The Golden Cage of Yakaziku (Part 1)
The snow thinned as the three young wanderers pushed further from the village of scars, where they had buried their terror in blood and frost. The storm behind them still whispered the laughter of the Oni villain, but ahead lay something stranger—something dazzling.
They had walked for days, their freshly stitched clothes holding tight against the cold, the fabric smooth and new enough that it hid every tear from their brutal battle. The seamstress back in the small town had worked miracles with her thread, sewing their sorrow into garments that looked untouched. Still, every brush of the cloth reminded them of the pain beneath, and of what they had survived.
At last, the horizon turned to gold.
The sun struck the walls of Yakaziku, a city built from gilded stone and iron, shining with the arrogance of wealth. The gates rose high like dragon jaws, banners whipping with sigils of lotus and flame. But beyond its beauty lurked whispers—nobles striding the streets with jeweled sandals, spitting down at the beggars in the shadows, their laughter sharp as knives. This was not a city of warmth, but of display. A city that thrived by building its wealth on the backs of those who starved in silence.
Isshun tugged at his collar uneasily as they neared. "Something's wrong about this place. Feels... rotten." His human blood bristled under the gilded eyes of guards who prowled the gates.
Rūpu nodded, though his own horns marked him different enough that he could already feel the stares. Hanae, however, fidgeted in silence, her gaze never rising to meet theirs. Her sandals tapped nervously on the road, the bow at her back trembling with each step.
Still, the city blocked their path. Behind them stretched slums of starving peasants, the stink of sickness and poverty staining the air. Their stitched clothes would be ruined in an instant if they turned back through that mire, and so they had no choice. Forward into the gold.
At the gate, the Oni guards stopped them. Their eyes scanned Hanae, widening at the sight of her horns. They softened for Rūpu—an Oni-blood, still young enough to look harmless. But when their gaze fell on Isshun, their faces darkened.
"A human?" one spat, his voice heavy with disdain. "Not here. Not in Yakaziku. This city belongs to the blessed blood."
Isshun bristled, fingers twitching near his dagger. His pride burned, but before he could speak, Hanae stumbled forward, laughter bubbling nervously from her lips. "Ah—ah, no, you see—he's no human!" she chirped. "He's... ah... special. Isn't he, Rūpu?"
Rūpu blinked, caught off guard, but quickly nodded. "Yeah. A prank, you could say. He's just dressed this way for laughs."
The guards narrowed their eyes, unconvinced. That was when Hanae darted to Isshun's side, pulling a small pouch from her sash. With surprising grace, she smeared dark powder along his jaw, painted shadows under his eyes, and drew sharp lines curling up his forehead. She plucked small trinkets from her sleeves, fastening them to his hair until his silhouette shifted, faintly horn-like.
When she stepped back, Isshun no longer looked like a ragged human kid. He looked... Oni.
"See?" Hanae clapped her hands, forcing a smile. "Just a prank! You nobles do love jokes, don't you?"
The guards scoffed but waved them through, muttering curses under their breath. As the three passed into Yakaziku, Isshun leaned down to whisper, cheeks still burning. "A prank? You almost got me killed."
Rūpu smirked faintly, voice quiet. "Better a prank than the truth."
But inside, his heart tightened. Hanae's hands had trembled when she touched Isshun's face. She had laughed too loudly, her smile too stiff. Something was gnawing at her.
The streets of Yakaziku sprawled before them, a river of gold and filth. Mansions rose high, carved with dragons and cranes, while alleyways just beside them festered with beggars gnawing on scraps. Nobles passed in silken robes, their sandals never daring to touch dirt.
The three walked together, sticking close. Rūpu's horns drew stares, but Hanae's presence shielded him—her attire, her mannerisms, her laughter made the nobles treat her with cautious politeness, even respect. She was different here. The air seemed to bend around her.
And then the call came.
"Hanae-sama!"
The children froze. From the distance, a gilded carriage rolled forward, its wheels creaking under silken banners. From its windows peered attendants, their eyes wide, their mouths trembling with relief. Oni nobles stepped out, bowing deeply.
"My princess," one said, voice quivering. "Your parents have searched for you for so long. Princess Hanae—welcome home."
Isshun's jaw dropped. Rūpu stiffened, blinking hard. Hanae's face went pale.
"Princess?" Rūpu whispered.
Her laugh broke, sharp and shaky. "Ah-ha... well... yes. I suppose... I forgot to mention."
Her eyes darted to the side, fear flickering beneath her forced cheer.
The attendants bowed deeper, beckoning her forward. Hanae's hands curled into fists, her sandals scraping against the golden cobblestone. Her face twisted—not with joy, not with relief, but with dread.
"Please," one attendant begged, "your parents are waiting. Come home to the mansion."
Isshun frowned, tugging at her sleeve. "What's wrong? Why didn't you tell us?"
But Hanae only shook her head, lips trembling. "I... couldn't."
They had no choice. The guards ushered them into the gilded mansion of Yakaziku's ruling Oni family. The palace glimmered like a shrine to wealth, floors polished so clean they reflected their faces. Servants bowed at every corner. And yet, Hanae walked stiff as stone, her shoulders trembling with every step.
Rūpu stayed close, confusion clawing at him. He wanted to ask, to demand answers. Why would someone like Hanae—wealthy, noble, royal—be wandering the roads with rags and laughter, pretending to be homeless? Why would she tremble at the very thought of her family?
But he stayed silent.
For the first time, he felt that his horns, his sorrow, his curse were not the heaviest weight among them. Hanae was hiding something—and it was heavier than gold.
The storm behind them had passed, but within the golden walls of Yakaziku, a new storm was brewing.
