"Come on… is your face and that golden thing truly worth more than your own life?
I don't always take things myself… everyone gives them to me, eventually.
You'll do the same."
Kirihito's patience was wearing thin.
His hiss split the hush of Fukaki Forest, sharp as cracking bone. His mouth opened impossibly wide, lips trembling, curved fangs wet with venom dripping like black rain. Black veins climbed from his neck to his cheek, blooming like bruised lilies.
Devil mode.
His strange, unearthly beauty vanished — leaving something ancient, raw, reptilian.
The cloaked figure swallowed hard, breath catching in his burning throat. The living black hair wrapped around him — binding his arms, chest, even ankles like iron‑coiled snakes. He couldn't even lift a talisman.
"Agh… I should really think about saving my own life first… no one's coming… not now…"
Panic fluttered under his ribs, but submission bled in.
Hands trembling, he let his hood fall.
Dark gray hair spilled free, tied in a ponytail bound with a black‑and‑gold crown. At the crown's edge: the Lanxie clan's golden flame crest, catching the pale moonlight.
Kirihito tilted his blindfolded face, head cocked — curious, inhuman. The white snake at his throat stirred, tongue flicking, as if to taste the figure's fear.
Inside, the figure's thoughts tangled like twisted talisman threads:
"His curse is strange… it doesn't drive me mad like other special‑grade yokai… no visible curse energy, yet I can't move…
Surely he's from a Soul Garden… but which? Thousands of small ones, or the cursed top five?
And what even is he…? Not fully human, not beast, not child, not pure yokai — something between…"
Kirihito's voice lashed out, childlike yet sharp as broken glass:
"I didn't even cut your throat yet and you're already speechless? Speak — or I will cut it off… then watch insects eat you alive."
The figure flinched, breath trembling against the living chains of hair.
He swallowed, then spoke — voice hoarse, but softer :
"L‑look, black snake… it wouldn't be fair.
I show you my face… give you this golden thing… but you won't show your beautiful eyes, or even tell me your name… or your garden.
So… let's play a little game.
I'll gift you my ugly face… and the golden thing. You let me see your eyes — even for a moment.
Your beauty is worth far more… so maybe I could gift you something more: rubies, flowers, fruits… or come play guqin for you… teach you, even…"
As he spoke, he tried to slip the golden object deeper into his robe.
Kirihito's jaw twitched. Venom dripped anew, hiss slicing the quiet.
"My eyes are covered — but that doesn't mean I don't see where your hand goes…"
The figure froze, caught in black‑silk chains, sweat cold on his skin.
"I‑it's nothing… your grip is too tight… I was just adjusting…"
A single drop of sweat traced his collarbone.
Kirihito's blindfolded head tilted, as if he watched where it slid, curious in a way that felt alien, almost childlike.
The figure's heart hammered:
"He even watches where sweat goes…"
Kirihito's venom‑wet lips parted, tongue flicking, but he pulled back to speak — low, cracked, suspicious:
"What if… you are a pretty liar?
Words sweet as rotting fruit…"
"N‑no… it's not a lie. You can believe me…"
"Every insect says that. Tell me something different."
Desperation bled into poetry:
"It's… it's like the sea and sand… even when waves pull away, they return at last, called by the moon. Belief and truth are like that… separate names, but the same in the end."
Kirihito's breath slowed. Shoulders lowered slightly. He listened — still doubtful, but curious.
Then, for the first time, voice cracked but true, Kirihito spoke of himself:
"The only thing I remember is my name: Kirihito. I gave myself the surname Orohana. I don't know which Soul Garden I belong to. I hate humans… lustful insects… especially women… and real insects. I like pretty things… dragon fruits… music… dances… hearts beating under skin…"
His fangs hovered at the figure's neck — so close the man felt the heat of breath.
"So he really might be from a top cursed Soul Garden… dangerous…"
The figure risked a soft reply, voice a trembling string of a broken guqin:
"That's… very you, Kiri…"
"Hito. Kirihito," Kirihito corrected, venom biting in his tone.
"Is even my name too complicated for you?
I hate those who forget me easily… friend or victim alike."
The black veins pulsed. Inside, Kirihito's own thoughts, sharp as fangs:
"Insects aren't believable… they always come back to feed, even after running… Yet… he speaks differently. I hate it… yet I'm still listening instead of squeezing until death…"
Frustration bled through the figure's fear. He raised one trembling hand, bound by Kirihito's living hair — desperate to calm him.
Kirihito froze. Blindfolded gaze locked on that hand. The white snake hissed — warning.
In Kirihito's mind, the silent language burned:
Face → curiosity. Lips → desire, flirt. Back of head → pure, honest. Hips or lower → lust alone. Eyes → something deeper, wordless.
The figure hesitated — then, misreading, let his hand drift lower… toward Kirihito's hips.
Kirihito's breath caught, hiss rose sharp as a whip:
"LIAR! I KNEW IT!"
His mouth opened fully, fangs flashing.
Venom dripping.
The figure barely gasped before pain exploded.
[ End of Chapter 39 ]