them,” Ken’s other friend said, almost whining, without lifting his eyes from the pavement.

“Fewer during the day, in crowded places,” the first one disagreed.

Ken only nodded. That was why they were here, on a bright street surrounded by people. The yokai stalking the three of them were less likely to… show themselves in places like this.

They were cursed. There was no other explanation. If it had been happening only to Ken, he probably would have thought he was losing his mind. But his two best friends were suffering from… things, too. Evil forces had to be behind it. But why? Why was this happening to them?! Who had they pissed off?!

Ken Tagawa was at a loss. There had been… a few incidents that might raise questions, but he didn’t believe this nightmare had anything to do with them. Who? Who was responsible?!

The high school loser who’d jumped off a roof? He’d smashed his skull and died, and his parents were just penniless trash who’d raised a spineless wimp. Besides, that had been ages ago. The first-year girl who’d slit her wrists in her bathtub? She’d died without telling anyone a thing. And she’d been another pathetic loser from a poor family of nobodies.

As for the others… they were all alive, and his father had compensated them for the inconvenience. He’d paid for abortions and medical treatment. He’d even paid for plastic surgery for that monkey whose face Ken and his friends had touched up a little with their fists and a bat.

It couldn’t have been Marikawa’s doing, surely. She and her whole family were nobodies, too. So who could they have crossed? The Tagawas had no quarrels with any old or influential families! Besides, Ken was always careful about whom he chose to have fun with. He’d learned his lesson back in middle school, when he’d decided to amuse himself with the younger sister of one of his older sister’s friends.

Hmm… could his sister be behind it? No, she was just a spiteful bitch. Same as his mother: a loser whose one success in life had been getting lucky enough to marry his father. Ken felt nothing but contempt for the two of them, and they had no way to make trouble for him. Never had. Let them enjoy their “freedom” while his father dealt with the problems that had landed on the Tagawa family. Once he had the time, he’d find them, and both fools would bitterly regret running away from home.

“Ken-san,” one of his friends said suddenly. “Look!”

“What…” Ken followed his friend’s pointing finger. “Did you hit your head, Igo? A street fortune-teller? Seriously?! And one that looks so… disgusting.”

Sure enough, a small stall stood right on the sidewalk, its counter piled with all sorts of junk. It had a little awning and a shabby old sign to which someone had added an obvious joke about the tax office in marker. Ignoring the handwritten addition, the sign announced that the woman behind the counter was Yaga, a witch from an ancient line who offered her services to anyone for a modest fee.

The “witch” herself… well, she certainly looked the part. An old woman with a European-looking mug, dressed in once-bright clothes that were now worn and patched in places. A kerchief covered her head, but thin, greasy gray locks stuck out from under it. One eye was clouded white, and her whole face was covered in wrinkles and warts. She looked as though she’d stepped out of some creepy fairy tale.

“She looks like a real witch…” whispered the friend who’d spotted her, hope creeping into his voice.

“A fraud,” Ken said flatly.

“Let’s go talk to her.”

“Are you out of your mind? Look at her. Would a successful witch be hanging around out here looking that pathetic?”

“Ken-san, please.” His friend looked him in the eye, pleading. “I’m willing to try even her if there’s any chance at all! If the old hag’s a fraud, what have we got to lose?”

Tagawa thought it over. So they’d talk to this “witch.” So what? He could always say they’d done it for a laugh. Besides, he’d already visited “sorcerers” with reputations. Fat lot of good that had done. Some had just tried to take his money without doing a damn thing. Others…

One witch had simply turned Ken away, saying she couldn’t help him. Money, promises, threats—none of it changed her answer. The second had been an elderly man who wouldn’t even let Ken and his friends onto his property. He’d taken one look at them through the viewing slot in his gate and shouted at them to leave. Ken couldn’t threaten him, either. His father’s influential friends held the old man in high regard.

“Fine,” Ken decided. “Let’s ask the old hag. Worst that happens, we’re out a couple hundred yen.”

“Thank you!”

“Pfft.” His friend’s fervent gratitude made Ken chuckle. The smile vanished almost at once when he spotted a human shadow moving along the sidewalk. There was no one there to cast it.

“Fuck…”

Ken reached the stall with his friends. The old woman smiled broadly as they approached. He wished she hadn’t. A grin showing only two crooked teeth was the last thing he wanted to see.

“Hello, young men, hello,” the old woman lisped in a noticeable foreign accent. “I see, I see. You need a little help from an old woman. Nasty spirits won’t leave you alone?”

Ken’s eyes widened. The witch was looking straight at the shadow with her one good eye.

“You… you can see it?” he asked in disbelief.

“Of course I can, dearie.” The old woman gave an unpleasant little giggle. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I can spot that sort of filth in an instant. Now, SCAT!”

She raised her voice just enough to bark at the shadow, then clicked her tongue and seemed to stamp her foot. But the sound that came from behind the stall was like a piece of wood—or dry bone—striking the sidewalk.

Ken blinked in astonishment. The shadow that had put him so on edge simply dissolved without a trace. And somehow… it was easier to breathe. Even the street seemed brighter. For the first time in days, he no longer felt someone watching him. Those hateful gazes boring into his back seemed to have vanished.

“So then, boys, what did you want from Babushka?” Her one good eye settled on Ken again. “I can tell your fortunes, if you like.”

“We… we…” For a moment, Ken couldn’t get the words out. There was too much he wanted to say. He planted his hands on the stall’s counter and pleaded, “Yaga Babushka-sama, please help us! They’re following us… we’ve got…”

“I know, dearie.” The witch sighed and shamelessly stuck a knobby finger, tipped with a long, filthy nail, up her hooked nose. “You’re cursed. Want me to tell your fortune?”

“To hell with fortune-telling!” Ken nearly shouted, barely holding himself back. “The curse. Get rid of the curse, old woman. Help us and you’ll be swimming in money!”

