The way that other student spoke made Bái Qíyuè's blood boil. His sharp, mocking tone pierced her ears like needles. Yet, no matter how anger clawed at her chest, it could not sink deeper than the worry already weighing her heart.
In her arms, tiny Kyoren trembled. His golden eyes shimmered with tears, his small body fragile and unsettled. He had only just been torn from his father's side, and now, frightened and hungry, he clung desperately to her.
Qíyuè swallowed her fury. This was not the time to quarrel. Not with Kyoren shaking in her arms.
She turned away, casting the boy one final glare before leaving the classroom. Her red fox tail flicked behind her, restless with both frustration and worry. Kyoren whimpered and gripped the collar of her robe tightly, his tiny hands desperate. His cries tugged at her heart. She stroked his head with trembling gentleness and whispered against his soft ears.
"Shh… don't cry…"
But behind her, the yokai's mocking voice rose again.
"I'll see then, if you can kill me or not, Qí Qín~"
His smirk was followed by a chorus of laughter from his friends.
The nickname might have sounded playful to others, but for Qíyuè, it was a wound reopened. There was pain bound to that name, pain she would never share. Her jaw tightened, but she did not look back.
Outside, the grand marble hall opened before her. Its floor glimmered beneath lanternlight, cold and polished, reflecting shadows like glass. There, by the archway to the emergency chambers, she saw her teacher Qín Róu speaking with the headmaster, Hàn Zhì.
Hàn Zhì stood tall in his flowing silver robes, his five gray fox tails swaying like mist. His long hair brushed the folds of his garments, and his silver eyes cut sharp and steady upon Qín Róu.
"Do you not have any responsibility?" His voice was calm yet heavy with restrained anger. "How could you not notice his condition worsening? How many times will you repeat the same mistake?"
Each word struck like a measured blade.
"You are a grown man, Qín Róu. Do you understand who you are guiding? The future rulers of kingdoms sit under your teaching. If the maker of rulers falters, how will the rulers stand? This is not acceptable."
Qín Róu's black fox ears drooped low. He bowed deeply, shame darkening his expression.
"I am ashamed of my mistakes, sir. I am truly sorry. This will not happen ag—"
"Will it really not happen again?" Hàn Zhì's silver eyes narrowed with disbelief.
Qín Róu sank even lower, his black sleeves fluttering.
"Y-yes, sir. I will take care of Kazomaki, and… and his son, Kyoren." His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.
For the first time, Hàn Zhì's gaze softened. With a sigh, he placed a steady hand on Qín Róu's shoulder, halting his bow.
Qín Róu blinked in shock. He had braced himself for harsher punishment. Kuradome's collapse had not been the first—he remembered the time during cultivation class when the boy fainted in front of ten others, insisting he was "fine" until his body gave way. Why had he not seen through the mask sooner?
Behind a nearby pillar, Bái Qíyuè held Kyoren closer. The child twisted in her arms, whimpering with hunger, his four small fox ears flat against his head. His two fluffy tails curled tight around her wrist, as though even now he trusted no one else to hold him. His golden eyes searched restlessly, always seeking his father.
Qíyuè kissed his warm forehead, whispering softly:
"Don't cry… Papa will be back soon. He'll wear his golden robe, bring the scents you love… and food."
At her words, Kyoren's cries softened into sniffles. His tiny ears twitched, his tails loosening ever so slightly. For him, Kuradome was not just a father, but both mother and pillar—a golden idol of safety.
Hàn Zhì's voice carried again, calmer now.
"The Kazomaki bloodline is twisted with history, bound in secrets. We know too little. They will not tell us more, so we cannot know what truly haunts him. But from what I see… he is grieving. Likely mourning the loss of his partner."
"Yes, sir. I agree," Qín Róu answered softly, guilt heavy in his tone.
Hàn Zhì flicked open a fan at his waist, his movements graceful and cold. His silver eyes half-lidded as he continued:
"He is still young. Five hundred years might sound long, but it is not enough to carry betrayal, the loss of a lover, and fatherhood. He himself never had a father. And now he must be both father and ruler…"
Qín Róu's throat tightened.
"So we must do what we can," Hàn Zhì concluded. "Care for him, but do not force his secrets. Do not press him to speak. That will only deepen the wound."
Qín Róu lowered his head. "Yes, sir. This time, I will do better. I'll give everything to ensure his well-being."
The headmaster studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Good. Remember, our duty extends to all students. But Kuradome cannot be left alone. His name and his background bring danger with every step, even here. Find someone close to him. Someone trustworthy. Let them help you."
Determination burned in Qín Róu's red eyes as he bowed deeply. "Yes, Headmaster. I will follow your instructions and report every step."
Again, Hàn Zhì placed a firm hand on his shoulder. His voice softened to rare gentleness.
"Do not fail him again."
Qín Róu raised his head, resolute. "You may place your faith in me. This time—with the support of responsible students and teachers alike—I will not fail."
The headmaster's stern features eased. With a swirl of his silver robes, he turned and strode across the hall, his boots echoing against the cold marble.
Qín Róu stood still, watching him vanish into shadow.
From behind the pillar, Bái Qíyuè stepped forward at last. Kyoren rested in her arms, his golden eyes still wet with tears. Her boots clicked softly, a gentler echo following after the headmaster's fading steps.
Qín Róu's ears twitched. Slowly, he turned toward her...