Yukinoshita Haruno stood at the entrance of the chapel, her fingertips tightly clutching the hem of her wedding dress. Her vision under the pure white veil wavered slightly, much like her precarious reason. The moment the "Wedding March" began to play, she felt Kanjuro's fingers press lightly against the small of her back—not as support, but as a kind of hint that brooked no resistance.
"It's time to go, my bride." His breath brushed past her ear.
Every step felt like treading on the boundary between illusion and reality. Familiar faces sat in the pews on both sides: Yui Yuigahama held a bouquet, smiling with innocent radiance; Miura Yumiko's nails dug deep into her palms, yet she still maintained a smile; Yukino's ice-blue eyes held a certain settled sorrow. When her gaze met her mother Seiga's, Haruno saw her mother shake her head slightly, yet the corners of her lips were incongruously raised in a blessing.
"What a grand nightmare," she sneered in her heart.
Kanjuro's arm held her steadily the entire time, like a cage for a bird with clipped wings. When exchanging rings before the priest, he suddenly whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear: "Look, even God is blessing us." In the light and shadows cast by the gilded stained-glass windows, a thrill of trampling sanctity beneath his feet surged in his eyes.
The moment the vows ended, the chapel bells rang out thunderously. Amidst the twenty-four tolls, Kanjuro lifted her veil and kissed the bride with an air of absolute possession. Haruno tasted blood between her teeth—she didn't know whose it was. Amidst the cheers of the guests, she heard Komachi Hikigaya innocently ask her mother: "Is Sister Haruno crying?".
Deep in the corridor, Kanjuro pressed her against the patches of light cast by the stained-glass windows. His fingertips brushed over the finger marks on her neck that had not yet faded—the marks left when she struggled three days ago.
"Now you finally belong entirely to me," he chuckled.
Haruno looked at the cherry blossoms fluttering outside the corridor and suddenly remembered a certain afternoon many years ago. When she was seven years old, she had leaned against Kanjuro's knee while listening to a story and said, "It would be great if I could be with Uncle Kanjuro forever~"
Now, the wish had come true in the most twisted way. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into this kiss that tasted of blood.
(The wedding bells rang out amidst lies, the pure veil covering a twisted love. When the guests disperse, the curtain on this grand and absurd play has only just begun.) The heavy door of the bridal chamber clicked shut behind them, completely isolating the clamor of the outside world and the hypocritical blessings. The overwhelming crimson tones and brilliant pearlescent light instantly flooded her senses, and the air was thick with the cloying scent of expensive champagne and tuberose.
Kanjuro did not put her down immediately; instead, he held her like that, standing in the center of the room as if displaying his unquestionable ownership. Haruno's arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingertips unconsciously twining through the short hair at the back of his head. Her veil had long since been torn away by him on the way here; now, her thick long hair cascaded down like a waterfall, brushing against his arms.
The bead chains swayed, refracting the blurred halo of the crystal chandelier and casting fragmented, flickering spots of light upon them. The two looked at each other in silence, each other's reflection mirrored in their pupils—one deep as the night, the other complex and hard to discern.
Haruno looked up at Kanjuro's well-defined jawline and those eyes she had watched for over a decade yet could never fully see through. They once held indulgence for her childhood, guidance for her youth, and later... undisguised plunder and control. But just now, during that absurd wedding ceremony, when he held her hand and walked across that long red carpet, when she heard those twenty-four bell tolls that seemed to strike her very soul, a strange sensation seized her—it wasn't fear, nor hatred, but a shudder wrapped in a sense of immense fate, bordering on resignation.
The icy defensiveness and mockery in the depths of her eyes actually began to melt bit by bit amidst the room's opulence, revealing a touch of... emotion that even she hadn't anticipated.
"Kanjuro..." she spoke softly, her voice carrying an imperceptible rasp, "I think... I'm actually moved by you." These words were as light as a sigh, yet they caused the arms Kanjuro held her with to tighten slightly.
He looked down at her, his sharp gaze seemingly able to penetrate all disguises. He didn't show a triumphant expression; instead, the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile filled with all-knowing mockery: "Moved? Yukinoshita Haruno, there's no need to keep pretending."
His fingertips brushed across her bare collarbone with a trace of icy touch.
"Isn't this exactly what you've been painstakingly scheming for all along, even at the risk of crossing the line—your dream come true?"
The air seemed to stagnate for a moment. Haruno looked at him, her eyelashes trembling slightly. Then, the fragile trace of emotion on her face receded like the tide, replaced by a nearly bewitching smile that came from being exposed yet completely relaxed. That smile grew wider, finally turning into a soft laugh with a trill.