“Are you asking me for mercy, Ken Tagawa?” Suddenly, the old woman leaned across the counter just as he had, bringing her repulsive face so close that he almost recoiled.

The street witch’s hideous face split into a wide, nasty grin. Two teeth and a lot of gum. That revolting sight again, along with all the old woman’s other “striking” features.

“Y-yes. I’m asking… for mercy.” Ken practically forced the words out. Right now, he’d beg God or the Devil for help, so long as someone put an end to the supernatural shit that had been driving him out of his mind these past few days.

The old woman’s one good eye gleamed with amusement. Her grin went from merely revolting to triumphantly revolting. Then she burst out laughing, as though a dead crow had started cawing. Her laughter was harsh and loud, and she made no attempt to cover her mouth. Spit sprayed all three of them. The laughter stopped almost at once, though, and the witch’s face turned serious.

“Only those who repent deserve mercy.” The old woman’s words landed like slabs of concrete.

Something about her changed. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and raised her chin. Her good eye filled with contempt, as though she were looking at a crushed cockroach rather than a young, handsome, wealthy man.

Ken would have called the changes subtle. She was still just as unkempt, with greasy hair sticking out from under her kerchief, a faded dress, wrinkles, and disgusting warts on her nose, neck, and face. But… she had changed so much that young Tagawa could no longer think of her as a hag. In his mind, she was an elderly woman.

And only now did he realize she’d called him by his full name. He hadn’t introduced himself.

“There is no remorse in you, Ken Tagawa. Only arrogance and fear. You reveled in doing whatever you pleased, protected by your family’s wealth and influence. Yet you did nothing for the people who gave you everything. You only took. Grabbed whatever you could. Your father’s money, your family’s influence, your mother’s peace of mind. You took every bit of your sister’s love for you and left her with nothing but contempt and disgust.

“You took other people’s innocence, pride, dreams, faith in others, health, and even their lives when you drove them to suicide. And you did it all just to satisfy the vile urges of a scumbag. You are trash. Scum. A parasite worthy of… nothing, Ken Tagawa. You’re so worthless that if you offered your soul to the Devil, he wouldn’t even laugh. He’d consider the offer an insult. Your soul is a rotting, stinking little heap of waste, worth less than a dried gob of spit on the pavement. The same goes for your hangers-on. Amazingly, the filth inside them stinks even worse than yours in some ways. Two zeroes scrawled beside you, like additions to an obscene drawing on the wall of a filthy alley.

“But you three bastards forgot that the shit you do stinks. Sooner or later, someone notices the smell. They look. They judge. They pass sentence. Ken Tagawa, you and your friends will be shown no mercy, because you deserve none.”

The witch studied all three faces for a couple of seconds, then grinned. It was terrifying. Where there had been bare gums and two incisors that had somehow survived, three close-packed rows of sharp teeth now filled her mouth. Ken got a good look. Whoever this nightmare of a woman was, she’d made sure everyone could see inside her maw.

Ken and his friends jumped back from the stall. The old woman went on speaking in a dreadful voice that seemed to rise from Hell itself.

“But before I take away your hope, I could tell your fortunes. Hmm… Very well, dearies. Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll tell you what awaits you…” Still baring her teeth, the monster looked from one young man to the next. “Terror for the rest of your lives. You’ll feel it for as long as your hearts beat, and you’ll die with your faces frozen in fear. No one will help you. Neither God nor the Devil. They could. They simply won’t want to dirty their hands on you.”

The witch burst out laughing again. This time the sound was so vile and terrifying that Ken Tagawa nearly shit his pants. At last, the old woman from Hell clicked her teeth again and stamped her foot. Wood struck the sidewalk, and a powerful gust of wind hit all three of them in the face, forcing them to throw up their hands and shut their eyes.

A second later, Ken Tagawa looked back at where the witch had stood. Only the stall and its awning remained. The old woman was gone without a trace.

So was the faded sign advertising a hereditary witch who told fortunes, removed the evil eye, lifted curses, and drove off evil spirits. The promise someone had added in marker to exorcise tax officials was gone, too. The cracked crystal ball had vanished, along with all the rags on the counter. It was just… a place where a street vendor could sell something, or a poorly paid worker could hand out flyers and ads.

There was no way anyone could have cleared it all away in the second Ken had lost sight of the witch.

At any other time, Ken would probably have left the place where all that supernatural shit had happened as fast as he could. But… he was tired. Incredibly tired after these past few days. He couldn’t sleep properly or eat in peace. He couldn’t live! The Tagawa son couldn’t live like a human being anymore. The shadows, whispers, nightmares, and hallucinations had turned his life into a goddamn mess. He’d barely paid attention to his problems in the real world.

His uncle was having trouble? He was a grown man. He’d handle it. His father? Same thing. His sister had taken their mother and disappeared to who knew where? To hell with them both. Ken was sick of their sidelong looks and whining anyway. The teachers had stopped putting pressure on Marikawa? He had enough to deal with right now; he could sort her out later. The police were on his case? Same answer. He just needed to shove more money at them.

It was impossible to deal with ordinary problems when everything around him felt like a horror movie. It had gotten so bad that he’d broken the legs off his bed, removed every mirror from his bedroom and bathroom, and ordered locks fitted to the wardrobes.

Every day, every night… something followed Ken. He couldn’t even take a piss in peace. That morning, just as he was about to go, a HUMAN EYE had risen out of the toilet bowl. It did nothing. It just stared straight into his face. Ken could see its pupil dilate and contract.

Yes, if his life hadn’t become one endless nightmare, he would have walked away quickly, doing his best not to let anyone see how scared he was.

But he’d been pushed past his limit. Fear turned to anger, then rage. Ken snapped and screamed at the top of his lungs… at the stall.

