"So, what mission did she give you this time?"
Yasumasa asked, his voice echoing through the open shutters of a high tower west of the Academy. He sat cross-legged, a bottle of premium sake by his side as he gazed up at the pale, uncaring moon.
The assassin stood before him, his eyes were rolled back, showing only the whites, as if he were currently a passenger in his own body.
"Well... she told me to keep watch on Yorimitsu... still," the assassin droned, his voice hollow and devoid of emotion.
"Mmm... I see. But it seems she doesn't trust you fully now. It may have been because of your failure to report for two days," Yasumasa sighed deeply, pouring himself another cup. "Considering she sent another Kugyō, she really is invested in that boy, ha."
He shook his head, a look of genuine distaste crossing his refined features. "You know, I hate this roundabout way nobles work. All these layers of deception just to seize power its tiering."
Yasumasa reached out with his giant, ink-stained paintbrush. He tapped the assassin lightly on the forehead. With a sharp gasp, the man's eyes snapped back to normal, the trance shattering instantly.
"That brat, Yorimitsu..." Yasumasa's voice drifted with the wind, his body melting away with the moonlight. "Just what kind of monster is he, to already possess a Household Spirit?"
….
After a brief moment, the assassin came back to its senses or lack thereof. "Tch... what am I doing in the West Wing? I have to report back to Master Minamoto quickly!" He leapt from the roof, his silhouette a mere streak against the moonlight.
Meanwhile, in the silence of his private quarters, Yorimitsu sat in deep meditation.
"Master..."
A cold, thin voice hissed inside Yorimitsu's mind, vibrating against his skull.
"Huuuuu... so you have finally come, Shiki," Yorimitsu responded, his eyes remaining closed, his breathing steady.
"Yes, I have returned, Master, " the assassin whispered.
"Good, then listen well," Yorimitsu commanded. "I am leaving tomorrow for Kadono District, and you are coming with me. Stay hidden for now; I will speak with you when we are clear of the Academy gates."
"Yes, Master."
Without another word, the presence vanished.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The sharp rap against the wooden frame echoed three times through the quiet room.
"Enter," Yorimitsu said, his voice steady and inviting.
There was a moment of heavy hesitation before the door slid open. Standing in the hallway was Watanabe. He had stripped away his heavy training gear, wearing only a simple, thin kimono. He walked barefoot, the only adornment on his body being two thick iron bracelets clamped around his wrists, weight seals to train even when resting.
Watanabe stepped onto the tatami and sat down with a stiff, formal posture. He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on the expensive silk hangings.
"What a nice room you have..." he said, his voice carrying a dry, unmistakable hint of sarcasm.
"No need for flattery, Watanabe no Tsuna," Yorimitsu countered, leaning back.
"Tch. Fine," Watanabe muttered, his stoic mask slipping just enough to show the exhaustion beneath. "Then tell me... what do you know about curses?"
Yorimitsu chuckled, a low, dark sound that vibrated in the small space. "Hahahaha! So, you won't even pretend you came for a social visit, eh?"
He shook his head, his eyes glinting. "Well, I'm the one who told you to be frank, so it's fine. I won't hold it against you."
Watanabe remained unmoving, his hands clenched into fists on his knees.
"Fine. I will show you what you've been carrying since I'm the one who called you." Yorimitsu said, his voice echoing twice.
He raised two fingers in a ritualistic gesture (In) and began a low, guttural murmur. As the words left his lips, the temperature in the room plummeted. The oil lamps flickered violently before the flames turned a ghostly, spectral blue.
"Kuinari no Tatari (悔成の祟り)—," Yorimitsu whispered.
The room rattled as if struck by an earthquake, then suddenly fell deathly silent. Yorimitsu pointed a steady finger toward Watanabe's left shoulder.
"There. You can see it now."
Watanabe turned his head slowly, the colour draining from his face as his eyes adjusted to the spectral light.
Coiled around his neck and resting its weight on his shoulder was a nightmare made flesh. The creature was bloated yet shrivelled, resembling a massive, grey-skinned worm; it had the face of an old lady whose eyes were swen shut.
Its body was even more disgusting; it was a patchwork of human faces. They looked like the faces of children, their features twisted in eternal grief, their transparent eyes weeping black tears as they wailed in a silent, soul-crushing chorus.
Watanabe's eyes bulged with raw terror. Every survival instinct in his body screamed at him to leap away from the monstrous thing coiled on his shoulder, but before he could even twitch, Yorimitsu was in front of him.
Swoosh!
With a speed that defied human movement, Yorimitsu pinned him to the tatami, holding him down with an iron grip.
"Don't move," Yorimitsu hissed, his face inches from Watanabe's.
"What the hell are you?!" Watanabe gasped, his heart hammering in double time against his ribs.
"Is this a manifestation of the spirit?!" Watanabe's internal thoughts raced with panic and awe. "I thought he was just going to explain what a curse was, but he can force it to manifest physically?! Just how terrifyingly skilled is this guy?"
"Kuinari no Tatari," Yorimitsu explained, his voice turning cold. He stared at the writhing worm. "This is a three-layered, even the old hag wouldn't use this, it takes away your vitality, your effort and your Fate and feeds it to another person, probably the one who has the mother curse spirit."
He pointed a finger at the crying faces of the children on the creature's back. "All your training, all the agonising effort you put in, your luck, it is all being transferred to someone else. It keeps you alive just long enough to reach your absolute peak potential. Then, it kills you. And considering how fat this thing has become... You probably only have three or four years left to live."
Yorimitsu reached into his pocket and produced a small wooden tube. He blew a cloud of thick, white herbal smoke directly onto the creature. The worm shrieked soundlessly, lost its grip, and fell limply off Watanabe's shoulder onto the floor.
Watanabe sat up, rubbing his neck. A look of shock crossed his face as he took a deep, unrestricted breath. "What is this? My body... it feels incredibly light."
"I have merely hidden your Karma for now," Yorimitsu said, crushing the wooden tube in his hand. "The curse is asleep, not dead. Once it wakes up, it will latch back onto you. It will probably be more viscous now." A thin smile stretched over Yorimitsu's face.
Watanabe shrouded a little.
Yorimitsu leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the bewildered warrior. "So, before that happens... let's discuss your future, Watanabe no Tsuna."