Dxm
Feather & Flesh: The Tyrant's Velvet Touch
Prologue: The Proposition
The hall of floating pages existed in a space between dreams and reality. Moonlight spilled across ancient tomes suspended in mid-air, their pages rippling like water. At the center, an ornate wine table hovered over a pool of shifting ink that reflected not the ceiling above, but infinite possibilities.
Kazurou Asteris reclined in a high-backed chair, one eye gold and starlit, the other a deep, impossible violet. His fingers traced the rim of a crystal goblet as he watched the woman across from him with quiet amusement.
Featherine Augustus Aurora, the Witch of Theatergoing and Forgery, lounged like a cat in her chair—all elegance and predatory grace. Her long lavender hair cascaded around her like living calligraphy, occasionally shifting into script and back. She wore a knowing smile as she studied him.
"Bored, darling?" she asked, her voice musical yet somehow binding, as if her words stitched themselves into the fabric of reality.
"Not bored," Kazurou replied, his voice a low, melodic rumble that made the floating pages around them tremble slightly. "Perhaps... nostalgic. It's been some time since we've had a proper game."
The air between them was charged with an intimacy that transcended physical space—two beings who had seen universes collapse, who had rewritten endings and beginnings, now simply enjoying wine.
Featherine rose from her seat with fluid grace, her dress of midnight and stars flowing around her. She circled the table slowly, trailing her fingers across its surface, leaving faint ripples of possibility in her wake. When she reached Kazurou, she slid onto his lap with practiced ease, her lips brushing his ear.
"I've been observing a rather... interesting world," she whispered. The silver quill earring dangling from Kazurou's ear seemed to respond to her voice, glowing faintly. "One filled with angels, demons, dragons... and high school students."
Kazurou raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. "That hardly sounds challenging."
"Mmm, perhaps not in the way you expect." Featherine traced a finger along his jawline. "But I propose something different. Something... intimate."
"I'm listening."
Featherine's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Go to Kuoh Town. Start a massage parlor."
A beat of silence followed, broken only by the soft crinkling of floating pages. Then Kazurou laughed—a sound that made reality around them ripple pleasantly.
"A massage parlor?" he repeated, genuine amusement in his voice. "You want me to give backrubs to teenagers and supernatural beings?"
"With your hands," Featherine said, curling closer to him, "you could make demons confess sins. Or scream. Or both." She traced her fingers over his palm. "Those hands that have shaped worlds, broken gods, and rewritten causality... imagine what they could do with simple oil and pressure."
Kazurou's eyes—one gold, one violet—seemed to see beyond her words, reading the layers of her intention.
"You're suggesting I influence them through... touch," he said slowly. "Not power. Not fear. Just... connection."
"Precisely." Featherine smiled against his neck. "In a world obsessed with power, breasts, and dragons... true intimacy might be the most subversive force of all."
Kazurou considered this, his fingers absently playing with a strand of her lavender hair. "And what would you get from watching this particular story unfold?"
Featherine's smile turned enigmatic. "Perhaps I simply want to see what happens when beings of tremendous power find themselves... vulnerable. When they discover wants they never knew they had."
"And me?" he asked, his voice softening. "What do I get from this game of yours?"
Featherine pulled back enough to meet his gaze, her eyes ancient and amused. "The one thing you've never truly had, my paradoxical darling—the chance to touch souls rather than just reshape them."
The silence that followed was thoughtful. Around them, the floating pages of unwritten stories trembled in anticipation.
"Very well," Kazurou finally said, his mismatched eyes gleaming with challenge and curiosity. "A massage parlor in Kuoh Town it is."
Featherine's delighted laugh echoed through the hall of floating pages, causing ripples in the pool of ink beneath them—ripples that formed the words "Chapter One" before dissolving back into blackness.
Chapter 1: Arrival in Kuoh
The old shrine sat on the outskirts of Kuoh Town, just beyond the academy grounds. Nestled between ancient trees and partially hidden by a naturally formed barrier of morning mist, it had been abandoned for decades—or so the townspeople believed.
In truth, the sacred space had merely been waiting.
Cherry blossoms drifted on the spring breeze as Kazurou Asteris stood before the weathered torii gate, studying the structure with a critical eye. His appearance had shifted subtly for this world—his hair now shorter, the violet tips less obvious unless caught in direct sunlight. He wore a simple black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and fitted trousers that spoke of casual elegance rather than supernatural power.
The silver quill earring remained, catching light even where there was none.
"Well," he murmured to himself, "it has good bones."
With a casual gesture, he sent a pulse of energy through the shrine grounds. The effect was subtle—peeling paint renewed itself, broken tiles mended, weeds receded, and the dusty interior was cleansed. Not a restoration to grandeur, but a respectful awakening, as if the shrine had simply been roused from slumber rather than radically transformed.
The large central room would become his workspace—already he could envision the massage table at its center. The smaller adjoining rooms would serve as reception, storage, and his private quarters. The hot spring at the back, hidden behind bamboo screens, would make an excellent relaxation area for clients.
As Kazurou explored the interior, making mental notes, he felt a subtle disturbance in the air—the whisper of observation.
"You can come out," he said without turning around. "I don't bite... unless requested."
A small figure materialized from the shadows of the room—a young girl with white hair and expressionless golden eyes. She wore a gothic lolita dress and held a book nearly half her size.
Ophis, the Infinite Dragon God.
"You are not from here," she stated flatly, her voice lacking inflection but heavy with power.
Kazurou turned to face her, a small smile playing on his lips. "Neither are you, technically. At least not originally."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you?"
"Currently?" He gestured around them. "A massage therapist setting up shop. Or I will be, once I hang the sign."