He barely knew what he was shouting. Insults, definitely. Something about the Devil being out of his fucking mind if he turned up his nose at Ken’s soul, slutty girls who only wanted his money, his bitch of a sister and his weakling mother. He was practically shrieking as he cursed the old hag, the bastard shadows, and all the supernatural shit that kept happening to him.

Then he lost it completely and kicked the stall, sending it toppling onto the sidewalk. He fell silent at once. Behind him came a horrible gurgle, as though someone were trying to speak with a mouth full of pus. Ken would never be able to explain why that particular image came to mind.

He turned around and forgot how to breathe.

The entire street had changed. But that was only the background, something Ken registered out of the corner of his eye. The buildings looked as though they’d aged. The cars were gone. Everything had fallen silent. The people… they were gone, too. Only Ken and his friends stood on the sidewalk beside the overturned stall.

But where pedestrians had been walking or standing a moment ago, there were… creatures. There was no other word for them. Freaks with lopsided, white faces that looked dried out. The monsters stared at the three of them through milky eyes that seemed blind.

Just like that old woman’s eye, Ken thought, his horror growing.

The creatures watched him. He couldn’t read their faces, but he could feel their gazes. Dozens of them, sliding over his body like slimy worms, crawling across his face and into his eyes. He could practically feel the filth on his skin.

Worst of all were the two freaks standing only a couple of steps from Ken. Their bodies were twisted, their rags hanging open to reveal withered flesh… and hideous sores oozing pus and bloody fluid. Scabs and swollen boils nearly the size of a child’s fist covered them. One of the creatures gurgled something at him. It sounded stern, demanding… probably. Ken’s face twisted with disgust as something greenish-yellow spilled from its mouth with every gurgle, flecked with blackish-red clots.

It… it raised an arm. Reached for him!

And once again, Ken couldn’t hold back. Behind him was a wall, with the overturned stall at its base. Monsters surrounded him. He made the only sensible choice: fight. With a scream of rage, he threw himself at the creature stretching its mangled, crooked paws toward him.

“He’s on something,” said a man in a conservative suit, brushing back a lock of black hair threaded with gray. He was waiting for the barista to make twelve coffees and pack them into a takeout carrier. From their conversation, it was clear he worked for the government. “All three of them are junkies. I could tell just by looking at them: pale faces, bloodshot eyes darting around, hands shaking. Once they started talking to an empty stall, I had no doubts left.”

“Tsk. And they’re so well dressed.” The fairly young barista pressed his lips together as he watched two police officers try to get through to the three junkies they’d subdued.

The first officer had a black eye, courtesy of a sudden attack by the loudest of the three.

“Rich parents’ kid, I bet.” The government employee shook his head in disapproval. “His parents earn the money, and their good-for-nothing son blows it on clothes, booze, and drugs. And he’s found himself a little group… shared interests, I suppose. They were so high they attacked the police. Good thing they were in that state… One of them tripped over his own feet and cracked his head on the pavement. That takes talent.”

“Less work for the police, at least.” The barista chuckled as he finished packing the coffees into carriers. “Here you go, Kagiyama-san.”

“Thank you very much, Sato-kun. I can tell it’s excellent coffee just from the smell.”

“My pleasure.” The young man, perhaps a student working part time, smiled broadly. “Take care on your way to the office.”

“You too, Sato-kun. Look at the sort of people you have… wandering around here.”

“I swear, I’ve worked here six months and never seen anything like it. Come again.” The barista gave him a small bow and received a friendly nod in return. “Morning, Schoolgirl-chan. Skipping school?”

“The first… first period was canceled,” Rei Kusaka mumbled without looking up. “A latte, please. Extra milky.”

“It happens, it happens.” The barista nodded and set to work with practiced ease. “See what we’ve got going on here? Stay away from people like that.” He shot a disapproving look at the three supposed junkies sitting handcuffed on the sidewalk.

“Oh… yes… I will,” the young demon from Kuoh Academy answered so quietly he could barely hear her.

“Though I doubt you’d ever end up with a crowd like that.” The machine whirred, filling the air once more with the intoxicating smell of coffee. “You’re too shy for idiots like them. My little sister, though… oh, she’s a real piece of work. I’m always having to chase off one creep or another…”

Talkative, Rei noted with mild annoyance, but she didn’t interrupt. The man making her coffee no longer needed a conversation; he seemed perfectly happy with a monologue. But he’s nice, she added to herself.

She found nothing off-putting about him. Just a chatty barista, which, honestly, wasn’t all that common. Customer service was somewhat… formal, so Rei rarely met carefree people who simply shot the breeze with their customers.

She didn’t dislike him, and around people like that she didn’t feel… too uncomfortable. It was bearable. It wasn’t like being with her peerage, but it was better than being among her classmates, for example.

And she was some distance from them right now. Yes, Rei had lied: she was skipping a class. It happened sometimes. A demon couldn’t always fulfill a client’s request on the night the contract was made, as in this case. Usually, they took care of such jobs after school, but Ken Tagawa…

Trash. Taro-kun had been right to call him that. The Tagawa heir was so repulsive that Rei found it hard to breathe just looking at him. She’d learned about his “exploits” while helping with Taro’s project. This man… no, calling him a man felt wrong. It sickened her to think of him as belonging to the species she herself had once belonged to.

“Extra-milky latte.” The barista set a cup in front of her.

“Thank you…” Rei left the money on the counter, said a quick goodbye, and stepped away with relief.

Even as a demon, she still felt uncomfortable around humans. The talkative barista hadn’t particularly put her off, but he was no exception.

That was part of why she was here. Really, there were several reasons she’d ended up skipping class.

First, Ken Tagawa was ripe for the final stage of Taro’s personal project. That morning, their main “target” had been in just the right state of mind to meet the “witch” she and Taro had dreamed up. The Rook had given Rei the words and behavior to use; she’d taken care of the witch’s appearance.

