Each with Their Own Agenda

Ashiya Xia Xia pointed at the papers on the table, then at the wooden chest in the corner, and summoned a few cursed spirits to float over and pack them up.

Ever since his Cursed Spirit Manipulation had awakened, he had lived a life of having every meal served and every garment put on for him. These cursed spirits, once his enemies, relatives, and friends, were now extensions of his will.

"What are you standing there for?"

"Help me pack those clothes into the chest."

He looked at Yorozu, who still seemed to be staring blankly at his face, and irritation flared inside him. If you hadn't stirred up trouble for me, I'd already be in bed, ready for today's blissful sleep.

"What, are you jealous of these cursed spirits?"

"Come on, step closer. I'll stab you to death and let you experience their daily lives."

His words were cutting, without a shred of sympathy, yet Yorozu smiled, blushing like a shy little girl.

"Well, I wouldn't mind~"

"But something like that... should wait until after we're married, shouldn't it? Are you that eager to have me serve you?"

I've really had enough.

There are so many people in this world, so why did I have to run into a lunatic who can't understand plain speech? Doesn't she know what fear is? Or does everyone in the Fujiwara Clan, whether family or guest retainers, have something incurably wrong with their heads?

Suppressing the urge to condemn the entire Fujiwara Clan, Ashiya Xia Xia picked up the pace of his packing.

He cursed inwardly, directing it at himself. All those years of living had amounted to nothing. Getting this worked up over an idiot, throwing away all his hard-earned composure-clearly, life had been so pleasant that he had forgotten what sort of thing he was.

A clear clang rang out.

The clumsy Yorozu had dropped the gilded Demon Mask on the floor.

"Are you taking this too?"

Yorozu asked shakily. She was not afraid of Xia Xia hitting or berating her, but she dreaded damaging this object and making him dislike her.

"No."

Xia Xia showed little reaction.

It was merely an old object he had worn for a few years, neither a cursed tool nor anything of special significance. He had simply commissioned a craftsman to make it on a whim, for amusement.

"But if you don't wear a mask, won't the people outside see your real face...?"

Yorozu still seemed uncertain.

"I called you stupid, and you really are hopelessly rigid."

"It's when I wear the mask that people outside recognize me."

Smiling, Xia Xia picked up the Demon Mask.

It had first been tinplate, then bronze, then silver, and now it had a layer of gilding. He had never thought much of it, but holding it now, he found it looked considerably grander.

Only the person wearing this mask was the Imperial Preceptor.

When someone wore a mask long enough, that mask became his face. Once he took it off, the true face beneath became the unfamiliar one in the eyes of the world.

People would sooner believe that beneath the Imperial Preceptor's mask lurked a blue-faced, fanged monster, a pitiful man disfigured beyond recognition, or a demon that had crawled out of hell into the human world than accept that he was merely a young man whose face still held a trace of boyishness.

Ashiya Xia Xia's delicate face was the real mask.

Outside the Ashiya household, no one would recognize him.

Just as Yorozu had barged in here, seen his true appearance, and suspected he was the Imperial Preceptor's servant, or perhaps a stand-in, or even a son or nephew. He could be anyone except the Great Onmyoji himself, the Lord of a Hundred Demons, "Ashiya Doman."

"Then you..."

"It doesn't matter. Since the Fujiwara Clan caught Ashiya Xia Cheng, they should naturally know what I look like."

Xia Xia casually took a jade belt hook from a box and fastened it to his clothes.

"Though Suimei is so poor you can practically hear the empty coffers rattle, and even the sovereign can't afford to eat, I should still indulge in a little vanity when meeting guests. Can't have them looking down on me."

Then he gently crooked his little finger.

The guards and attendants waiting in front of and behind the house all shed their human forms, transforming into monsters that bared their fangs and claws.

They were all cursed spirits.

Through the exquisite artistry of Cursed Spirit Manipulation, they could become anything. Anything at all.

Yorozu kept her eyes wide open, afraid to blink lest she miss this scene that defied description. She watched those cursed spirits settle onto Xia Xia like a breeze, becoming the gold threads and floral patterns on his black haori, along with its richly colored ukiyo-e images and subtly embroidered scenes of hell and the great resentment rising at Rashomon...

"Tamamo-no-Mae, come out and pin up my hair."

Imaginary cursed spirit: Tamamo-no-Mae.

An unquestionable special grade cursed spirit, a great demon of myth, a true monster that ate human flesh, drank human blood, and stole human souls. Yet now she wore a maid's outfit, respectfully holding a wooden tray as she presented Xia Xia with a white jade hairpin.

His dark hair fell loose.

Tamamo-no-Mae transformed into a pure white jade hairpin and arranged his hair for him. A pair of fluffy fox ears could faintly be seen emerging from his neatly gathered hair, but they vanished in an instant.

"Well, stupid woman over there? How does this old man look? Presentable enough?"

Ashiya Xia Xia straightened his clothes and hung the Demon Mask at his waist alongside a stack of talismans and concealed weapons, then turned to look at Yorozu, who was pretending to be a wooden statue beside him.

A backward glance and a smile, and a hundred charms came alive.

That was the only line in Yorozu's mind.

She had never considered herself frivolous, a shallow person who cared only for someone's outward appearance. But now she realized it was not that she had transcended such things-she simply had never met someone as utterly faultless as the man before her.