Ophis tilted her head, studying him with ancient eyes that belied her childlike appearance. "I sense no sacred gear. No demonic power. No angelic grace." Her eyes fixed on his mismatched ones. "Yet you are not human."
"I'm exactly what I appear to be," Kazurou replied, his voice soft but carrying a weight that made the air between them vibrate subtly. "Nothing more, nothing less."
"Impossible." Ophis took a step closer. "Everything is something."
"Perhaps," Kazurou conceded, his smile widening slightly. "But definitions can be... restrictive."
For a long moment, they regarded each other—the Infinite Dragon God and the Feathered Paradox, two beings operating outside conventional understanding.
"You interest me," Ophis finally declared, "and very few things do anymore."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Ophis approached the center of the room where Kazurou stood, her small form casting a shadow far larger than physics should allow. "This territory has many powerful beings. Devils. Fallen angels. Exorcists. Dragon-bearers."
"So I've been told."
"They will sense you eventually."
Kazurou's right eye—the violet one—seemed to shift slightly, revealing geometries impossible to comprehend. "Let them."
Ophis stared at that eye for a moment, and for the first time, something like uncertainty crossed her face. "What is your purpose here?"
"To open a massage parlor." Kazurou said simply, then added with a hint of mischief, "Would you like to book the first appointment?"
The Dragon God's expression remained blank, but the air around her shimmered with barely contained curiosity. "Massage... this is a human ritual of touch?"
"It's an art," Kazurou corrected gently. "A way to release tension, ease pain, and sometimes... reveal truth."
"Truth," Ophis repeated, as if testing the word. "I have no need for human comforts."
"Everyone needs touch, Ophis. Even gods. Especially gods." Kazurou gestured to the space where his table would soon stand. "Consider it a trade—one session in exchange for your tacit approval of my presence here."
The Dragon God stood motionless, her ancient mind calculating possibilities, risks, potential outcomes.
"Very well," she finally said. "I will experience this... massage. If it displeases me, I will remove you from this realm."
Kazurou laughed—a sound that made the dust motes dance in the air around them. "Fair enough. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon? I should have everything set up by then."
Ophis nodded once, then began to fade into the shadows. Before she disappeared completely, she paused. "You have a name in this world?"
"Kazurou Amagiri," he replied. "At your service."
"Amagiri," she repeated. "The heavenly mist." Her golden eyes glinted. "Appropriate... or ironic."
Then she was gone, leaving Kazurou alone in the shrine. He rolled his shoulders and looked around at the work ahead of him.
"Well," he murmured to the empty room, "that's one appointment on the books."
From a corner of shadow deeper than the others, Featherine's laugh echoed softly, heard only by him. "Starting with the Infinite Dragon God? Ambitious, darling. I do love when you exceed expectations."
Kazurou smiled to himself and began to prepare his new establishment.
Chapter 2: The Sign Above the Door
By evening, transformation of the shrine was complete.
The entrance now featured a simple but elegant wooden sign that read "Feather & Flesh – Private Restoration Sessions (Appointment Only)" in gold lettering that seemed to shimmer even in shadow. A small reception area had been arranged with comfortable seating, soft lighting, and the subtle aroma of sandalwood and vanilla.
The main treatment room had been converted with understated luxury—a traditional Japanese aesthetic with modern touches. A custom-made massage table dominated the center, covered in sheets of impossibly soft material. Shelves held an array of oils in crystal bottles, each glowing with subtle inner light. Music played softly—ancient melodies that couldn't quite be placed yet felt strangely familiar to anyone who heard them.
As twilight settled over Kuoh Town, curious eyes began to notice the change in the previously abandoned shrine.
"What do you think it is?" asked Issei Hyoudou, peering through the trees as he walked home from Kuoh Academy with his friends.
Beside him, Matsuda adjusted his glasses with suspicion. "It wasn't there yesterday, was it? Maybe it's some kind of love hotel!"
"Don't be an idiot," Motohama scoffed, though his expression was equally curious. "It's too small, and it's a shrine. It's probably just been renovated."
Issei squinted at the sign. "Feather and Flesh? What kind of name is that?"
"Private Restoration Sessions," Matsuda read aloud, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "You know what that sounds like to me?"
"Everything sounds perverted to you," Motohama retorted.
As the boys continued their speculation, they didn't notice the figure watching them from the shrine's entrance—Kazurou, leaning against the doorframe with quiet amusement.
"Teenagers," he murmured to himself. "Some constants transcend universes."
He turned back inside, unconcerned with their gossip. By tomorrow, word would spread throughout Kuoh. The wheels were already in motion.
Later that night, as Kazurou sat on the engawa overlooking the small garden he'd cultivated, the air beside him shimmered. Featherine materialized, reclining on the wooden platform with the casual elegance of a cat claiming territory.
"I see you've settled in nicely," she observed, her form more translucent than usual—a projection rather than a full manifestation in this world.
"It's sufficient," Kazurou replied, taking a sip from the cup of sake he'd been nursing. "Though I notice you've been making small additions."
Featherine's laugh was like wind chimes. "Just a few atmospheric touches. The oils, for instance—ordinary massage oil simply wouldn't do for what you have planned."
"And what exactly do I have planned?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Beyond what you've already suggested."
"That's the beauty of it, darling." Featherine ran her ethereal fingers through his hair, her touch leaving trails of faint light. "I've set the stage, but even I don't know exactly how this play will unfold. That's why I chose you for this role."
Kazurou caught her wrist gently, his fingers passing partially through her semi-corporeal form. "You never do anything without multiple layers of purpose, Featherine."
Her smile was enigmatic. "Perhaps I simply want to see what happens when beings accustomed to manipulation through power experience manipulation through... gentleness."