She’d worked hard to create exactly the right witch. She’d watched horror film after horror film, studying their villains and monsters and picking out the features she found most frightening and repulsive. Features that would work on the vile Ken. She’d even read children’s fairy tales from different cultures and watched several adaptations. Those stories had shaped much of the “witch’s” appearance.

But Baba Yaga wasn’t Rei’s only inspiration.

Rei had woven elements of supernatural horror, body horror, and psychological thrillers into her illusion. At first, she’d wanted to come up with something entirely her own, but she’d taken Taro’s advice. She was still new to this, and borrowing from the work of masters she admired made sense. Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, and there was nothing shameful about learning from the best while she was young. Rei loved the work of horror masters and doubted she could create something suited to that vile Tagawa all on her own.

And yes, she was enjoying her new role as the conductor of a nightmare. Taro had called her that yesterday… and she’d been enormously flattered.

Rei Kusaka loved horror films and scary stories, but she’d never imagined how interesting it would be to… create them herself. Especially when the victim was effectively the antagonist. When she wasn’t rooting for the poor soul caught in a tsunami of fear, but watched with satisfaction as he lost his mind.

She got to choose when the wardrobe door would slowly open in the dark of his bedroom late at night, leaving him with the sense of a strange, heavy gaze from behind the hanging clothes. Or when something would rustle under the bed. The wind. A mouse. I’m imagining things. He’d try to calm himself. But then a thin child’s voice would giggle softly from beneath the bed…

The Bishop of the Sitri peerage stopped a short distance from Ken and his friends, who were looking around with wild eyes. She drew a deep breath, savoring the feeling of passersby’s gazes no longer sliding over her. Sometimes those looks were pleasant, like the warm, approving glances two beautiful women had given her as they passed just now. But far, far more often, people looked at her in ways she found revolting.

Boys, grown men, sometimes even old men practically licked her with their eyes. It felt filthy and disgusting. Rei had been glad to give Ken a taste of that feeling through her illusion.

She’d been born with a gift for sensing people’s gazes and the purity of the intentions behind them. It was the first part of her curse, one that becoming a demon hadn’t completely lifted.

More than anything, Rei Kusaka wanted to run away and hide from other people’s attention. From men who lusted after her body and women who radiated envy. While her grandmother was alive, Rei had managed to cope. Her grandmother was a mage, not a particularly powerful one, but she could cast a charm over her granddaughter that kept Rei from attracting much attention.

After her grandmother died, Rei’s life as a schoolgirl became a nightmare. She was beautiful. That was the second part of the curse: beauty inspired more than admiration. Few people could look at a pretty girl and simply appreciate her charm… the way Taro could. His gaze had never made Rei feel disgusted. There was no malice in it… none of those dirty little thoughts. Others, though…

But things were easier for her now.

Since gaining real power in demonic magic, Rei could erase herself completely from any human’s awareness. Just as she was doing now.

The student council member from the prestigious Kuoh Academy stood in the middle of a busy street, watching Taro’s clients being loaded into the newly arrived police car. She sipped her extra-milky latte without feeling a single gaze on her.

What a wonderful feeling: clean and completely free. Even the air seemed fresher, easier to breathe. Rei straightened, squared her shoulders, and smiled with genuine pleasure. Moments like this were worth cherishing.

That was the second reason she was here. She had a good excuse to give her Mistress for skipping a lesson and taking a break from her classmates. Everyone in the classroom was certain Rei was sitting at her desk, thanks to a spell. Meanwhile, she was here, looking at the results of her and Taro’s work. She’d recorded a new video for the peerage to watch, showing both the illusion Ken had seen and the scene as it looked from outside, without magic: the three “junkies” talking to thin air, overturning empty stalls, and throwing themselves at the police.

Of course, Rei had made sure no one was seriously hurt in that last part. She’d weakened the young men and impaired their coordination, letting only one punch land on an officer. She’d apologized to him in her head. She’d tangled the feet of the third member of Ken’s group, then knocked him out with a spell and woken him the same way.

Next, these… three little pigs would be taken to the police station and tested for drugs. The results would, of course, come back positive.

“Lies, frame-ups, forged evidence—Tagawa has used them all. Why should we refuse to use the same tools against him?” Taro had said recently. Rei agreed with him completely. That animal and the two jackals hanging around him deserved every dirty trick they got.

So yes, everyone who needed to know would soon hear that Ken was a drug addict. So hooked on hard drugs that he’d developed schizophrenia. Suggestion magic and forged documents would keep those bastards locked up for a long time: rehab first, then the psych ward.

But for Ken, the horror ride wouldn’t end there.

If that monster had only pursued Marikawa, the university student, then maybe, just maybe, the Sitri peerage would have stopped at punishing him for that and trying to reform him. But Ken had dirtied his hands so thoroughly that even under human law, he’d be facing life in prison. With their Mistress’s help, they’d already prepared a powerful curse. It would be laid on all three of them once Rei and Taro were finished, tormenting the bastards for the rest of their lives.

“We are demons, after all.” Sona-san’s faint smile had looked sinister when she said it, her glasses glinting like an anime villain’s. “People think it’s our job to torment sinners. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have the right to intervene this way in Ken Tagawa’s case.”

The whole peerage was keeping a close eye on this contract. Sona-san had even suggested turning the footage into some kind of training material once it was finished. And Rei… she’d realized that her choice of demonic contracts would change quite a bit. She’d done similar work before, but she liked the scale of this job, its complexity, and the number of humans and demons involved.

Time to grow, she thought with satisfaction, savoring the milk with its pleasant hint of coffee bitterness.

That cup was the third reason she was here. Getting what she wanted. She and Taro had talked about her problem: how hard she found it to be around strangers, how she dreamed of finishing school as soon as possible and then simply disappearing from the human world. That was part of why Rei had become a demon. To escape and live among only the small handful of demons in her peerage. Among people whose gazes didn’t make her feel sick or want to throw up.

