Sunday afternoon, the day Toji's gym kept its doors shut.
Maki sat on the mat, eyes wide, watching every twitch of the duel in front of her.
Clang!
Steel slammed into steel, the pressure alone whipping up a dry wind that rattled the rafters.
Toji brandished the [Soul-Liberation Blade].
Across from him, Ushi-gozen leveled the jet-black Dojigiri Yasutsuna, the edge drinking in the overhead light.
Man and Servant held their stances for one last heartbeat, then lowered their weapons in unison.
An hour had already bled away.
"That's far enough. Your form has improved considerably."
Ushi-gozen sheathed her sword first; she sparred with Toji often enough to gauge every uptick in his performance.
"Anyone gets better when dying is on the line."
Toji slipped the [Soul-Liberation Blade] back into his armory-grade cursed spirit and drew a slow breath. They called it a 'friendly match,' but every swing could have taken a head.
"So you're putting a bodyguard on Sae?" he asked.
"Yes. For the hours when neither you nor your son can stay at her side. Don't worry—one of ours."
"If the Boss hand-picked them, I'll sleep easy."
He clicked his tongue, Mahito's name sour on his mind.
Ordinary curses stuck to the gutters where they were spawned; surprise attacks were rare. Sorcerers usually struck first, curses reacted. But these Special Grades broke the rulebook. Annoying didn't begin to cover it.
Toji exhaled and leaned against the wall, the recent brush with death making his limbs feel like wet cement.
"Which means you're tagging along yourself?"
"Handlers will rotate monthly to keep the schedule light. I'll cover the first shift."
"And train every day while you're at it?"
"Only enough to stay limber. My assignment is surveillance, early warning, and protection."
Ushi-gozen stretched, joints popping like muted firecrackers.
Toji's stare was somewhere between admiration and disbelief. 'That was her warm-up?' Power output wise, they were a dump-truck versus a compact car.
He chuckled and shook his head; comparing their biology was pointless when hers might not even be 'biology.'
"Maki. You're fully under a [Heavenly Restriction] now, right? Then we start with sharpening your senses."
"Uh—yeah."
Maki blinked herself back to reality and rose, still half-spellbound by the exchange she'd just witnessed. Could she ever slip through an opening like that?
"Where's your sister?"
"Home. Mai needs to polish her cursed-energy control."
"Right. That's outside our lane," Toji said with an easy nod. Body mechanics she could learn here; cursed energy she couldn't.
Her real reason for coming today was clear enough: Maki herself.
Toji shrugged the thought away—none of his business.
The Servants had lobbied to switch the rotation to monthly, and he'd agreed. Everyone's schedule was getting complicated, and a month at a time was simply cleaner.
"Master, you're awake?"
Koyanskaya of Darkness—this month's on-call Foreigner—gently shook me from sleep.
She would be my handler for the next thirty days.
In the dawn haze before we drifted off, Shuten-dōji had been curled beside us, but she was nowhere in sight. Probably stepped out for a moment.
"Morning."
The fuzz cleared from my eyes—and I paused. The Foreigner wasn't wearing her usual scandal of a business suit. Instead, she sported a bubble-gum-pink tracksuit that clung to every unforgiving contour.
"Koyanskaya, when did you buy that?"
"Do you like it? The pants show off the leg line, the top's sleeveless so the exposure is tasteful, and because it zips…"
Zip. The slider eased down a few centimeters, enough to send her oversized assets wobbling, a canyon of cleavage laid bare.
"I approve."
"A bouquet of jealous male gazes will blossom wherever I walk. The more you imagine it, the more triumphant you feel, yes?"
"That's been my life since day one—you're gorgeous."
Jealous stares were ambient noise at this point—no different now.
"Oh my, Master, bedding a woman has made you quite the flatterer."
"I'm dead serious. Where's Shuten?"
"Lady Shuten-dōji is in the living room. Shall we get you to the sink?"
"Thanks."
I let her steady me, washed up, and swapped into something thin—summer had settled in, and even if mystic climate control kept me comfy, dressing for the season mattered.
"You're up, my lord?"
Shuten greeted me from the couch, smiling with eyes alone. The other Servants were absent—Ushi-gozen backing up the Zenin sisters made sense, but where was everybody else?
