"He's Kuzomaki Sozai… one of my most gifted guards."
The clone Kuradome's voice carried through the hall—smooth, steady, threaded with reverence, as though unveiling something rare and precious.
The phrase struck like a spark, as unexpected as Sozai's performance itself.
All eyes snapped toward Sozai, questions blooming silently in their stares.
Bài Qíyuè inclined her head, her smile small yet composed, like a flower blooming in silence. But her gaze lingered longer than expected. Her eyes were calm—too calm—yet within that serenity flickered a thought no one else could touch. A thought about Sozai.
Sozai remained still, posture relaxed, mischief tucked away for the moment. He neither shrank beneath her gaze nor basked in it. And yet, Yurei noticed.
Yurei always noticed.
He tore his eyes away, disguising it as a glance toward the queen, though his heart betrayed him. In yokai culture, eyes carried meaning. Too much contact could be dangerous. Too much could mark someone as a hidden special-grade—a being of desire, power, and threat. A line no one crossed lightly.
And yet, in that fleeting exchange, Yurei had already seen too much.
Bài Qíyuè's blue gaze lingered on Sozai as if weighing him against something greater—an honor, perhaps, or a gift meant for none but him. Yet behind that calm veil shimmered a trace of something deeper, something she may not have realized she revealed. Was it longing? Recognition? A secret she carried only in silence?
For a heartbeat, the queen's lashes lowered, concealing her thoughts, but not before Yurei caught it—the same faint shift he had seen in generals just before they bowed to kings.
From across the hall, Yurei caught another detail—the faint glow in Sozai's lotus-green eyes. Not arrogance, but hope. A hope so luminous that even distance couldn't hide it. It unsettled him.
Because such eyes were never ordinary. They belonged to the rare few touched by special-grade essence—eyes that could hold silence like scripture, eyes that spoke entire worlds without words.
And yet… Sozai was no special-grade. Not in name. He was the ordinary one among them, the shadow no one ever bothered to notice. To think otherwise bordered on madness. Yurei had lived beside him for three hundred years without once glimpsing such depth. Why now?
Perhaps it was the glow itself—faint yet undeniable. A shimmer of hope Sozai had no right to wear. A glow too alive, too bright, for someone who lived wrapped in jokes and sly mischief.
Sozai felt Yurei's stare, of course. He always did. But where Yurei's thoughts tangled and sank, Sozai let such things slide past like water over glass. He wasn't the type to clutch dangerous threads—least of all whispers of special-grade essence. That topic was a blade sharper than most dared touch; suspicion alone could cut a man to pieces. Sozai knew it. Everyone knew it. So he laughed where others grew heavy, wore mischief as armor where others bore chains.
"Ah, why are you all looking at me like that?~ And that honor… it's making me emotional!" Sozai swiped dramatically at his eyes, drawing laughter. His friends chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder, amused rather than alarmed.
From a distance, Ennagiri watched with a faint smile, while Saimei stood stiff with pride—though only he knew the weight behind it.
And Yurei… Yurei felt the prickle in his ears, the tightening in his chest, an emotion he didn't want to name. Too familiar, yet too unknown.
Another thorn twisted in him—Bài Qíyuè herself. What was she thinking behind those calm eyes? Her attention was no small matter. It wasn't every day an outsider royal noticed someone so quickly, so directly.
His thoughts shifted back to her, restless, jealous.
What is she planning? To promote him? Or… gift him a Làn Qīngyè?… O-or a pair of those power stones?!
The mutter slipped out, half-gruff, half-wounded. He hated how easily Sozai drew attention—the queen's, the guards', even the soul gardens seemed to tilt toward him.
The kind of attention Yurei had once longed for… but never received.
And jealousy burned hotter than he cared to admit.
He huffed and turned, feigning sternness as he "monitored" the guards, but his eyes, sharp and stubborn,still strayed back to Sozai. Always to Sozai.
Now, before the second half of the ceremony—the part known as Honoring and Celebrating—the guards were to drink the sacred wine, Jiǔ Chén.
The air shifted. Servants entered the ground, their steps measured and elegant. They carried trays of cups, the porcelain gleaming faintly beneath the lantern light. The sacred wine shimmered within, a deep shade that seemed to hold stars inside it.
They lined up in precision—two rows forming, one for the normal guards, another for the majors.
For once, Sozai faltered.
His steps slowed, then stopped. His eyes flicked between the two rows, uncertainty clouding his usual playful ease. He was a normal guard, truthfully. Yet here, treated as one of the majors, how could he step down without raising suspicion? If he joined the majors, was it not a deception?
The conflict weighed on him. For all his mischief, Sozai never enjoyed being seen as dishonest. A clown, yes. A troublemaker, gladly. But dishonest? That cut deeper. His ears twitched; his tail curled around his leg. He could almost feel the phantom sting of old accusations, the shadows of whispers that had once called him unworthy.
His hesitation made the air ripple.Mid-path, he froze, and the flow of the line broke with him. The sudden stop sent the majors stumbling. Saimei, caught off-guard, collided forward. His forehead knocked against the back of Sozai's head, his mouth brushing against the curve of his neck. In the rush to steady himself, his hand slid onto Sozai's hip bone, gripping firmly.
A startled gasp escaped Sozai. His cat pupils widened, green eyes flickering with shock. The ground itself seemed to pause, caught in the strangeness of the moment.