Before meeting Sona-san, Rei had dreaded thinking about her future as a human. The thought of somehow living while all the filth around her washed over her left her depressed and miserable. Go to university? No, she didn’t want that. Or rather, she would have liked to experience university life, and school life too, without the “bonuses” that came with her gift. So attending classes in person was out of the question. Getting a job where she had to work with other people? Even worse.

Back then, Rei had thought living as a hikikomori was her only option. She could work remotely, over the internet, without ever having to meet anyone.

Becoming a demon and joining the student council had saved her. The other girls were like sisters to Rei, and her Mistress was like the eldest among them. There was warmth and calm, and the prospect of a normal life. She wouldn’t have to earn a living while working around the limits imposed by her “gift,” or rely on the little magic she’d inherited from her grandmother. She would have everything she’d once barely dared to dream of.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be among humans, but… since getting to know demons, both born and reincarnated, she hadn’t met a single one she could call repulsive. Even Genshirou-kun, though the way he looked at her could feel unpleasantly sticky at times, seemed… like a wayward little brother.

And Taro-san…

If her Mistress had become an older sister to Rei, the student council’s Dark Prince was becoming more and more like an older brother. When Taro looked at her, Rei felt no revulsion. His gaze felt warm and clean, with none of the filth she sensed from others. No shameful desires or lecherous lust. With him, she felt… like an ordinary pretty girl beside a caring older brother.

He didn’t pester her. He spoke to her calmly and never pressed her. Even when he poured her tea, it was always warm instead of hot, just how Rei liked it. Most likely, Taro had simply noticed that she usually cooled the tea before drinking it.

In the student council rooms, Rei felt calm and comfortable. Unfortunately, her problem was just as bad as ever among strangers.

Yes, the third reason she was here was something utterly trivial: a little piece of advice from a demon she respected. Get something she wanted by facing her fears and pushing through difficulty. That was why Rei had waited until now to cast her spell to keep people from noticing her. She’d ordered her coffee with an enormous amount of milk without using any magic at all.

Rei agreed that if she hid herself away for good, she’d never grow. At least, not when it came to this problem. So she’d chosen this place today partly because it made an excellent latte. She’d wanted one, she’d gotten one, and now, savoring her “prize,” she felt the joy of a small victory. She’d been surrounded by complete strangers, but she’d done it. She’d even answered the barista almost normally!

For Rei, that was something to be proud of. It also made her respect Chiba Taro-san a little more.

“Slow down, Issei,” I say quietly. My classmate hears me perfectly well and eases his pace. “I know you want to impress Gremory-san, but your results will do that better than going at your training so frantically.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t talk. Watch your breathing.”

Hyoudou goes back to panting away at the training apparatus. I’m about to return to my meditation, but…

“Tsubasa-chan. Magic.” She’s lost control again and drawn on her demonic power.

“Tch. Damn it.” She knows what she’s done. Wincing, she steps back from the enchanted hunk of cast iron, as tall as she is and twice as thick as me.

My senpai on the disciplinary committee closes her eyes and breathes the way I taught her. She calms herself and steadies the flow of magic and qi through her body. Less than a minute later, Tsubasa-chan is hammering the cast-iron “training dummy” with her fists again. The blows ring out almost like bells, though the sound dies completely within five meters of her so it won’t disturb the guests sitting in on the lesson.

“Right arm. Pay attention to the minor loops.” That small hint is all she needs, and I finally sink into my own cultivation.

She’s driven, quick-witted, obedient, diligent, attentive. She isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, and she doesn’t waste time worrying about little things. She keeps working toward her goal. A treasure of a disciple. Any teacher would dream of one like her.

Yesterday, we finished putting the meridians in her upper body in order. Now, while we wait for the next session, she’s practicing her control over the flows of qi she’s learned to sense. Soon her body and energy channels will be in the right condition, and she’ll be a textbook practitioner at the middle levels of Spirit Awakening. Her skills, though, still need serious work.

Demons are physically stronger than humans, significantly so, but their innate magic is what gives their attacks, and much else besides, their full force. Until recently, that was what Tsubasa-chan relied on. She probably still controls it better than I do. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s good.

There are a few complications, though. Qi is a different kind of energy, so for now Tsubasa-chan is practicing with that alone and holding back her magic. Given how used she is to controlling demonic magic, she doesn’t always manage it perfectly. Still, getting started is the hard part. Just three hours into her first serious session, she hardly ever slips up, and her qi circulates with only the occasional serious hitch. I think another month to six weeks will bring her control of both energies up to a satisfactory level.

“Issei, finish the strength work, put on your bracelets, and run. Same as always: a hundred laps at a moderate pace, ten fast, then walk three to cool down.”

“Hai!” Behind me, a barbell crashes to the ground. There’s almost a note of relief in the sound. No wonder. Every piece of training equipment is enchanted to give even a demon a proper workout, so Issei has to put in real effort.

“Good work.” A little praise. He’s earned it.

“Thank you, Taro-san.” Well, there it is. The kid’s genuinely happy.

I’ve been lucky in this life. Yeah. Lucky. The peerage I belong to is made up mostly of beautiful girls, something I used to dream about back in the early days of my reincarnation saga. And now that I’ve had a taste of being part of such pleasant company, I’m quite happy with it. I’d much rather look at beautiful women than at men. On that point, I even agree with Issei, who’s in a permanent state of delight with his life these days.

And my living arrangements… What new disciple in a cultivator sect or clan could expect anything like this? A house of my own and workshops. Wonderful! I’d have to be born into the immediate family of a sect or clan leader, or one of the elders, to count on that. And even then, if my seniors believed that “everyone must earn their own way,” I’d have to claw those privileges out for myself. Here, it’s all ready and waiting.

