Chapter 94: Burial with the Dead
Near Shibuya Building, a sidewalk café occupied a quiet corner of the street.
The late afternoon light spilled across the tables, turning the glass storefronts gold. Office workers passed in waves, students drifted by with bags over their shoulders, and now and then someone would glance toward the café, only for their gaze to be caught by the girl seated near the railing.
She was blonde, delicate, and breathtakingly beautiful.
Her beauty had a strange, unworldly clarity to it. Not the polished glamour of a celebrity, nor the sharp elegance of a noble lady, but something purer. She seemed detached from the noise around her, as though the crowded city were merely background scenery on a blank canvas.
Chizuna Mashiro sat with both hands wrapped around a cup of hot milk.
Across from her was an empty chair.
At least, that was what ordinary people saw.
"Ryōyū," Mashiro said, looking at the empty seat, "aren't you going to see him?"
Several nearby customers quietly glanced over.
A girl talking to no one.
Ordinarily, that would have earned strange looks. But because the speaker was Chizuna Mashiro, most people only found it oddly artistic. Beautiful people were granted many strange privileges by society. Apparently, speaking to an empty chair was one of them.
In a place beyond ordinary sight, however, the seat was not empty.
A woman sat there gracefully.
She wore the ancient robes of an imperial princess, her posture refined to the point that even the act of sitting seemed to possess ritual meaning. Her face was noble and peerless, her eyes calm, carrying a depth that belonged not to years, but to centuries. She had the translucent quality of a spirit, yet the immense spiritual power gathered within her existence was enough to make even a National Level Onmyoji wary.
She was Ryōyū.
The spirit attached to Chizuna Mashiro.
For a long while, Ryōyū looked toward the top floor of Shibuya Building.
There, above the ward, the newly established Myriad Laws Supernatural Department stood like a watchtower over Shibuya. And inside that building was the person she had waited for across a thousand years.
At last, she withdrew her gaze.
"No," Ryōyū said softly. "Not now."
Mashiro tilted her head.
"You waited for him."
"I did."
"Then why not go?"
Ryōyū smiled, but there was a sadness in it, faint enough to vanish if one did not look carefully.
"If I appeared before him now, my existence would only bring him more trouble. At his current stage, I would not be a help. I would become a burden, or worse, a clue for his enemies."
She looked again toward the distant top floor, but only briefly. If she watched any longer, he would notice completely.
Even now, he was far from the man who had shaken the Heian Period a thousand years ago. He had not yet regained that heaven-defying power, that miracle-working authority that made gods wary and yokai tremble.
But he was no longer weak.
White Fox Gin Tsumugi.
A rare genius of Onmyodo.
The man who had outlined Myriad Laws.
No, perhaps this life of his had already surpassed his former self at the same age.
"He has Zenki and Koki by his side," Ryōyū murmured. "Hokuto as well. The Senji Ryakketsu is with him, and Gyodō has taken form again under a new name—Myriad Laws. At the very least, his ability to preserve himself is no longer something I need to worry about too much."
She had only looked from afar, yet she had already seen through most of Gin's hidden cards.
If Gin knew that, even with his composure, he would have felt a chill down his spine.
Ryōyū lowered her eyes.
"For now, being able to watch him quietly is enough."
Mashiro stared at her for a moment.
She did not quite understand.
Ryōyū had waited a thousand years. She had endured loneliness, silence, and the long decay of history. Now that the person she had waited for had finally appeared, she seemed to be retreating instead of moving forward.
To Mashiro, it was difficult to comprehend.
If she found a subject she had waited a thousand years to paint, she would paint it immediately.
Probably without eating.
Possibly without sleeping.
Maybe without remembering the existence of doors.
Ryōyū seemed to guess what she was thinking and could not help but laugh gently.
"Mashiro, I must thank you."
Mashiro blinked.
"Thank me?"