He had an adult's steadiness, a boy's playfulness, and enough strength to leave her unable to fight back. One wish fulfilled three times over-he really was her undoing.

"You really are a heartless man."

She murmured to herself and walked behind him, just to bring her footsteps a little closer to his.

How does this boy smell so good?

"Don't come too close, or you'll regret your recklessness when your head hits the ground."

"You're making my skin crawl. Have you never learned basic manners? Honestly."

The Fujiwara Clan was preparing a banquet.

Every member of the family important enough to be known by name had come, and those who were not had come to serve as menial workers.

The clan's survival was at stake. They could not afford carelessness.

Their scouts had already picked up the trail of Uraume, the Ice-Frost Jujutsu Sorcerer. That meant Ryomen Sukuna could not be far away and would likely reach the Fujiwara Clan's grounds this very summer.

No one knew what the future held, but anyone with a brain knew what would happen when Sukuna arrived.

Death, right?

Something like, "You're holding your head too high," followed by the Slashing Cursed Technique slicing off half a skull. Or, "You're so boring," followed by a vertical cut straight down the middle. There was also the possibility of, "Not bad," followed by a grid of slashes turning someone into a fruit platter and a dish of sashimi...

Anyone collecting the remains of Sukuna's victims faced a rather peculiar predicament:

After all that, I still have to assemble it myself?

Whether you were a rising genius or a renowned veteran, meeting Sukuna meant becoming a scattering of meat that no longer resembled a complete body. With bad luck, you might even get roasted, sizzling with fat, crisp outside and tender within.

Anyway, everyone with any real ability in this era knew that Sukuna's strength lay not in his cursed technique, but in Sukuna himself. His technique was merely an unusual combination of two attributes: slashing and setting fires. Chop the ingredients, plate them up, put them in the pan, light the fire-done!

Turning such a technically unimpressive cursed technique into something sublime was Ryomen Sukuna's own achievement.

Although the eccentric who had declared, "There are no useless cursed techniques, only useless jujutsu sorcerers," had apparently taken only two steps in front of Sukuna before being sliced into shaved noodles, the saying had still sparked discussion for a while.

"Enough with the chatter."

"Let me make this clear in advance. Kill Natsunari for me first. Then, if I'm still alive after the fight, I want Uraume."

Xia Xia felt that talking in circles with an old fox like the Fujiwara Clan head could take fourteen or sixteen hours. Better to be direct. They were both old foxes who had seen it all, so why bother playing supernatural guessing games? Divide up the spoils and get on with the preparations.

"You really do get straight to the point."

"It has been a long time, Venerable Xia Xia. You're in the prime of your life."

The Fujiwara Clan head was a middle-aged man waving a folding fan. Though he looked young, perhaps only in his thirties, his nasolabial folds were deep, his hair was entirely white, and the cursed energy around him was so dense it could practically spawn cursed spirits outright.

Would you believe this man had never used a forbidden technique?

Compared with their last meeting, this old bastard seemed to have grown much younger, and his aura had become frighteningly powerful.

Damn it, has he gone from "fellow practitioner" to "senior"? No wonder he's acting so brazenly. He has something to rely on, so he's thrown all caution aside.

Heaven knew how this old monster, clearly already in his nineties, managed to look so young. The Fujiwara Clan's younger generation consisted entirely of geniuses, without a single mediocrity. A guessing game with no prizes: where had the less gifted juniors gone?

"At least I'll outlive an old piece of dried meat like you. You've really got no shame, coming up with a scheme that wipes out your own descendants."

"Looks like all your disciples and descendants are willing to sacrifice themselves for someone else's benefit. What an admirable family tradition."

Ashiya Xia Xia had no intention of chatting with him further, nor did he dwell on that nonsense about possession. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the raised platform under construction. Quite a few people were busy carving beams and painting the woodwork, and several seemed to be master craftsmen from Kyoto.

"What's that?"

It's been a while, and your Fujiwara Clan still has a reason to undertake a massive building project? Afraid Sukuna won't have enough fun tearing things down?

"What we're building is a throne to offer Sukuna."

"At this Summer Festival, we intend to crown Sukuna king and make him the god of this place."

The Fujiwara Clan head explained with a smile.

"Then you'll use me and your guest retainers to rush him all at once and die at his hands?"

"Have you lost your mind? Unless you can restrict Sukuna's cursed energy, no matter how many people you bring, a few attacks from his Slashing Cursed Technique will take care of them. Neither you nor I have an indestructible body. We're both ingredients under Ryomen Sukuna's knife."

Xia Xia smiled brightly, as though he had no part in the plan whatsoever. There was a certain poise to him like this.

"Of course not. You're worrying too much."

"The Fujiwara Clan has already made preparations. As soon as Sukuna enters the festival grounds, the active barrier..."

"Stop."

Xia Xia cut him off.

"I'll do the job, but let's be clear beforehand. I'm only here to provide backup. Don't expect me to lead the attack."

"Also, don't order me around. Everyone we can see here right now is going to die anyway. I won't spare any of those Fujiwara Clan members you've marked."

"..."

He saw through it. In a single instant.

The smile vanished from the Fujiwara Clan head's face.

He had let that childlike face deceive him. A moment of carelessness had allowed Xia Xia to discern the festival's true purpose.

"Venerable Xia Xia, this is what I dislike most about you. You could have said nothing and simply watched. Why must you spell it out and leave us both unhappy?"

"You're far too clever. It makes me very uneasy."