"Heh... how," she tilted her head, her gaze both blurred and clear, "how did you find out?"
She admitted it. So bluntly, so calmly.
A ripple finally surged in the depths of Kanjuro's eyes—a color mixed with victory, relief, and a deeper, darker emotion. Holding her, he walked to the massive bed covered in scarlet velvet sheets, laid her down gently, and then hovered over her, shrouding her in his shadow.
He sighed, and that sigh actually carried an indescribable trace of exhaustion, as if a long game had finally reached its end. "Your refusal from beginning to end, your fierce resistance, even going as far as making an enemy of me... was all nothing more than to push me to this step, to lock yourself by my side in the most thorough, no-turning-back way possible."
His fingers stroked her cheek, his touch gentle yet carrying unquestionable control.
"Even Hayama Hayato..." He spat out the name, carefully observing every flicker of change on her face. "Wasn't his death also a part of your plan? Or rather, a result you tacitly pushed for? You didn't need a protector or a gentle option; you needed an accomplice who could completely destroy your entire past, drag you into hell, and be bound to you entirely. And I am that one and only accomplice you chose."
Haruno looked at him quietly. In those eyes that were always filled with calculation and detachment, Kanjuro's figure was now clearly reflected. She didn't deny it, nor did she get agitated; she simply reached out both arms and wrapped them around his neck again.
Her smile became incredibly gentle, yet it also carried the sweetness of a fall from grace.
"Yes," her breath was warm, "because only by falling completely into darkness can I embrace you forever, my... Uncle Kanjuro."
In this moment, all disguises were stripped away, and all calculations were laid bare. This grand, absurd drama that began with a twisted obsession and was interwoven with death and conspiracy finally revealed its truest and most cruel core under the pearls of the wedding night—it wasn't plunder and coercion, but two souls already terminally ill, claiming each other and imprisoning each other in the most extreme way.
The curtain rises; the good show has only just begun.
Kanjuro's sigh fell upon the crook of her neck with a warm breath, as if he had seen through a chess game spanning many years.
"After going in such a huge circle," his voice was deep, carrying a trace of imperceptible indulgence, "refusing, resisting, even going as far as pushing me away... in the end, didn't you still return here?" His arms tightened, pulling her closer to him without leaving a single gap.
Haruno let out a satisfied sigh in his arms, like a cat that had finally found its home.
She tilted her face up, her eyes flashing with a cunning and bright light that dispelled the last trace of the gloom of her disguise. She lightly traced the outline of his Adam's apple with her finger, her tone coquettish yet filled with the pride of someone who knew everything:
"Everyone says you're the best at acting, Uncle Kanjuro." She chuckled, her breath brushing against his jaw, "But they don't know that I'm even better at pretending than you." She stopped the words he was about to say, her gaze charming and provocative, "It's called... like father, like daughter, isn't it?"
This bold declaration that subverted social norms did not provoke Kanjuro's anger; instead, it made him let out a low laugh.
He responded vaguely, his voice hoarse: "Yes, my little fox... you've achieved your goal. You performed this play more brilliantly than I did." He pulled back slightly, his nose brushing against hers, his deep eyes reflecting her flushed cheeks and blurred gaze. "So now, the curtain has fallen, and the actors should take off their disguises and properly enjoy... the spoils that belong to us."
He scooped her up in a horizontal carry. Under the light of the pearls, her long hair fell like silk. He leaned down and placed her in the center of the soft bed, his body looming over her as his shadow completely covered her.
"You have to be good and accompany me through this... long-overdue, wonderful night."
Haruno didn't resist in the slightest; instead, she proactively met him.
"As you wish," "My... accomplice."
The morning light filtered through the gap in the heavy curtains, casting a narrow band of light onto the carpet.
The air was filled with a characteristic lazy atmosphere, mixed with the lingering scent of fragrance and alcohol.
On the massive wedding bed, Yukinoshita Haruno curled up under the scarlet velvet quilt.
Her long eyelashes fluttered a few times before she slowly opened them.
The blurred, almost decadent fever of last night had faded from her eyes, replaced by a clear light tinged with a bit of mischievousness and playfulness.
She turned her head to look at the empty pillow beside her, where Kanjuro's body heat and scent still lingered.
Without the warmth and shyness of a newlywed, she got up briskly, the silk quilt sliding off her body.
She stepped barefoot onto the soft carpet and walked to the window, pulling the curtains open with a "clatter." Blinding sunlight instantly flooded in, illuminating the mess of luxury in the room—scattered bead ornaments, overturned wine glasses, and the priceless wedding dress tossed carelessly on the floor.
