Yukiori donned the new clothes delivered by the tailor—a pristine white kimono adorned with silver embroidery, its elegance evident at a glance.
"It suits you perfectly."
Momoto Ichi stood nearby, his eyes filled only with Yukiori's figure.
"You're too kind to me, my lord."
Even after all this time, Momoto's favoritism left Yukiori flustered, touched by the attention.
"Yukiori, you deserve all the finest things."
I'll place them before you myself. Momoto kept those words unspoken, their deeper meaning lost on Yukiori.
True to his word, Momoto cared for Yukiori meticulously, down to the smallest details of food and clothing.
As a sorcerer, he often left to deal with cursed spirits, but in rare moments of respite, he'd return to sit quietly with Yukiori in the courtyard, sharing tea.
Few words passed between them, yet the silence wove a quiet familiarity.
When idle, Yukiori often sat on a stone by the courtyard's pond, staring into the water, legs hugged close as he watched fish glide.
Time dragged in confinement, and the estate's servants, always silent, grew stifling.
The elderly woman who cleaned never spoke to him, head bowed, trembling as if terrified when he tried to engage her.
How strange…
Was he so frightening?
His mother had said he was the most beautiful child in the world, that no one could dislike him.
Yes, they love you to death…
"… "
His silver hair cascaded like a waterfall, a strand dipping into the pond as Yukiori dangled his bare feet, rippling the surface.
It was autumn, the air chilly, the water colder still, prompting Yukiori to withdraw his feet.
Momoto, just returned, caught the scene.
His gaze softened, and he approached, stopping a step away. "It's cold out, and yet you're so playful."
"What if you catch cold?"
Yukiori turned, a trusting smile brightening his face. "But you're here, aren't you, my lord?"
To him, Momoto was invincible—his savior from peril, his provider of a safe, worry-free life.
Momoto paused, then mirrored Yukiori's smile, a flicker of shadow in his eyes.
"Yes, I'm here."
I'll always protect you, Yukiori.
Only I can protect you.
"… "
Dependence builds slowly, like this.
After just days apart, Yukiori found himself missing Momoto, worrying if he'd met danger while away.
But the servants offered no answers to his questions.
Confined to the courtyard, Yukiori sensed something amiss but pushed the thought away.
Momoto was so kind—his care, his provisions, his companionship flawless.
The unease he felt never came from Momoto.
When Yukiori realized he'd doubted his savior, guilt surged, deepening his trust in Momoto.
…
Everyone knew Sorcerer Momoto had found some treasure. He rushed back to his estate whenever free, forsaking even sake, sparking rumors among his peers.
Among sorcerers, Momoto Ichi's name stood out. Young and gifted, he might not yet rival the seasoned elders, but surpassing them was only a matter of time.
In a decade, he could claim the title of chief sorcerer.
Yet sorcerers competed fiercely—power was a finite prize, and more for one meant less for another.
Momoto's backing by a prominent jujutsu clan shielded him from schemes.
"Momoto, found something precious, have you? Why not share it with us?"
The room held esteemed sorcerers, their interests entwined.
All eyes turned to Momoto, sipping sake, who deflected with a smile. "No treasure, just rumors."
"Rumors? I heard a stunning beauty resides in your home. Lost in a tender embrace every night, eh?" Laughter erupted. "We won't judge!"
The tavern roared with jest, the sorcerers all cut from the same cloth.
Momoto set down his cup, a glint of menace flashing in his lowered gaze.
Those wretched fools, always causing trouble.
It was obvious who'd spread these tales—his servants wouldn't dare breathe a word.
Lifting his head, Momoto's usual smile returned. "You've heard, then. I did take in a guest, a villager I saved while exorcising a cursed spirit."
"Still so kind, Momoto."
The words carried a knowing edge.
Exorcising spirits was their noble pretext, but all was for status and power.
Momoto only smiled, silent. To his peers, he was a promising young sorcerer, kind to common folk.
But did they truly not know?
Know his true nature?
Returning late, Momoto saw the courtyard's lanterns still aglow. He tilted his head to the maid beside him. "Yukiori hasn't slept?"
"Young Master Yukiori said he'd wait for your safe return."
"Hm… you may go."
The maid retreated, head bowed lower in Momoto's presence.
Once she vanished, Momoto leaned against a bamboo stalk, chuckling softly.
Not yet. He needed to wait a little longer…
He wanted Yukiori's complete trust, his utter dependence.
From the moment he saw Yukiori, this was Momoto's desire—and he was succeeding.
"My lord, you're back!"
"Anything exciting happen today?"
Yukiori's mood lifted at Momoto's return. He scampered to his side, looking up eagerly.
Now fifteen, Yukiori's boyish features were sharpening, yet his face retained an androgynous allure.
"Isn't it late? Shouldn't you rest, my lord?"
Noticing Momoto's distraction, Yukiori's voice turned concerned.
"No, it's just… you seem to have grown taller."
Momoto reached out, ruffling Yukiori's hair.
Such intimacy had become routine between them.
Yukiori didn't resist, and Momoto's smile deepened.
Momoto was a patient wolf. If he could keep his true nature hidden, basking in this closeness, he'd play the part forever.