I could even hire servants. But grateful as I am to House Sitri, I prefer the people under me to be MY OWN. Loyal in body and soul. You can find people like that and earn their loyalty… or you can create them. Which is what I’m doing now.

Resources… mmm… probably the most important thing to a cultivator. I can get as much as I want. I gather most of it myself, with permission from the head of House Sitri to hunt on the lands he controls. I try not to wipe out every living thing just to cram more goodies into my treasury. I take what I need and a little extra for later. No point getting greedy.

If I can’t find something in the forests or mountains, I ask Sona-san. It’s a little awkward. I feel as though I’m begging for presents from either an auntie or a girl with a soft spot for me, but I can live with that. She wants the peerage to grow stronger, just as I do, and I’m getting results that justify the investment.

And last on my list, though hardly least important: disciples.

I’ll be blunt. There was a time when I couldn’t stand taking anyone on as a student. The problem was simple: I hadn’t figured out the most important question. What should a disciple be like?

The answer is simple: they must be self-motivated. Not pushed by a teacher or their family. A disciple needs a goal. That desire I’ve talked about more than once. The desire that becomes the backbone of their cultivation, the drive that pushes them onward along the Path. But it has to be… real.

Not something they’ve talked themselves into, not a passing impulse or a whim. It might have no reason behind it at all, yet still be solid as reinforced concrete. Unbreakable. It can’t give way when the rosy picture of becoming Great “on easy mode” cracks and crumbles to dust. It can’t vanish when a novice realizes they’ll have to bust their ass again and again on the way to the top.

I think that’s why humanity in cultivation worlds is divided into practitioners and mortals. Some have a REAL DESIRE to rise higher, overcome hardship, and, figuratively speaking, push through snow, rain, and howling winds toward their goal. Others don’t. Or they simply have no interest in cultivation itself.

Either way, there are thousands of ways for even a plowman’s son from a remote village at the edge of the world to become someone great. No resources, no teacher, no chance… or so it seems. But that isn’t true. It’s a lie. An excuse for the weak. The spineless. Those with no backbone.

I’ve met thousands of young men and women who found a way to cultivate despite everything. They didn’t have to sink into demonic filth, either. They became great practitioners in orthodox sects, followed righteous teachings, or walked dark paths.

I’ve also known plenty who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths and a golden shovel up their asses, yet stayed trash all their lives while their relatives dragged them upward. Sometimes the family sincerely wanted the best for their children. Other times they were trying to turn the refuse into something halfway palatable, something that wouldn’t disgrace their great family.

Some had nothing. Others had everything. But the real difference between them was whether they had… a Core Desire.

Martial practitioners never stop learning. They’re called cultivation worlds for a reason, aren’t they? After a few failures, I’d given up on taking disciples myself. Then one day I met a true disciple, who showed me another path. One of many. Difficult, but… enjoyable: the Path of Mentorship.

At first glance, the kid was nothing special. Not handsome, not a genius, not the scion of some fallen clan of great cultivators. Just a boy wearing himself out on a training ground he’d built with his own hands. Pounding crude makiwara, hanging around a shabby martial arts school, trying to snatch even the tiniest scrap of knowledge.

There was nothing epic about our meeting. I watched him humiliate himself praising some weak little piece of trash, dropping hints and talking around the point until the man got the idea that he ought to share the secrets of martial practitioners with his devoted admirer. And the boy succeeded. In confidence, the trash began sharing his wisdom… wisdom so pathetic that I let out a loud, braying laugh.

Naturally, the trash took offense and got indignant. And naturally, I kicked his ass.

I honestly liked the way the boy instantly found someone new to praise, right in front of the man he’d practically idolized a moment earlier. Shamelessly, brazenly, with a glorious lack of scruples, he started singing my praises.

A wonderful disciple. He had all the makings of a hypocritical champion of righteousness or an openly dark practitioner. Not all cultivators are like that, but there are plenty. A great many, in every world I’ve been reborn into.

I graciously took him on and enjoyed every minute of teaching the little shit. He worked himself to the bone, hung on my every word, fawned over me, and groveled. And I laughed and laughed when, after I lost a fight to another practitioner, the little bastard switched sides just as fast.

Just like that. Without missing a beat.

And he left with the man who’d beaten me. Naive, stupid, hardworking little jackal. I laughed as though I’d just seen the funniest thing in all the worlds. My promising young jackal was going off with a new teacher… who had nothing to teach him. My opponent’s “secret” to cultivation was an ancient inheritance he’d managed to obtain and absorb. Worthless, lucky trash. He could never have taught anyone, because his Path was a road for one person alone: the Path of Luck. Nothing more.

But I never forgot how I’d felt. The satisfaction and pride of watching that larva of a practitioner soak up my knowledge like a sponge and become something beautiful and powerful. I feel it now, too. More with Issei, oddly enough, and less with Tsubasa.

Still, both of these demons show promise. The perverted kid shows persistence worth admiring. He whines and complains, but he does the work. I don’t force him.

During his first training session, he collapsed on the ground and said, “I can’t do any more.” I just clicked my tongue in contempt. He looked up at me, and I shook my head. “If it’s too hard for you, don’t come back.”

He lay there for a couple of minutes. Then he got up and continued exercising. I acted as if nothing had happened. That’s how it’s been ever since: I give Issei as much work as he can handle, and he keeps at it. He may not grit his teeth and work in silence, but he does the work. That’s what matters.

Tsubasa looks more promising… but she doesn’t feel quite as driven as the kid who dreams of sucking on tits. I don’t know why. Issei tells anyone who’ll listen that his main goal is a harem. But that’s bullshit. I know, and by now he knows too, that he doesn’t need to work this hard to get one. I told him as much. Even shared a few perfectly workable ideas that would have him tumbling into bed with girls every night. Did anything change?