"And Ophis? You knew she would find me immediately."
"The Infinite Dragon God is a creature of profound loneliness," Featherine observed, her voice softening slightly. "Infinite power and infinite solitude. What better first subject for your... talents?"
Kazurou released her wrist, his expression thoughtful. "She's dangerous."
"All your clients will be, in their own ways." Featherine moved closer, her lips brushing his ear. "That's what makes this interesting. The most powerful beings in this world, laid bare under your hands—not through force, but through surrender."
"And when they realize what's happening?"
Featherine's smile turned mischievous. "By then, they'll be too enchanted to care."
She began to fade, her form dissolving into motes of lavender light. "I'll be watching, of course. Every session. Every sigh. Every... revelation."
"Of course you will," Kazurou said dryly. "Voyeurism always was your favorite sport."
Her laugh lingered after she had disappeared completely. "Not voyeurism, darling. Authorship. There's a difference."
Left alone under the stars, Kazurou contemplated the next day's appointment with Ophis. The Infinite Dragon God—a being of chaos and power beyond measure—would soon be lying on his table.
"Well," he murmured to himself, "at least it won't be boring."
In the darkness of the garden, a single feather—silver and luminous—drifted to the ground, disappearing the moment it touched earth.
Chapter 3: The Infinite First Client
Morning arrived with gentle anticipation. Sunlight filtered through the paper screens of the shrine, casting patterns across the polished wooden floors. Kazurou moved through his preparations with methodical grace—heating oils, arranging towels, calibrating the room's energy to promote relaxation and openness.
At precisely noon, there was a shift in the air rather than a knock at the door. Ophis simply materialized in the reception area, her golden eyes taking in every detail with ancient curiosity.
"Welcome," Kazurou greeted her, emerging from the main room. Today he wore a simple black kimono-style top over fitted trousers, professional yet elegant. "Right on time."
"Time is a construct," Ophis replied flatly, "but humans seem attached to its measurements."
Kazurou smiled. "Some conventions are worth observing, even for beings like us. Please, come in."
He led her to the treatment room, where soft music played and the scent of warm oil hung in the air. The massage table waited, draped in midnight-blue sheets that seemed to shimmer with tiny points of light, like a field of stars.
"You'll need to remove your outer garments," Kazurou explained, gesturing to a privacy screen. "Then lie face down on the table. I'll step out until you're ready."
Ophis tilted her head, studying him. "My physical form is merely a construct. I could reshape it or dispose of it entirely."
"True, but the ritual has value," Kazurou countered gently. "The act of disrobing, of making oneself vulnerable—it's part of the experience."
The Dragon God considered this, then nodded once. "Very well. I will observe your human rituals."
Kazurou stepped outside, waiting patiently. Through the paper screen, he could see Ophis's silhouette as she removed her gothic lolita dress with methodical precision, then moved to the table. Despite her apparent child-like form, there was nothing childish about the ancient being's movements.
"You may enter," she called, her voice unchanged.
When Kazurou returned, Ophis lay face down on the table, a small towel draped strategically across her lower body. Her white hair spilled across the table like spun moonlight.
"I will begin now," Kazurou said, warming oil between his palms. "The sensation may be... unfamiliar at first."
As his hands made first contact with Ophis's shoulders, something extraordinary happened. The Dragon God's body—a construct of immense power contained in a small form—went rigid. Kazurou felt the tension beneath his fingers, coiled energy ready to erupt.
"Breathe," he instructed softly, his fingers finding pressure points that existed beyond physical anatomy.
Slowly, he began to work, his hands moving with practiced precision. This was not mere physical massage—each touch carried intention, each stroke a careful negotiation with the cosmic power contained within the form beneath his hands.
Minutes passed in silence. Gradually, impossibly, Ophis began to relax.
"Your hands," she observed after some time, her voice slightly muffled against the table. "They contain power, yet you use none of it."
"This isn't about power," Kazurou replied, working his way down her spine with gentle pressure. "It's about connection."
As his hands continued their work, Kazurou's right eye—the violet one—began to activate subtly. Through it, he could see beyond Ophis's physical form to the swirling chaos of infinite draconic energy that constituted her true self. Streams of power, old as creation itself, circling endlessly with no beginning or end.
And at the center—surprising him despite his millennia of existence—a small, pulsing point of loneliness.
Infinite power. Infinite solitude.
Without conscious decision, Kazurou's hands shifted their approach. His touch moved from physical to metaphysical, his fingers tracing not just muscle and sinew, but the currents of power that formed Ophis's very existence.
The Dragon God went still. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice holding the faintest tremor.
"Finding the knots in your true form," Kazurou answered honestly. "Even beings of chaos have patterns, Ophis. And patterns can create tension."
He pressed deeper, not physically but existentially, his fingers finding a nexus point where infinity folded in on itself. With gentle pressure, he began to unravel it.
A sound escaped Ophis then—something between a gasp and a sigh, a noise perhaps never before made by the Infinite Dragon God.
"This sensation," she whispered. "What is it?"
"Release," Kazurou told her, continuing his work. "Surrender without submission. Vulnerability without weakness."
As the session progressed, something remarkable occurred. The aura around Ophis—usually a maelstrom of chaotic power—began to harmonize. Not diminish, not weaken, but find a rhythm more sustainable, more... content.
When Kazurou's hands finally lifted from her back, nearly an hour had passed. "We're finished," he said softly. "Take a moment before rising."
Ophis remained motionless on the table for several long minutes. When she finally sat up, holding the towel around herself, her golden eyes held a new expression—a quiet wonder.
"What did you do to me?" she asked, and for once, the question held no threat.
Kazurou handed her a cup of warm tea. "I simply showed your true form what it feels like to be at peace with itself."
