The man nodded heavily, his expression weighed down by guilt. As Yukiori's father, he was the first to sense those desire-laden gazes lingering on his son.
Now, the situation had spiraled beyond control…
He was no worthy father. He had brought Yukiori into this world, and he didn't blame his son for the trouble that followed. He only cursed his own powerlessness, unable to shield Yukiori, forcing his son to bear the sacrifice.
"Father…"
Yukiori lowered his gaze to his mother, sobbing softly in his arms, then picked up the dagger from the floor.
Its blade glinted coldly, reflecting his jade-green eyes.
He didn't want his parents to suffer, nor did he wish his presence to twist the villagers—his elders, his friends—into strangers. If ruining this face could fix it…
Steeling himself, Yukiori drew the dagger toward his cheek. The sharp edge sliced his snow-white skin, leaving a crimson mark.
Blood dripped onto the floor, blooming like a scarlet flower across his face.
"You foolish child! Do you know what you're doing?"
"He's trying to destroy Yukiori!"
"We can't let him!"
Unbeknownst to them, the house was now surrounded, villagers crowding the doorway.
The village chief, uncles, and even Grandpa Tayama, whom Yukiori knew well, surged forward, their eyes bloodshot with fervor.
They seized the dagger from Yukiori's hand, encircling him, their hateful glares fixed on his father.
Yukiori stepped back in fear but stopped—there was nowhere to go. Even his mother had been pushed to the outer edge of the mob.
His pleading eyes sought his father.
"Father…"
"You don't deserve to be Yukiori's father! Do you know what you've done?"
"They deserve to burn!"
A voice from the crowd sparked the cry, instantly echoed by others. Soon, the mob roared in unison, demanding the parents' death by fire.
"No, please, don't!"
Yukiori reached out, trying to push through the frenzied villagers, but they blocked him, their bodies a wall.
He watched his father cradle his trembling mother, both aging decades in an instant.
Yukiori, untested by hardship, didn't know what to do. He only knew he should kneel, beg these once-familiar uncles and aunts to spare his parents.
But as he raised his head, their faces twisted, monstrous and grotesque in his eyes.
They…
They were consumed by a cursed spirit.
Greed and desire fueled its growth, the spirit gorging on the villagers' malevolent thoughts.
Yukiori's knuckles whitened as he clutched his clothes, lips bitten silent, fearing the vile creature would notice him.
"Yukiori, protect yourself. You must live."
His parents clung to each other as flames erupted, swallowing their bodies, leaving only thick smoke.
"He's a gift from the gods."
"Yukiori must be the happiest child in the world."
"May Yukiori find happiness."
"… "
"Yukiori."
A creaking, grating sound, like rusted joints grinding, echoed. A massive cursed spirit crouched on the rooftop, its black eyes glaring.
Its voice slithered closer, softly calling Yukiori's name.
Yet it didn't harm the trembling boy. Instead, it reached with slimy tendrils, as if to caress his face.
"Please, don't come closer… I'm scared…"
Yukiori shielded his face, curling back desperately.
Still a youth, he couldn't fathom how his lifelong neighbors had turned monstrous, why they'd become cursed spirits, or why his parents had perished in flames.
"Yukiori… don't… be afraid."
Even the cursed spirit seemed unwilling to hurt him. Born from the village's obsession with Yukiori, it sought to comfort him, to no avail.
"Love is the most twisted curse of all."
…
A lavish caravan traveled the mountain path. The lead man, spotting flames and sensing a cursed spirit's presence, turned to the youth in the sedan. "Lord Momoto, there's a cursed spirit ahead."
"… "
"Then let's take a look."
The area seemed settled enough, and aiding might pose no trouble—perfect for a brief rest.
With that, the youth in the sedan parted the gauze with a fan and stepped down.
Dressed in the era's finest noble attire, his long black hair cascaded over his shoulders, his features strikingly handsome.
The group passed through the eerily silent village, its stillness heavy with death.
They reached a house engulfed in flames, where villagers knelt in a circle, their final expressions frozen in fervent, crazed smiles.
Momoto Ichi surveyed the scene calmly. "No one's left alive. Eliminate the cursed spirit."
As he prepared to act, a stifled sob and an odd sound came from within the house—emanating from the circle of corpses.
Momoto waved his attendants forward.
The moment he saw the cursed spirit, his brow furrowed. He'd never encountered a newly born spirit so powerful. What had happened in this village?
Fortunately, for Momoto, it was a fleeting threat. After dispatching the spirit, he sought the source of the other sound.
Then, his robe was gently tugged.
Momoto looked down, and his breath caught at a face he'd never forget.
Those lively jade eyes pulled at his heart, drawing him in entirely.
"Please, save me."
That single plea struck Momoto like a thunderbolt.
He understood now why this village had birthed such a colossal cursed spirit. Desire and greed in human hearts were the perfect breeding ground.
As a sorcerer, Momoto steadied himself, shielding Yukiori and channeling cursed energy to obliterate the spirit.
As the spirit dissolved into dark smoke, its fading voice carried a reluctant whisper.
"Yukiori… Yukiori…"
"Yukiori…"
"You are…"
Mine.