No! Hyoudou still comes to my house in the Underworld every other day and whines, complains, moans, but keeps working on himself. Today, though, he’s showing remarkable restraint. I haven’t heard a single pitiful groan from him. I suspect that’s because Sona-san and Gremory-san are sitting beneath an umbrella at a small table in the corner of my training ground, discussing something.

A demonstration lesson, honestly.

The trouble is, for all my respect for my Mistress and regard for her friend, I know they can’t yet appreciate just how far Tsubasa-chan has come. I said she seems less passionate about her Path than Issei, but my disciple is remarkable. A natural talent in every sense.

The boy has drive, though for now it rests on one small, rather embarrassing dream of a harem. He wants to grow stronger, but he explains it only as a way to attract more attention from girls. Issei simply doesn’t understand himself yet. With Yura Tsubasa, it’s a little different.

Her drive is less obvious, but it’s far from weak, and it’s supported by more… meaningful, constructive motives. Her friendship with the girls, her respect for Sona-san, her wish to grow stronger so she can help and protect others. Not just the members of our peerage.

Tsubasa was strong even in middle school. Incredibly strong for a girl her age… ahem… probably stronger even than a grown man who took his fitness seriously.

She put that strength to use. She was a sort of neighborhood enforcer. Like a character in some anime, she dealt with all kinds of trash, fought over turf, and even got mixed up with a few losers from the lower ranks of the yakuza.

She got lucky there, by the way. The man in charge of those degenerates chose not to escalate things. I couldn’t say why. He simply paid a “visit” to Tsubasa’s home, brought a cake, had tea with her dad, gave her mom flowers, and left. A subtle hint that, in the cruel adult world, no one would invite her to a showdown. Things would get much… dirtier.

Tsubasa took the hint. She accepted the rules of the game, too. That’s why, after she joined the Sitri peerage, the yakuza stopped maintaining a permanent presence in our city. They received a series of subtle hints of their own. The gangsters weren’t causing House Sitri any trouble. It was done simply to make Tsubasa happy.

But her first encounter with demons came after she’d already tangled with the supernatural. Nothing from a powerful faction—just the minor supernatural creatures you sometimes find on Earth. Evil spirits, little monsters, that sort of thing.

Tsubasa’s story here in Kuoh was something plenty of writers of schoolkid heroes couldn’t have dreamed up. Only without any Moon Prisms. The girl just… got into fucking fights. There’s no other way to put it. She traded blows with monsters, washed the blood off in secluded places, wrapped herself in bandages, and came home covered in bruises and wearing torn clothes.

She became a demon less for the incredibly long life than to help ordinary people and, in a way, out of gratitude to House Sitri. After the peerages of Sona-san and Rias Gremory-san arrived in Kuoh, they quickly cleaned up the city, kicking out the riffraff before they could stir up trouble and interfere with the heiresses’ affairs.

Meanwhile, Sona-san noticed how extraordinarily strong Tsubasa was. A couple of frank conversations, a promise of power, and opportunities for the girl and her family were enough for Tsubasa, who didn’t know much about Christianity, to become a demon. My disciple told me, by the way, that before joining, she’d learned most of what she knew about Western “mythology” from anime and manga. Given how modern authors “romanticize” all sorts of supernatural creatures, it’s hardly surprising that the picture she’d formed was a long way from the descriptions in religious texts.

In any case, things worked out well, I think with a satisfied nod. Especially for me. By making Tsubasa-chan stronger, I get to enjoy the progress of a worthy disciple and show my Mistress that her investment in me is more than justified.

“Taro-kun, could you come over?” Sona-san raises her voice only slightly, but my hearing is sharp. I surface from my light meditation, rise from the lotus position, and head toward the table where the heiresses of two Great Houses are having tea.

From the snippets of conversation I’ve overheard, I gather they’ve been discussing my tea, among other things. My Mistress has already asked whether I can increase production. Gremory-san’s polite siege—and Himejima-san’s in particular, as she’s more persistent while remaining unfailingly courteous—has gone on for quite some time. The members of the Occult Research Club have no intention of giving up.

Supplying the Great House of Gremory—even if it’s only the heiress’s peerage—sounds promising. I grin inwardly, keeping an expression of utmost respect on my face as I bow in greeting.

“This humble servant has come at the call of his Brilliant Mistress.”

Oh, Nine Heavens, Sona-san is adorable when she gets flustered. Even more adorable is her attempt to hide it from her red-haired childhood friend. I’m a sinner: I’ll never tire of making my Mistress’s lovely face blush. The sight is simply too delightful.

In the hours before dawn, I enter the kitchen cautiously and survey the room that gets raided every night.

It’s still stuffing its face, I note silently as I look inside the kitchen cupboard. What I say aloud is quite different.

“Oh, she ate it all! What a wonderful appetite the little one has.” I give my voice just the right notes of delight and affection.

Just because you can’t see the UFT—that unknown fucking thing in the shape of a sweet, harmless little girl—doesn’t mean the monster isn’t here. Maybe I simply can’t sense it. It could be hiding anywhere. It could even be standing right behind me.

Without making any sudden movements, I look around… No one.

Thank you for your mercy, esteemed Leviathan-sama, I think with a sigh of relief.

Everything seems to be going well: three Fallen Angels are languishing in the slammer; Asia, growing more thoughtful by the day, has gone on another nighttime trip to Earth with Momo; my disciple is absorbing my teachings; Sona-san delights me with her signature blush; and Issei dutifully comes over to clean… Bliss!

I’ve reforged my bo properly, too, infusing it with my qi until it’s almost a mystical-rank weapon, according to the classification system I put together. It’s no Ruyi Jingu Bang*, but it’s a worthy weapon now. Eventually, I hope to find the right components and make the bo truly capable of changing shape. I want a good transforming weapon: a fighting staff, a guandao, nunchaku, a feigou… And yes, I’ve wanted for ages to shout “GROW!” and drop eight tons of metal onto some piece of trash’s head. A fine, constructive ambition for any boy who’s lived several thousand years.