Ophis accepted the tea, studying the steam rising from its surface. "Peace," she repeated, as if testing a foreign concept. "I have existed for eons, seeking silence from Great Red's presence. Yet this... this is different."
"Silence isn't the same as peace," Kazurou observed. "One is absence. The other is harmony."
The Dragon God sipped her tea, her eyes never leaving his face. "You are more dangerous than you appear, Kazurou Amagiri."
He smiled. "All the best therapists are."
After dressing behind the screen, Ophis returned to the reception area where Kazurou waited. The normally expressionless god seemed subtly changed—her posture less rigid, her golden eyes slightly softer.
"The payment," she said abruptly. "What do you require?"
"As agreed—your tacit approval of my presence here," Kazurou replied. "Though if you wish to return, a standard appointment can be arranged."
Ophis nodded slowly. "I will return. This experience... requires further investigation."
As she turned to leave, she paused. "Others will come to you now. I have marked this place as neutral territory. None shall destroy it without answering to me."
With that pronouncement—shockingly generous from the normally indifferent Dragon God—she dissolved into particles of darkness, leaving Kazurou alone.
Or nearly alone.
"My, my," came Featherine's amused voice from the shadows. "You've managed to win over the Infinite Dragon God with a single massage. I'm impressed."
Kazurou turned toward her voice. "You knew she would respond this way."
Featherine materialized partially, lounging in the air as if on an invisible chaise. "I suspected. Beings of pure power rarely experience gentleness. It's... novel for them."
"She'll be back," Kazurou noted, cleaning his hands with a warm towel.
"Of course she will." Featherine's smile was knowing. "And she won't be the only one. Word will spread quickly now—the mysterious massage therapist who can soothe even a god."
Kazurou raised an eyebrow. "Is that part of your plan?"
"Plan? No." Featherine's laugh was like silk sliding over skin. "Narrative trajectory? Absolutely."
She began to fade again, her form dissolving into motes of light. "Rest well, darling. Tomorrow, your real work begins."
As her presence vanished completely, Kazurou felt a subtle shift in the air around the shrine—the whisper of attention turning his way, the first tendrils of curiosity from beings throughout Kuoh.
The stage was set. The first act had begun.
And somewhere in the spaces between reality, Featherine Augustus Aurora settled in to watch her favorite show unfold.
Chapter 4: Ripples in the Underworld
Word spread through supernatural circles with surprising speed.
In the student council room of Kuoh Academy, Sona Sitri adjusted her glasses as she reviewed the report from her familiar. "A new establishment has appeared on the edge of our territory. Something called 'Feather & Flesh.'"
Across from her, Tsubaki Shinra frowned slightly. "A massage parlor, according to our intelligence. Opened just yesterday."
"And Ophis was seen entering and leaving," Sona added, her expression grave. "The Infinite Dragon God, visiting a simple massage parlor. That alone warrants investigation."
"Shall I have someone observe the proprietor?" Tsubaki asked.
Sona considered this. "No. If this person is significant enough to attract Ophis's attention, direct surveillance could be interpreted as hostile action." She closed the folder. "I'll visit personally."
Meanwhile, in the old school building housing the Occult Research Club, Rias Gremory was having a similar conversation with her peerage.
"A massage parlor?" Issei asked, perking up immediately. "Like... where pretty ladies give massages?"
Akeno giggled behind her hand. "Ara ara, Issei-kun is so predictable."
"From what we understand, it's a single practitioner," Rias explained, tossing her crimson hair over her shoulder. "A man who calls himself Kazurou Amagiri. No background information, no magical signature our familiars can identify, yet Ophis herself visited his establishment."
"That's... concerning," Kiba observed, his handsome face serious. "Ophis doesn't involve herself with trivial matters."
"Exactly." Rias leaned forward. "Which is why I've booked an appointment for tomorrow afternoon."
Her announcement was met with surprise.
"Buchou, is that wise?" Akeno asked. "If this person is powerful enough to be of interest to Ophis..."
"All the more reason to assess him directly," Rias replied confidently. "As the devil in charge of this territory, it's my responsibility."
Koneko, who had been quietly eating sweets in the corner, spoke up suddenly. "I'll go too."
Everyone turned to her with surprise.
"I can sense auras better than anyone else here," the small nekomata explained simply. "If he's dangerous, I'll know."
Rias considered this, then nodded. "Very well. We'll go together tomorrow."
Across town, in the fallen angel hideout disguised as an abandoned church, Raynare paced angrily.
"A new power in our territory, and no one thought to inform me immediately?" she demanded of her subordinates.
Mittelt, sitting on a pew and swinging her legs, shrugged. "We only just found out ourselves. Apparently, even Azazel-sama has taken interest."
This stopped Raynare's pacing. "Azazel? Why would the leader of the Grigori care about a massage parlor?"
"Because," came a smooth male voice from the doorway, "anything that catches Ophis's attention is worth investigating."
The fallen angels turned to see Azazel himself leaning against the church entrance, his expression amused. His twelve jet-black wings were hidden, making him appear as a handsome man in his twenties with gold-tinted hair.
"Azazel-sama!" Raynare immediately bowed. "We didn't expect you."
"Clearly," he replied dryly. "But as I was saying, our intelligence reports that Ophis not only visited this new establishment but has apparently declared it neutral territory." His eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Now, what could a simple massage therapist possibly offer the Infinite Dragon God to earn such favor?"
"Should we eliminate this potential threat?" Raynare asked eagerly.
Azazel laughed. "Absolutely not. I've already scheduled my own appointment." He straightened from his lounging position. "Sometimes, Raynare, curiosity is better satisfied through direct experience than violence."