"If not for your painting, I might not have learned of his reincarnation until much later. If not for you bringing me here, I would not have been able to confirm it with my own eyes. You helped me more than you understand."
Mashiro shook her head.
"I only painted."
"To you, perhaps."
Ryōyū's gaze softened.
"To me, it was the first proof after a thousand years that my waiting had not been meaningless."
Mashiro said nothing.
She only held her cup of hot milk and nodded slightly.
"Let us go," Ryōyū said.
"Leaving already?"
Mashiro looked confused.
They had only just arrived. The person Ryōyū had waited for was right there, on the top floor of the building before them. Could they not stay a little longer?
Ryōyū stood.
"As I said, sometimes watching quietly is enough. Besides, his return gives me an opportunity to clear away a few small obstacles before he trips over them."
Mashiro nodded.
She half-understood.
That was already more than usual.
"Where are we going?"
Ryōyū turned her gaze toward Chiyoda Ward.
"The Imperial Palace."
Her voice became quieter, though not weaker.
"First, we will meet the golden-furred fox hiding there."
Then she looked solemnly at Mashiro.
"Mashiro, before that, I need to borrow your body for a while. It will be more convenient, and safer for you."
Mashiro did not hesitate.
"Mm. I understand."
If an Onmyoji had heard that answer, they might have scolded her for recklessness on the spot.
To willingly surrender one's body to a spirit was no different from inviting possession. If the spirit harbored even the slightest malice, the victim could become a vessel, a sacrifice, or something even worse.
Of course, in Ryōyū's case, the warning was meaningless.
With her strength, if she truly wished to possess Mashiro by force, she would not need permission.
Ryōyū's translucent figure leaned forward, overlapping with Mashiro's body little by little. The phantom sank into her like moonlight dissolving into water.
Mashiro's eyes slowly closed.
For a breath, she seemed to fall asleep.
Then her eyes opened again.
The change was immediate.
The ethereal purity in Mashiro's gaze vanished, replaced by elegance, nobility, and a poise that seemed carved into the bones. Her posture straightened subtly. Her aura deepened. The innocent girl from moments ago had become someone else entirely.
A princess.
Not a girl pretending to be one, but a woman born into authority, ceremony, and tragedy.
The nearby customers who had been stealing glances at her froze.
They did not understand what they had just witnessed.
One moment, she had been a pure and otherworldly girl.
The next, she carried an imperial grandeur that made people instinctively lower their eyes.
It was so dramatic that some wondered if they had imagined it.
Their instincts were right.
The person sitting there was no longer truly Chizuna Mashiro.
She was Ryōyū.
Ryōyū took a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar sensations of flesh and blood. For someone who had existed as a spirit for over a thousand years, even the warmth of a living body felt foreign.
The weight of breath.
The pulse in her wrists.
The taste of milk lingering faintly on the tongue.
How nostalgic.
How distant.
"How fragile," she murmured.
Then she looked one last time toward the top floor of Shibuya Building.
Toward the person she had waited over a thousand years to see.
"It is time."
Ryōyū lightly tapped the air with one finger.
Space rippled.
A faint distortion spread outward like water disturbed by a falling petal. Her figure blurred within those ripples, then vanished completely.
The people watching her blinked.
Confusion appeared in their eyes.
No one screamed.
No one reacted.
It was not that they had failed to see the supernatural phenomenon. It was that their perception of it had been quietly smoothed over, as if a page had been removed from their memories before they noticed it was missing.
Only the empty cup of hot milk on the table proved that someone had been there at all.
The Outer Garden of the Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward.
Since the Imperial Palace had been sealed off, the residents who once walked nearby had become almost nonexistent. Add the Supernatural Recovery to that, and the surrounding area was deserted enough to feel abandoned by the living world.
Air rippled.
Ryōyū appeared soundlessly.
A moment ago, she had been in Shibuya Ward.
Now, she stood before the Imperial Palace.