The Curse of Golden Blood (Part 2)
The mansion of Yakaziku's rulers shimmered like a cage of jade and gold. Its painted walls sang of wealth, its lanterns glowed with luxury, and the laughter of nobles echoed through its decorated halls. Yet beneath that beauty lived something foul—an ugliness the gilded walls could not cover.
For a day, Rūpu, Isshun, and Hanae were fed, dressed, and entertained like honored guests. The servants laid out platters of delicate sushi, golden rice, roasted fish glazed with honey, and enough sweets to drown a child's hunger. The nobles bowed stiffly, offering false smiles at Hanae's return. For Isshun and Rūpu, it was overwhelming—this life of silk and silence.
But even as she laughed with them, Hanae's face never lit up. Her bow sat heavy on her back, her smile cracked at the edges, and her laughter carried the tremble of fear. Rūpu noticed. Every word, every gesture of hers was painted over with unease.
When night fell, the truth began to seep into the cracks of the golden city.
Earlier that day, the three wandered the streets of Yakaziku under watchful guards. They walked past shrines carved from marble, fountains spilling gold coins instead of water, and endless nobles dressed in silks so bright they seemed to blind the sun. But in the shadows, starving peasants stretched their bony arms, begging for scraps. No one looked at them. Children gnawed on stones just to silence their hunger.
Rūpu's fists clenched. He wanted to stop, to help. He wanted to hand the poor what little they had. But the whispers from passing nobles froze his blood. "If you feed the rats, you will be punished. That is the law of Yakaziku."
Isshun muttered under his breath, anger shaking his words. "They treat them worse than animals..."
Yet they walked on. To intervene was death. To pity the poor was to invite execution. That law was ancient, written in Yakaziku's bones.
That night, while sitting in the mansion's library, Rūpu uncovered the legend behind the law. The text was old, its pages stained with ink and salt. It told of a witch—an Oni figure of terrible crimson and cruel power. She had stalked Yakaziku's ancestors during their journey to find the land of paradise. They called her Hanae.
She had cursed them with plagues, struck their caravans with fire, and promised that if they ever reached paradise, she would destroy it. The ancestors fought her in a battle that shattered mountains. In the end, they claimed victory, but the witch spat her curse with her final breath:
"I will return, reincarnated among your blood. You will love me, but you will hate me more. And when my despair blooms, I will bring your paradise to ruin."
The book described how each royal descendant carried fear of her name. And when the new princess was born... with the same name as the witch, the family had trembled.
Rūpu's hands shook as he read. His throat went dry. Hanae. Their Hanae.
Later, unable to sleep, Rūpu crept through the halls. He moved toward the kitchen, stomach growling for rice and fish, but then—he heard it.
A muffled sound. Whimpers. A slap.
He froze. Following the noise, he slipped behind a door, pressing his eye to a crack in the frame.
What he saw made his heart cave.
Hanae knelt on the floor, her face swollen, her purple kimono torn. Her "family"—those nobles who had greeted her with false smiles—stood above her, striking her with cruel precision.
"You carry her name," one hissed.
"You carry her curse," another spat.
"Do not think you are princess—you are her shadow!"
They kicked her ribs. They dragged her by the hair. They cursed her as witch-born, as ruin reborn.
Rūpu's nails cut his palm. Every muscle screamed to run in, to draw his blade, to end their cruelty. But reason froze him. If he acted now, he would be executed, locked away, and his friends would fall with him. He was powerless.
Tears stung his eyes as he turned away, hiding his aura so the guards wouldn't sense him. His body shook as he walked, the sound of Hanae's sobs burning in his ears.
Now he knew. Now he understood why Hanae laughed too loudly, why her hands trembled when she spoke of family, why she ran from home in rags. Her scars were not from wandering, not from hunger. They were carved into her by her own blood.
His ribs split with grief. He had brought her back here. He had delivered her to the hands of her tormentors.
Hours later, lying in his guest room, he heard it again. A sound—this time not of pain, but of sorrow.
He slipped to the window and saw Hanae beneath the night sky. She stood in the garden alone, the bow at her back drooping, her sandals wet with dew. Her tears glittered in the moonlight as she wept into her sorrow.
Her cry was no longer muffled. It was raw, a howl that shook the silence. And as she wept, dawn broke. The first morning of spring painted the snow green.
Her tears mixed with the rising light. And Rūpu stood there in silence, his own heart heaving, his own eyes drowning. He wanted to run to her. He wanted to tell her she was not cursed, not evil, not alone. But he stayed hidden, his nails clawing the wood of the frame, afraid that his presence would only wound her further.
Her howl carried into the spring. A song of despair. A curse reborn.
And then—suddenly—the air cracked.
From the sky, a figure dropped like a hawk. A kid, no older than them, smirked as he landed on the mansion's roof. His hair was wild, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
He was human. Yet one jagged Oni horn jutted from his temple, faint and crooked, as if grown from the thinnest trace of Oni blood.
With the grace of a shadow, he slipped into the mansion through an open window. Moments later, he emerged again, a pouch of gold swinging from his shoulder. Servants screamed in the distance, nobles shouted, but he was already gone, darting over the rooftops with a laugh.
He paused only once, crouched against the sunrise. His smirk stretched wider than the horizon.
"The name's Giru Hazuma," he said, his voice mocking, sharp as steel. "And once again, the legendary bandit has robbed Yakaziku blind."
With that, he vanished into the morning, his legend spreading further in the whispers of the city.
The episode ended with Hanae's tears still falling in the garden, Rūpu's fists still clenched in silent agony, and the bandit's smirk cutting across the dawn.
TO BE CONTINUED...