As twilight settled over Kuoh Town, these separate conversations converged toward a single point of interest: the mysterious new massage parlor and its enigmatic proprietor.
In his shrine-turned-spa, Kazurou felt these attentions like ripples in a pond. His violet eye briefly activated as he sensed the converging intents—some curious, some cautious, some hostile.
"The pieces are moving," he murmured to himself.
"Did you expect anything less?" Featherine's voice came from the steaming bath where she lounged, visible only to him. Today she had manifested as a reflection in the water, her lavender hair floating like exotic seaweed.
"Not at all," Kazurou replied, reviewing his appointment book. Already, several names had appeared on the pages, written in elegant script—names he recognized from this world's lore. "You've been busy."
"Simply accelerating the inevitable," Featherine said with a lazy smile. "Tomorrow you have the Gremory heir and her little cat, followed by the Student Council president, and then..." Her smile widened. "The Governor-General of the fallen angels himself. Quite a distinguished clientele already."
Kazurou raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly have you told them about my services?"
"Only that you offer 'spiritual and physical restoration through sacred touch,'" Featherine replied innocently. "Their interpretations are their own."
"Of course they are." Kazurou closed the appointment book. "And the special oils you've provided? What exactly do they do?"
Featherine's reflection rippled with her laughter. "Nothing harmful, I assure you. They simply... amplify truth. Lower barriers. Open doors that the recipients didn't know were closed." Her eyes gleamed. "Your touch does the real work. The oils merely prepare the canvas."
Kazurou sighed, but there was no real exasperation in it—only amused resignation. "You're enjoying this already."
"Immensely." Featherine began to sink deeper into the water. "Oh, and darling? Do use your Eye selectively tomorrow. Some truths are more... entertaining when revealed gradually."
As her reflection disappeared entirely, Kazurou was left alone with his thoughts and preparations for the next day's clients. Outside, the moon rose over Kuoh Town, silvering the shrine's roof and catching on the sign that had already become the subject of so much speculation.
Feather & Flesh.
The name itself was a promise—one that would soon be fulfilled.
Chapter 5: Crimson and White
Morning arrived with anticipation hanging in the air like mist. Kazurou spent the early hours in meditation, centering himself for the day ahead. The appointments Featherine had arranged would bring powerful beings to his table—beings whose actions shaped the fate of this world.
At precisely 2:00 PM, the chime at the entrance rang softly. Rias Gremory and Koneko Toujou stood in the reception area, taking in the simple elegance of the space with curious eyes.
Rias was every bit as striking as her reputation suggested—tall and graceful with flowing crimson hair and eyes the color of ocean depths. She wore a simple blouse and skirt rather than her school uniform, perhaps attempting to appear more mature.
Beside her, Koneko was a study in contrasts—small, white-haired, expression carefully neutral. Yet Kazurou could sense the power contained within her diminutive form, the nekomata heritage she kept carefully suppressed.
"Welcome to Feather & Flesh," Kazurou greeted them, emerging from the main treatment room. "Rias Gremory and Koneko Toujou, I presume?"
Rias's eyes widened slightly. "You know who we are."
"Of course," he replied with a small smile. "Just as you've come to learn who I am. Fair exchange, wouldn't you say?"
His casual acknowledgment of their purpose seemed to surprise her. Koneko's eyes narrowed slightly, her senses clearly probing his aura.
"You're... not human," she stated flatly.
"Neither are you," Kazurou countered gently. "Yet here we all are, observing the pleasantries. Please, have a seat. Would you care for tea before we begin?"
The two devils exchanged glances before accepting the offered seats in the reception area. Kazurou prepared tea with practiced movements, his back turned to them without concern.
"You've caused quite a stir in Kuoh," Rias observed, accepting a cup of fragrant jasmine tea. "Appearing from nowhere, setting up an establishment on the border of devil territory, receiving Ophis as your first client..."
"News travels quickly," Kazurou noted, taking a seat across from them. "Though I admit, I didn't realize I'd become a local celebrity quite so soon."
"When the Infinite Dragon God takes interest in something, others notice," Rias replied. "Which begs the question—what exactly did you do to earn Ophis's favor?"
Kazurou sipped his tea calmly. "I provided a service. She found it valuable. The details remain between practitioner and client."
Koneko's eyes hadn't left him since they arrived. "Your aura is... strange," she said quietly. "I can't read it."
"Perhaps because you're trying to categorize it," Kazurou suggested. "Not everything fits neatly into existing taxonomies, Koneko-san."
The use of her name seemed to startle her. Her eyes widened fractionally.
"Now," Kazurou continued, setting down his cup, "I believe you booked a treatment session, Gremory-san. Were you interested in the full experience, or was this merely a pretense for investigation?"
Rias flushed slightly at his directness. "I... well, since I'm here, I might as well experience what you have to offer."
"And your companion?"
Koneko shook her head quickly. "I'm just observing."
"As you wish," Kazurou said, rising smoothly. "Though my treatment room is private. You're welcome to wait here,
Koneko-san. Client privacy is paramount in my establishment."
Rias nodded to Koneko. "Wait here. I'll be fine."
The small nekomata didn't look convinced but settled into a chair, amber eyes tracking Kazurou's every movement.
"This way," Kazurou said, leading Rias to the treatment room.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Soft music played—ancient melodies that seemed to resonate with something deep in Rias's demonic nature. The air was warm, scented with exotic oils that made her skin tingle pleasantly.
"I'll step out while you prepare," Kazurou instructed, gesturing to the privacy screen. "Disrobe to your comfort level and lie face down on the table. Use the sheet to cover yourself."
Rias's cheeks colored slightly. "I understand."