"Morning. Where's the rest?"
"All out. Only your attendant remains. What, uneasy? Or are you short on women and thus dissatisfied?"
Her tease held a nervous edge, so I drew her into a hug and patted her back. She fit perfectly now.
"Not at all."
"Mmm—being held so kindly does feel nice."
She nuzzled like a cat against my chest—astonishingly docile for the legendary oni.
"You feigned disappointment just to get this, didn't you?"
"Naturally. Moments like these should be sweet and private, should they not?"
"I'm game."
While I held Shuten, Koyanskaya sank onto the sofa beside me, eyes saying 'my turn.' I eased Shuten to one side and pulled the Foreigner into my other arm—Servants to the left and right, a scene of obscene luxury.
'Okay, that looks arrogant.' I stood, brushing a hand over both their hips. They seemed pleased enough.
Breakfast went down easy, and we stepped out for a walk to burn off the sugar spike.
Huff. Summer heat painted sweat down my spine in minutes. I'd disabled my Mystic Code's temperature control—exercise meant nothing if you cheated the thermostat. Shuten and Koyanskaya, unfazed by heat and buffered by Magecraft, stayed bone-dry.
By the time we returned an hour later, my shirt clung like a second skin.
'Weird. I should feel drained, but I don't.' Maybe dueling six Servants in rotation had turbo-charged my stamina, or maybe some passive spell was hitching a ride.
Whatever the cause, a shower sounded perfect.
"I'm going to rinse off. Make yourselves at home."
"Yes, Master. Enjoy yourself," Koyanskaya purred.
"Yeah, yeah," Shuten waved.
I stripped with my back to them; after everything we'd done, modesty felt silly.
Rustle. Clothes disappeared—no doubt one of them tidying up. Grateful, comfortable, and oddly pressured all at once, I reminded myself to tread lightly with Servants. In a game they were mere units, but here they thought, felt, lived. Treating them like disposable assets bred cracks in loyalty—or did it? Sometimes they seemed to relish obedience. The line blurred.
Either way, caution never hurt.
"What a state this is."
Deep in an uninhabited mountain, Jogo soaked in a steaming hot spring. His gaze was flat, his mood heavier than the volcanic stone around him.
"Sorry, man. I thought it was a window, went for it, had no idea the output was that high."
Naked and grinning across from him sat Mahito.
"You nearly got exorcised before the experiment—before the assassination even started."
"Tell me about it. Could've face-planted before phase one. I'll be careful, promise."
"Your prankish streak never changes."
"I'm a curse; comes with the territory. Same as you, right?"
"Not to your degree. Listen, Mahito—you're the keystone of this plan. Exercise a shred of caution. You wrote the damn blueprint."
Jogo's tone was more worry than scold. Curses rarely bothered with camaraderie, yet this clique—himself, Mahito, plus the absent Special Grades Dagon and Hanami—shared a bond.
"Got it. From now on I'll tiptoe."
"See that you do."
"Anyway, because I poked the beehive, their security net just got wider. I can't set foot in that zone for a while."
Mahito folded his arms, a sheepish smile that looked absurd on a supposed avatar of malice—more chastened kid than nightmare fuel.
"Tsk. You really did kick the hive." Jogo clicked his tongue but judged the setback minor. "In that case, we'll need a pipeline for intel on the sorcerers' movements."
"Humans mentioned the same thing. Their brains work exactly like regular humans—imagine that."
"Those are not 'proper' humans. Merely frightened beasts." Jogo's eyes narrowed; to him, true humanity belonged to curses. Living humans were livestock. Therefore curses must ascend.
Mahito's motive differed—he simply enjoyed killing humans. Hanami fought for nature's preservation. Dagon didn't care but approved of the slaughter. Different creeds, one blood-drenched goal.
"Still," Mahito said, "if we call them something else right now, this conversation'll get messy. Let's stick with 'humans' for clarity."
"Fair point. Very well."
"Good. About that collaborator—I found a promising one. Looks starved for something, easy to prod."
"Who?"
Mahito's mouth split in a grin too wide for any face. "Picture a bug that's had a leg ripped off—one arm missing, the rest of him shredded like a rag."