Haruno narrowed her eyes and stretched toward the sun like a satiated cat that had regained its energy.
All the vulnerability, resignation, and even that twisted sense of being "moved" that she had shown last night had been properly tucked away, sealed under that night of extreme passion.
At this moment, she was still that Yukinoshita Haruno who was hard to read and enjoyed toying with people's hearts, only now she was thoroughly branded as "Kanjuro's property," and... she was perfectly happy with it.
Chiba Prefecture, Sobu High School.
The familiar campus atmosphere and yesterday's grand, absurd wedding seemed like two different worlds.
The sun was bright, the cherry blossoms had passed their most brilliant stage, and green leaves were unfolding on the branches.
Students in neat uniforms walked in groups of two or three between the school buildings, talking about classes, clubs, and popular topics.
Kanjuro's black sedan silently slid into the parking lot. He pushed the door open and got out, having already changed back into his eighteen-year-old student uniform, meticulous and indifferent in expression.
At this moment, he was still that promising young man, Kanjuro-kun, who was highly valued by the school authorities.
He walked calmly toward the teaching building. Along the way, students respectfully greeted him.
He nodded slightly in response, his gaze calm and rippleless.
It seemed that the wedding hadn't left any extra traces on him.
Only occasionally, when his gaze swept over the lush corners of the campus or when he felt the cold touch of the wedding ring in his pocket, would a swift flash of all-controlling, satiated pleasure flicker in the depths of his eyes.
However, beneath this seemingly calm campus, certain unknown undercurrents were quietly surging.
Night fell.
Deep in the underground warehouse of Sobu High School, in a corner that had been almost forgotten—this was once the activity room of a certain "Occult Research Society" many years ago. After the club was abolished, it became a place where various junk piled up, and few people ever visited...
In the darkness, only the light of a mobile phone flashlight was shaking. A young man wearing the Sobu High School male uniform, with a delicate but somewhat timid appearance—Minase Taki—was carefully rummaging through things.
He seemed to be looking for a lost personal item, perhaps hidden here as a prank.
"I heard that the Astrological Treasure Book of the Occult Research Society from eighteen years ago is rumored to be here," he murmured to himself, his fingers brushing over dusty old bookshelves and discarded desks and chairs.
Just then, his toe seemed to kick something.
He looked down and used the light to see an old-fashioned, thick leather-bound book lying in the shadow of a corner bookshelf.
The cover was white, made of a special material that was warm to the touch, and decorated with complex and sacred patterns in gold pigment, looking completely out of place in the dilapidated surroundings.
Minase Taki picked up the book out of curiosity. It was heavy, and there was no text on the cover. He subconsciously flipped it open.
Instantly, a gentle yet undeniable warm current seemed to flow from the pages, spreading from his fingertips to his whole body. The pages were filled with dense, strange characters that weren't any language he knew, but strangely, as he stared at them, their meanings naturally surfaced in his mind—they were praises of light, guidance for life energy, and explanations of purification and protective powers... among them were also some more aggressive chapters about "Holy Flame" and "Punishment."
This... this is?!
Minase Taki's heart pounded.
He was just an ordinary, even somewhat unremarkable high school student who was often ignored at school; he longed for power, for attention, and to change his current situation.
And the "knowledge" contained in the book in his hand, far beyond his understanding, was like a bolt of lightning that split open his gray world.
An expression of extreme ecstasy involuntarily appeared on his face, his eyes flashing with excitement and greed. He didn't even stop to think about why this book was here or who its owner was. He only felt that he had stumbled upon an incredible stroke of luck!
"Power... is this the power that can change everything?" He tightly held this book named the holy bible of light as if it were a life-saving straw, his voice trembling with excitement.
He didn't know that the owner of this book—Teacher Reika Kitami, who was famous at school for her beauty, elegance, and mystery—had been practicing here last night using the faint spiritual pulse node remaining in this place, but had accidentally lost the bible.
He knew even less that the power contained in this holy bible of light, though opposite in attribute to the dark bible held by Kanjuro—one light and one dark—shared an equally ancient origin, hiding immense danger and temptation.
Just as Minase Taki was treating it like a treasure, immersed in ecstasy, the sound of light footsteps from high heels tapping on the ground came from the direction of the Basement entrance.
Reika Kitami's figure appeared at the door, her beautiful face carrying a trace of imperceptible anxiety, clearly having come to find her lost item. When she saw the holy bible of light in Minase Taki's hand emitting a faint, holy glow, her pupils contracted sharply.
At this moment, the air seemed to freeze.
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