When Kazurou returned, Rias lay on the table, crimson hair spilling like liquid fire across the midnight-blue sheets. She had maintained her modesty with the sheet, yet there was an undeniable vulnerability to her position.
"I'll begin now," Kazurou said, warming oil between his palms. The special blend Featherine had provided for this particular client glimmered subtly—essence of dragon's blood, crushed rose quartz, and something ancient that had no name in human language.
At the first touch of his hands on her shoulders, Rias flinched slightly.
"Relax," he murmured, his voice a soft command that seemed to bypass her conscious mind. "Breathe deeply. This is a place of truth, not judgment."
His hands began to work, finding the tension points where her Power of Destruction lay coiled beneath her skin. The heiress of the Gremory family carried tremendous pressure—the weight of expectations, responsibilities, the burden of her family name.
"You carry much on these shoulders," Kazurou observed, his fingers working deeper.
A small sigh escaped her lips. "The duties of a high-class devil."
"More than that," he countered, his right eye activating subtly. Through the Feathered Eye, he could see the tangled knots of her fate—the arranged marriage she resented, the desire to prove herself beyond her brother's shadow, the growing affection for her servants that went beyond the traditional master-servant dynamic.
His hands moved lower, tracing the elegant line of her spine. The oil warmed further, beginning its work of softening barriers—not just physical, but emotional and spiritual.
"Your Power of Destruction," Kazurou noted as his fingers found a particularly tight cluster of energy near her shoulder blades. "You contain it so carefully. A constant effort."
Rias's breath caught. "How can you—"
"I don't just feel muscles, Rias Gremory. I feel essence." His hands moved with practiced precision, beginning to unravel the knot of power. "You don't have to maintain such rigid control here. Not with me."
Something in his voice—a gentle authority, an absolute confidence—made Rias surrender just slightly. The power she always kept tightly leashed loosened, crimson energy briefly shimmering around her before settling.
"That's it," Kazurou encouraged, working deeper. "Let it breathe."
A soft moan escaped her lips as tension she hadn't even known she carried began to release. His hands moved lower, working the muscles along either side of her spine, finding pressure points that connected to her magical circuits.
"You're not just manipulating my muscles," Rias observed, her voice slightly dreamy. "What are you doing to me?"
"Showing you what it feels like to exist without restraint," Kazurou answered honestly. "Even for just an hour."
As his hands worked, Rias felt something unusual—a slow dissolution of the walls she maintained between herself and the world. Not her defenses against enemies, but the emotional barriers she'd constructed as the heiress of the Gremory family.
"This feeling," she murmured, "it's like..."
"Freedom," Kazurou supplied, his fingers now working the tight muscles of her lower back. "The freedom to be just Rias, not the Gremory heiress."
Those words struck something deep within her. A small, muffled sound escaped her—not quite a sob, but close.
"How do you know exactly what to say?" she whispered.
Kazurou's hands never paused in their work. "My hands read you, Rias. Your body tells me truths your words might not."
The massage continued, moving to her arms, her legs, each touch calibrated perfectly to her response. By the time he finished with a gentle neck and scalp massage, Rias was in a state of profound relaxation she'd never experienced before.
"Take your time rising," Kazurou instructed, wiping his hands on a warm towel. "I'll wait outside."
When Rias eventually emerged from behind the privacy screen, there was a noticeable difference in her demeanor. Her posture remained regal, but something had shifted in her eyes—a new awareness, a slight vulnerability.
"That was..." she began, then paused, searching for words.
"Enlightening?" Kazurou suggested with a small smile.
"Yes." Her cheeks colored slightly. "I would like to return, if possible."
"Of course. Shall we say same time next week?"
Rias nodded, then hesitated. "What you did—what you sensed about me—could you do that for others?"
Kazurou tilted his head. "Your peerage, you mean?"
Her eyes widened slightly at his perception. "Yes. They each carry their own burdens. If you could help them as you've helped me..."
"My door is open to all who seek restoration," he replied simply.
Something flickered in Rias's eyes—a brief possessiveness, quickly masked. "I'll let them know. Thank you, Kazurou-san."
As she rejoined Koneko in the reception area, the small nekomata studied her king with surprised eyes.
"Buchou, your aura..."
"Is clearer," Kazurou finished for her, entering behind Rias. "Sometimes we don't realize how much we carry until we set it down for a moment."
Koneko's eyes narrowed as she regarded him with newfound wariness. This man was more dangerous than she had initially assessed—not because of any malicious intent, but because of his ability to see too much, to touch too deeply.
As they prepared to leave, Rias turned back. "You never explained why you came to Kuoh."
Kazurou's smile was enigmatic. "Let's just say I was directed here by someone who thought both I and Kuoh would benefit from the arrangement."
The crimson-haired devil studied him for a moment longer. "You're going to change things around here, aren't you?"
"Change is inevitable," he replied. "I'm merely a catalyst."
After they departed, Kazurou had barely enough time to refresh the treatment room before his next appointment arrived—Sona Sitri, Student Council President and heiress of the Sitri family.
Where Rias had been fire and passion beneath a veneer of nobility, Sona was ice and precision all the way through. She entered alone, her violet eyes analytical behind red-framed glasses.
"Amagiri-san," she greeted formally. "Thank you for accommodating me on short notice."
"The pleasure is mine, Sitri-san," he replied, matching her formality. "Tea before we begin?"
Unlike her counterpart, Sona came directly to the point. "What exactly are your intentions in Kuoh Town?"
Kazurou smiled. "Currently, to provide exceptional massage therapy to those who need it. Would you care to experience it firsthand, or is this strictly an interrogation?"
A faint blush touched her cheeks at his directness. "I... believe in thorough investigation."
