Chapter 11: Sacrifice
"Gin Tsumugi of the White Fox Office..."
Shinomiya Kaguya set down her phone and walked to the window.
She pushed it open, letting the cool night air spill into the room, then stood in silence, looking out over the vast grounds of the Shinomiya estate and beyond them to the glittering nightscape of Minato Ward. From this height, Tokyo looked tranquil. Refined. Distantly beautiful.
A lie, of course.
Her gaze slowly dropped to her own arm.
On skin as pale and flawless as fine porcelain, there was a mark.
A crimson demon's head.
It had been branded into her flesh so vividly that it looked less like a scar and more like something alive, as if the thing would open its eyes and grin at her if she stared too long. Usually, it remained hidden beneath long sleeves, carefully concealed from the world. But now, with the fabric pushed back, the hateful mark was exposed in full.
And it was growing brighter.
Bit by bit, the color deepened, pulsing with a faint, unsettling vitality that made the already grotesque image look even more unnatural.
"Damnable thing..."
The perfect composure on Shinomiya Kaguya's face cracked.
As she stared at the mark, she saw not just the brand itself, but the shadow behind it, the thing that had placed it there. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the window frame until her knuckles turned white. Anger flashed through her eyes, followed by hatred, fear, and a fury so sharp it bordered on humiliation.
As the eldest daughter of the Shinomiya Group, she was also a member of the Supernatural Exchange Group.
Her handle there was Four Leaf Clover.
More than that, she was one of its oldest members. In fact, she and the Group Leader had founded it together.
To the others, the purpose of the group was simple enough. Mutual aid. Intelligence sharing. A place for people connected to the supernatural to gather close and survive together in an era of spiritual resurgence.
That was not entirely false.
But it was not the real reason, either.
The true purpose behind the group's creation had been far more selfish and far more desperate.
Shinomiya Kaguya had wanted to use every connection, every fragment of information, every potentially useful person she could gather to solve the supernatural incident that had trapped her.
The incident branded into her arm.
The red demon head.
That was the truth.
She, Shinomiya Kaguya, was not standing above the nightmare.
She was inside it.
A terrifying existence had marked her long ago and turned her into a sacrifice, something to be devoured sooner or later. The crimson demon head on her arm was proof of ownership, a sign carved into her body to declare that she already belonged to it.
Every time she thought about it, rage rose in her chest.
To be raised like livestock.
To be preserved not out of mercy, but because something intended to feast on her later.
That humiliation gnawed at her pride with relentless cruelty.
She had invited people from the Onmyo Bureau.
She had invited people from the Onmyo Alliance.
Not once, but several times.
Each time, the answer had been the same.
They could do nothing.
Powerless.
That word alone had nearly driven her into despair.
Of course, the curse was not without its twisted advantages.
The kinds of danger Kurazaki Fuko spoke about in the group meant little to Shinomiya Kaguya now. Since she had already been chosen as the offering of a far more dreadful existence, lesser monsters avoided her instinctively. None of them dared touch what had already been claimed.
Until the day she was finally devoured, she was, in a sense, absolutely safe.
But the cost of that safety was intolerable.
Even if she never died by some random supernatural incident, what meaning did survival have if she had to live as prey penned up in advance?
Her dignity refused to accept that.
That was why the Supernatural Exchange Group existed.
It was a form of resistance.
A stubborn, private struggle.
And, perhaps, the smallest sliver of hope that some miracle might yet appear.
So far, however, the group had offered no real help at all.
In the end, she could only rely on herself.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound snapped her out of her thoughts.
Shinomiya Kaguya took a slow breath and smoothed out her expression. By the time she turned away from the window, the turbulence in her face had vanished. Once again, she wore her usual cold, immaculate calm.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Her personal maid, Hayasaka Ai, stepped inside.
With her striking features and delicate beauty, softened by the quarter Irish blood in her veins, Hayasaka looked elegant even in the simplest movements. She crossed the room quietly, carrying herself with the practiced grace of someone who had long since become indispensable to this household.
"Eldest Miss," she said carefully, "what time are we leaving for Kyoto tomorrow? For Fushimi Inari Taisha."
She set a cup of coffee before Kaguya and gently stirred it, though her caution was obvious.
Hayasaka knew very well that every trip to Fushimi Inari Taisha put Kaguya in a foul mood.
She also knew why.
Only the shrine's special barrier could temporarily interfere with the mark on her arm and conceal it from the thing that had branded her. Every visit was nothing more than a temporary reprieve. A retreat. A postponement of the inevitable.
Anyone forced into that situation would be bitter.
Kaguya's eyes lowered slightly.
"Fushimi Inari Taisha..."
She repeated the name under her breath.
Then something shifted in her expression.
A clear, firm resolve flashed across her eyes.
This time, she had no intention of running.
"Ai," she said, "we're not going to Fushimi Inari Taisha tomorrow."
Hayasaka froze.
The spoon slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a sharp metallic clang.
"Eldest Miss!"
Her composure almost broke.
"Only the barrier at Fushimi Inari Taisha can temporarily hide the mark on your body. If you don't go, it will trace the mark straight here. When that happens, you might—"
Before she could finish, Kaguya cut her off.
"It would only mean being devoured."
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
But her eyes were brighter than Hayasaka had seen in a long time, bright with the kind of determination that made it obvious this was not a passing impulse. Shinomiya Kaguya had already made up her mind.
Hayasaka understood that better than anyone.
She had grown up at Kaguya's side. She knew her habits, her pride, her stubbornness, the way she carried herself when a choice had already been made beyond recall.
Ordinarily, once Kaguya decided something, arguing was pointless.
But this was not ordinary.
Hayasaka drew in a breath, already preparing to invoke Shinomiya Ganan, the head of the Shinomiya Group and Kaguya's father, hoping his name might still change something.
Kaguya saw it coming immediately.
"I'll explain it to Father myself."
Her tone left no room for discussion.
Then she opened a drawer in her desk, pulled out a list, and handed it to Hayasaka.
"For the next few days, your job is to invite as many of the people on this list as possible."
Hayasaka took it and looked down.
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
The list was filled with names.
Onmyoji from supernatural offices.
Members of the Twelve Divine Generals of the Onmyo Bureau.
Members of the Twelve Heavenly Generals of the Onmyo Alliance.
Every single one was a significant figure.
None of them were people who could be invited lightly.
Then Kaguya hesitated for the briefest moment before adding, "Include Gin Tsumugi of the White Fox Office as well."
Hayasaka looked up.
But Kaguya had already turned her gaze back toward the night outside.
"I understand, Eldest Miss."
She did understand.
Almost immediately, in fact.
Kaguya was gathering force.
Gathering capable people.
Not to flee.
Not to delay.
But to confront the existence behind the mark.
Even so, one concern remained.
Would this work?
Or would it simply provoke something even worse?
Hayasaka did not voice that thought. She merely bowed slightly, accepted the order, and withdrew from the room.
After the door closed, Shinomiya Kaguya stood alone again.
She raised her eyes to the bright moon hanging over the city and spoke so softly that only the night itself could hear her.
"I won't run this time."
.....
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