Even though Shibuya and Chiyoda were adjacent districts, crossing that distance in a single step was power far beyond ordinary National Level Onmyoji.
Ryōyū looked ahead.
"So this is the barrier."
The corners of her lips curved slightly.
"A perception-blurring barrier designed specifically to mislead Onmyoji. No wonder you could erode the modern Imperial Family so brazenly under the noses of the Onmyo Bureau and the Onmyo Academy."
She ignored the blockade signs and the empty security line.
Even while using Mashiro's body, Ryōyū moved through the Imperial Palace grounds as though she were still a spirit. Fences, patrol routes, seals, and barriers were little more than scenery to her.
"The layout is the same."
As she walked, she occasionally looked around.
The Imperial Palace of today had been renovated and rebuilt countless times. It was not the palace she had known. The one truly familiar to her had been in Kyoto, and that world had long since vanished beneath ruins and history.
Yet the bones of the place were still recognizable.
The arrangement of courtyards.
The flow of spiritual veins.
The sense of hierarchy built into stone, wood, and distance.
A thousand years had passed, yet power still liked to sit in the same direction.
How dull.
The deeper she walked toward the Inner Garden, the quieter the palace became.
Too quiet.
There was not a single servant.
Not a single guard.
Not a whisper of human presence.
For the home of the Imperial Family, this silence was deeply unnatural. Even an ordinary person would have sensed something wrong. To someone like Ryōyū, the emptiness was almost insulting.
Then, in a flower garden, she stopped.
The garden was untended, yet the flowers were blooming beautifully. Some were not even in season. They defied the climate, supported by a subtle, unnatural power.
Ryōyū raised her hand.
"Little one, did your master send you to receive me?"
She grasped the air.
Chirp, chirp, chirp!
A frantic cry rang from her palm.
A small blue bird had appeared there at some point, caught between her fingers as if plucked from an invisible current.
Kiyohime stared at her in disbelief.
"T-This… how…"
She had not even realized what had happened.
One moment, she had been hidden perfectly. The next, she was in this woman's hand.
Ryōyū examined the blue bird with mild nostalgia.
"I did not expect the little blue bird from a thousand years ago to become a Great Yokai feared by Onmyoji."
Kiyohime stiffened.
Her emerald eyes widened.
"You are… the Princess?"
"So you still recognize me." Ryōyū lightly tapped the bird's forehead. "Then raising you for a while was not a waste."
With that, she released her.
Kiyohime flapped her wings in midair, but she did not dare flee.
The shock in her heart was impossible to describe.
Imperial Princess Ryōyū.
The princess of the Imperial Family from a thousand years ago.
She had not perished.
Not only had she survived in some form until this era, her strength had become terrifying beyond measure. Kiyohime was now a Great Yokai herself, yet before Ryōyū, she had been caught like a sparrow.
No resistance.
No warning.
No chance.
"Take me to your master," Ryōyū said.
Kiyohime lowered her head.
"Yes, Princess."
Strictly speaking, Ryōyū was Kiyohime's first master.
A thousand years ago, Kiyohime had been nothing more than a little blue bird without intelligence. It was by Ryōyū's side that she awakened her mind, remained for a time, and eventually grew into what she was today.
Now that her first master had appeared again, Kiyohime's heart shook violently.
Five minutes later, after passing through one courtyard after another, Ryōyū arrived at the Inner Garden.
There, in a semi-open pavilion, sat a girl of quiet, breathtaking beauty.
Her black eyes were clear and gentle. Her brows were elegant, her features refined, her bearing intellectual and soft. She looked like a princess stepped out of an old painting.
Haruka Shizumiya.
Imperial Princess Haruka Shizumiya.
Ryōyū stopped.
"So this is your host in this era?"
Her gaze moved over Haruka's body.
"Not a bad shell."
Haruka stared at the person before her in disbelief.
"Mashiro?"
The face belonged to Chizuna Mashiro.
A world-renowned genius painter.
A girl adored by countless art masters and collectors.