"Then let's begin your 'investigation,'" he replied, gesturing toward the treatment room.
Sona's session revealed an entirely different set of tensions than Rias's. Where the Gremory heiress carried emotional burdens, Sona's were intellectual—the constant calculation, planning, perfectionism that kept her mind perpetually active.
"You never rest, do you?" Kazurou observed as his hands worked the rigid muscles of her shoulders.
"Rest is inefficient," she replied, then gasped as his fingers found a particularly tight knot.
"Hmm." His voice held amusement. "And yet tension reduces effectiveness. A counterproductive cycle."
Throughout the session, Sona maintained her composure more rigidly than Rias had—but even she could not completely resist the effects of Kazurou's touch combined with Featherine's special oils.
By the end, a different Sona emerged—still methodical, still brilliant, but with a new whisper of possibility in her mind. The concept that perhaps control could be temporarily relinquished without disaster following.
"Your technique is... remarkable," she admitted as she prepared to leave. "I can see why Ophis would find it valuable."
"High praise," Kazurou replied. "Will I see you again, Sitri-san?"
She adjusted her glasses, a subtle tell he'd already learned meant she was buying time to compose her thoughts. "For monitoring purposes, yes. I believe regular assessments would be prudent."
"Of course," he agreed, hiding his amusement. "For monitoring purposes only."
As twilight settled over the shrine, Kazurou prepared for his final appointment of the day—perhaps the most intriguing.
Azazel, Governor-General of the fallen angels, arrived with the casual confidence of a being who had witnessed the creation and destruction of civilizations. Handsome in a roguish way, with golden-tipped dark hair and an easy smile that masked ancient power.
"Interesting place you've got here," he commented, glancing around appreciatively. "Not what I expected."
"And what did you expect, Governor-General?"
Azazel grinned. "Something more... flashy. Beings of power usually like to flaunt it."
"Some find subtlety more effective," Kazurou countered.
The fallen angel leader studied him with open curiosity. "You know, I've been around a very, very long time. Met gods, monsters, heroes, demons—the whole supernatural catalog. But you..." He squinted slightly. "I can't place you. And that's rare enough to be fascinating."
"Perhaps that's why you're here," Kazurou suggested. "Curiosity rather than tension."
"Oh, I've got plenty of tension too," Azazel laughed. "Twelve wings' worth and a few millennia of baggage. Think you can help with that?"
Kazurou smiled. "Let's find out."
Unlike the devils before him, Azazel approached the massage with irreverent enthusiasm, joking as he disrobed and positioning himself face-down on the table with the casual comfort of someone who had long ago abandoned modesty.
The oil Kazurou used for him had a different composition—laced with essence of twilight, crushed meteorite, and fragments of what might have been fallen grace.
"Interesting scent," Azazel commented as Kazurou began. "Not entirely of this world, is it?"
"Very few things truly are," Kazurou replied, his hands finding the ethereal pressure points where twelve hidden wings connected to the fallen angel's physical form.
Azazel's session revealed a complexity the others had not—layers upon layers of experience, regret, curiosity, rebellion. The fallen angel carried the weight of choices made eons ago, of a fall from grace that had defined his existence.
"Your wings," Kazurou noted, working a spot between Azazel's shoulder blades that made the fallen angel groan in pleasure. "You keep them hidden not just for convenience."
"That's quite the observation," Azazel murmured, his face half-buried in the cushion. "Care to elaborate?"
Kazurou's violet eye activated fully, seeing the tangled history written in Azazel's spiritual architecture. "They remind you of what you chose to leave behind. Yet also what you can never entirely forget."
The fallen angel went still beneath his hands. "You see a lot for a massage therapist."
"And you seek answers in unusual places, for a leader of your stature," Kazurou countered, continuing his work. "We all have our methods of understanding the world."
As the session progressed, Azazel gradually surrendered to the experience, his usual glib demeanor giving way to something more genuine. By the time Kazurou completed the treatment, the fallen angel leader lay in a state of boneless relaxation, his ancient aura humming with renewed clarity.
"Damn," Azazel muttered as he slowly sat up, holding the sheet around his waist. "If I'd known massages could feel like that, I'd have tried them millennia ago."
Kazurou handed him a glass of water infused with subtle restorative properties. "It's not just the massage."
Azazel's sharp eyes met his. "No, it's not, is it? It's you." He took a long drink. "What are you really, Amagiri? Some kind of higher being slumming it with us lesser immortals?"
"I'm exactly what I appear to be," Kazurou replied with the same answer he'd given Ophis. "A masseur offering restoration to those who seek it."
Azazel laughed. "Right. And I'm just a middle-aged man with a feather collection." He stood, stretching with evident pleasure. "Whatever you are, I like you. And I'll definitely be back."
As he dressed, the fallen angel added casually, "You should know, word of this place is spreading fast. Not just in Kuoh, but in the Underworld, Heaven, and among other factions. You're about to become very popular."
"I anticipated as much."
Azazel paused at the door on his way out. "One more thing. Whatever you did for Ophis... be careful. Changing beings like her, even in subtle ways, can have far-reaching consequences."
"I merely helped her find what she already sought," Kazurou said.
"Mmm." Azazel's expression turned unexpectedly serious. "Just remember that in our world, peace and chaos exist in a delicate balance. Tip it too far either way..." He left the thought unfinished.
After Azazel departed, Kazurou closed the shrine for the evening. The quiet that settled felt earned after a day of navigating the complex energies of such powerful beings.
In the small garden behind the shrine, he sat beneath the emerging stars, sipping sake and reflecting on the day's events.
"You've made quite an impression already," came Featherine's voice as she materialized beside him, more substantial than her usual projections. Tonight she appeared in a kimono of midnight blue adorned with silver script that moved across the fabric like living calligraphy.