Wonderful prospects, marred by only two things. First, the lack of a real challenge. And that matters. I won’t start spouting fashionable twenty-first-century talk about “stepping outside your comfort zone,” but fighting holds an important place in a martial artist’s life. Sure, some practitioners have attained Immortality without ever raising a weapon against anyone… but that’s an incredibly tedious Path. I’ve tried it. It’s decidedly not for me.

Still, I’m hardly discouraged. The supernatural community in this world isn’t exactly friendly, and most of its members live a long time and have excellent prospects for growing stronger. Sona-san’s peerage is only at the beginning of its journey. I’m sure my Mistress—and, by extension, I—will face more than one genuine opponent down the road. Raynare and her Fallen Angels were just small fry, from what I can tell. A band of insignificant losers whose own side threw them away. If they’d mattered, the feathered lot wouldn’t have been handed over “as an apology” just to keep things from escalating.

Oh well. I didn’t get a proper fight, but I did let off steam by beating the shit out of Raynare. Granted, I wrecked the church, but I have an excuse: that black hen pisses me off more than any lucky MC. At least those bastards have the strength to back up their arrogance, or some ancient treasures stashed away. The Sitori Group will rebuild it. They’ll get a boost to their reputation among ordinary people, the Church will get a well-built new church in place of a decrepit ruin, the Fallen got rid of their deadweight, and I’ll soon have servants. Everyone comes out ahead except Raynare.

So the first drawback is temporary. That leaves the second.

And the second is the clearest proof that the first isn’t really a drawback at all, just the “low difficulty setting in the starting zone”: the UFT girl. That unknown fucking thing devours the sweets I leave out every night without fail… like a peasant leaving an offering for some dragon out of a fairy tale. Except dragons in European legends ate virgins, while my UFT munches on desserts.

“May it stay that way,” I say with a peaceful nod as I take out the ingredients for cooking.

I considered asking Sona-san about the mysterious little girl, but my intuition whispered that I shouldn’t. And I trust my gut, especially in matters like this. You should keep your distance from creatures like that. But since it’s latched onto me, I’m getting off lightly if all it takes is sweets. It’s no trouble to make them, either, and I can meditate while I cook.

“Right, I’m running low on sugar…” I’ll have to buy some.

Servants really would make life easier. At the very least, someone could keep the fridge stocked, the house clean, and the garden beds tended. Besides, Gremory-san and I had a productive talk, and Chiba Taro’s “tea plantations” will soon be expanding. As a practitioner, I’ll need to spend only an hour a week tending them, with the right formation in place. But someone will still have to do the work by hand. Surely I’m not expected to keep breaking my back? So Gremory-san will have to wait a little while for my Fallen to “ripen.” The president of the Occult Research Club has already agreed.

“Hmm…” I turn to get the flour and spot a sack.

A big one. Twenty kilos. The large label, printed in bold Japanese characters, says it contains the very sugar I’m running out of. So the sack “came” from Earth. Except… ten seconds ago, it wasn’t here.

“What a pleasant surprise,” I say with a broad smile as herds of goosebumps stampede down my back.

My cultivator’s paranoia was right: the adorable little girl is somewhere nearby. Watching me with those expressive eyes of hers. Possibly with that mask of idiocy on her face. Monster…

“I’ll have to put in extra effort for such a good little helper.” The herds of goosebumps move to my butt cheeks and begin full-scale military exercises.

I think I’ll make a little dish of chocolate mousse today as well… No, a bucket. The monster must be fed. The monster must understand that if the wonderful Chiba Taro is no longer among the living, it won’t get any more treats.

Yes, that’s how it works. There’s some incredibly powerful something that, for reasons of its own, chooses to look peculiar. Enlightenment, a screw loose, or whatever else—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that, for beings like that, certain little things become essential to their comfort. Sometimes it’s downright absurd. Take a pleasant old man in a straw hat and simple trousers worn through at the knees, happily tending his vegetable garden. Damage his beds, and he goes berserk.

One second, he couldn’t care less about the fucked-up things happening around him: rampant violence, horrific atrocities. But let some fool crush the old gardener’s favorite little tomato, and his eyes bulge with fury. He rips open his striped shirt—figuratively speaking—and unleashes the Apocalypse on the fools’ asses.

So I’ve decided to become—or at least try to become—a little garden patch for this monstrously powerful child gardener. And that something really is powerful.

Anyone with half a brain and a decent eye for detail would notice the little things screaming danger in my case. First, the “girl” moved at an unnatural speed. She’s only shown it once, but I didn’t make the stupid mistake of telling myself I’d imagined it. Second, she bypasses every system meant to warn me of intruders.

Demonic magic or qi—it makes no difference to her. Spells and arrays simply don’t register the “girl.” Even the complex, fairly powerful formation I set up recently failed to detect the intruder who raids my kitchen cupboard for sweets every night. Which means… the UFT knows its way around both demonic magic and practitioners’ constructs.

And third, I can’t sense her at all. I don’t feel her attention on me, and that’s the most basic of a cultivator’s senses. I can’t detect her as a living being. I can only see or hear her. And even hearing is a stretch. I hear her chewing with gusto, sure, but I can’t hear a heartbeat.

So something very powerful drops by for tea every night, playing some fascinating game of its own. And… let it continue. First, my gut keeps warning me to keep the UFT business within these walls. Second, as the great wisdom of ancient practitioners tells us: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! It’s cheaper to keep feeding the monster.

Little girls are terrifying, I think with a nod to myself, continuing to cook with the sunny smile of a dopey anime big brother fixed on my face.

Author’s Note:

* Ruyi Jingu Bang is Sun Wukong’s weapon.