But that was not why Haruka knew her.
Chizuna Mashiro was a member of the Supernatural Exchange Group that Haruka and Shinomiya Kaguya had created. Haruka had personally invited her. In the group, Mashiro used the alias [painter].
Yet the person standing before her now was clearly not the Mashiro she knew.
"No…"
Haruka quickly sensed the difference.
Mashiro's unique, ethereal purity was gone. In its place was a noble, imposing aura that seemed to come from an age long buried.
"You are the spirit hiding inside Mashiro."
"Good eyes," Ryōyū said. "But speaking to your ancestor in that tone is rather lacking in Imperial upbringing."
"Ancestor?"
Haruka's eyes sharpened.
She had invited Mashiro into the Supernatural Exchange Group because she sensed a powerful spirit hidden within the girl. More importantly, that spirit seemed to bear Mashiro no ill will. At the time, Haruka had only noted it as unusual.
She had not expected the spirit to be powerful enough to walk into the Imperial Palace and face Tamamo-no-Mae directly.
Nor had she expected Tamamo-no-Mae to call this person a guest.
That treatment had never been given to the other powerful yokai who had come to test the palace before.
But before Haruka could ask anything more, the aura around her changed.
Her gentle expression faded.
A noble, charming, and dangerously alluring voice emerged from her mouth.
At the same time, her facial features blurred, hidden by a mysterious power that seemed to forbid the world from gazing upon her true face.
"Imperial Princess Angū Ryōyū."
The voice was soft enough to charm the bones from a man's body.
"It has been more than a thousand years."
Tamamo-no-Mae.
The Great Yokai inhabiting Haruka's body had awakened.
Only she, the ultimate embodiment of charm, could make every syllable feel like an invitation to surrender.
Imperial Princess Angū Ryōyū.
Even as Haruka's consciousness began to blur and sink under Tamamo-no-Mae's control, that name struck her heart like a bell.
It was a taboo name within the Imperial Family.
Imperial Princess Angū Ryōyū, youngest daughter of Emperor Daigo and younger sister of Emperor Suzaku and Emperor Murakami. Her status had once been unimaginably high.
But her bloodline was not the reason she had become taboo.
The true reason was another rumor.
She had once been the fiancée of the Great Onmyoji Abe no Seimei.
Unfortunately, she died young.
And when she was buried, those sent to accompany her into death were said to include the direct descendants of Emperor Suzaku.
Even Emperor Suzaku himself had been buried alive.
Only after that did Emperor Murakami ascend the throne.
As for the truth behind that old horror, Haruka did not know.
All she could guess now was that it had been related to Abe no Seimei.
Perhaps even ordered by him.
Ryōyū looked at Tamamo-no-Mae through Haruka's body and spoke calmly.
"Compared to Imperial Princess Angū Ryōyū, I prefer Abe Ryōyū."
Tamamo-no-Mae smiled.
"I suppose you would. After all, you were his fiancée, even if you never formally married into the Abe family."
Haruka's will was almost fully suppressed.
Her awareness sank deeper and deeper, like a person being pulled beneath dark water.
But Ryōyū's appearance sparked one last hope within her.
If this Imperial Princess from a thousand years ago acted, then perhaps…
Perhaps she could be saved.
Perhaps Takiriko could be saved.
Perhaps the Imperial Family's nightmare could finally end.
Ryōyū glanced at her.
It was only a glance, but it seemed to see through the final struggling thought in Haruka's fading consciousness.
"The current Imperial Family has declined terribly compared to a thousand years ago," Ryōyū said. "Yet some ugly customs remain deep in its bones."
Her voice was quiet, but each word landed with the weight of judgment.
"I have no connection to the Imperial Family anymore. The moment they tried to use me to coerce him a thousand years ago, every tie between us was severed."
Haruka's last shred of awareness trembled.
Then it sank.
Disappointment, sorrow, and despair followed her into darkness.
.....
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