"Your special oils helped," Kazurou noted, offering her a cup of sake which she accepted with elegant fingers.
"Merely catalysts," she demurred. "Your touch did the real work." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "The Gremory girl is already half in love with you."
"Hardly love," Kazurou corrected. "Fascination, perhaps. Relief at finding someone who sees her as Rias rather than as a Gremory."
"Semantics." Featherine waved dismissively. "The point is, it's working beautifully. Better than I anticipated, even." She sipped her sake. "Tomorrow you'll have more. The Queen of the Gremory peerage has booked the first morning slot."
"Akeno Himejima," Kazurou nodded. "The fallen angel hybrid with daddy issues."
Featherine laughed delightedly. "Oh, she's going to be fascinating on your table. All that repressed rage and confusion... plus her rather specific tastes."
"You're enjoying this too much," Kazurou observed, though without real criticism.
"Of course I am." She leaned closer, her ethereal form solidifying enough to rest her head against his shoulder. "Watching you unravel these powerful beings with nothing but your hands and your insight—it's better than any story I could write myself."
"Is that why you really sent me here? Entertainment?"
Featherine's expression softened slightly, revealing a glimpse of something more genuine beneath her usual playful cruelty. "Partially. But also because I thought perhaps... you needed this too."
Kazurou raised an eyebrow. "Needed what?"
"To connect," she said simply. "To touch and be touched, not as a god or a concept or a paradox, but as... something closer to human." Her eyes met his. "Even beings like us need that sometimes."
Before he could respond, she changed the subject abruptly. "I've been making notes about your sessions. The way the Gremory girl's power flared when you touched that spot between her shoulders—exquisite. And Azazel's wings! I could practically see them manifesting when you worked on his back."
"Taking research notes for future stories?"
"Always." Her smile was unapologetic. "Though I'm particularly interested in tomorrow's sessions. The shrine maiden with fallen angel blood... and then later, the nekoshou who hides her true nature."
"Kuroka has made an appointment?" Kazurou asked, surprised.
"Not Kuroka. At least, not yet." Featherine's smile turned mysterious. "Koneko—or should I say, Shirone. She made the appointment after returning with her master, though she told no one."
"Interesting."
"Isn't it?" Featherine's form began to fade, becoming more translucent. "I should go. Dawn comes early, and you'll need your strength for tomorrow's clients."
As she disappeared entirely, her voice lingered: "Remember, darling—sometimes what they need isn't what they think they want. Your gift is knowing the difference."
Left alone under the stars, Kazurou contemplated the rapidly expanding ripples of his presence in this world. Already, the currents were shifting, connections forming, possibilities multiplying.
He smiled to himself. Perhaps Featherine was right—perhaps he had needed this too. The chance to touch lives rather than simply rewrite them. To connect rather than command.
The silver quill earring caught starlight as he turned his face toward the heavens. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new revelations.
And in the dream spaces between worlds, Featherine watched and waited, her lavender eyes bright with anticipation.
Chapter 6: The Queen's Surrender
Morning arrived with gentle mist curling around the shrine grounds—a physical manifestation of the boundary between worlds that Kazurou's presence created. He spent the quiet hours before his first appointment in preparation, selecting oils and adjusting the treatment room's energy for the day's clients.
At precisely 9:00 AM, the door chime rang softly. Akeno Himejima stood in the entrance, her expression a practiced mask of gentle politeness that didn't quite reach her violet eyes.
"Welcome," Kazurou greeted her. "Please, come in."
Akeno was beautiful in the classical Japanese way—long black hair tied in a ponytail, elegant features, and a figure that her simple blouse and skirt couldn't disguise. But it was the contradictions within her that Kazurou found most interesting—the priestess with fallen angel blood, the sadist who masked pain with pleasure, the devoted queen who secretly resented her own heritage.
"Buchou spoke highly of your skills," Akeno said, her voice carrying the musical quality she used for her school persona. "I admit, I was curious."
"Curiosity is an excellent reason to try new experiences," Kazurou replied, preparing tea for them both. "Though I suspect you have other reasons as well."
Her eyes widened slightly at his directness. The perfect mask slipped for just a moment before she recovered with a light laugh. "Ara ara, you're quite perceptive, Amagiri-san."
"Please, call me Kazurou." He handed her a cup of steaming tea. "And yes, perception is necessary in my line of work."
As they sipped tea in the reception area, Kazurou could sense her studying him, trying to categorize the uncategorizable. The fallen angel part of her heritage would be especially sensitive to his otherworldly nature.
"You're not from around here," she finally said, echoing Ophis's observation from days earlier.
"Few of us are, when you trace back far enough," he replied with a slight smile. "Shall we begin your session? Or would you prefer to continue questioning me first?"
A faint blush touched her cheeks—unusual for someone normally so composed. "The session, please."
In the treatment room, Akeno revealed another layer of her complex nature. Unlike Rias and Sona, who had maintained modest coverage, Akeno disrobed completely behind the privacy screen before lying on the table, covering herself minimally with the sheet.
When Kazurou returned, he noted the deliberate provocativeness of her positioning but made no comment. Her actions were a test, a challenge, a defense mechanism—all of which his Feathered Eye could see clearly.
"I'll be using a special blend for you," he explained, warming oil between his palms. This mixture was darker than the others, with hints of amber and electric blue swirling within—essence of lightning, temple incense, and crystallized duality.
At the first touch of his hands on her shoulders, Akeno tensed, then deliberately forced herself to relax. "Your hands are warm," she observed.
"Temperature is important," Kazurou replied, beginning to work the tight muscles where her wings—both angel and fallen—remained hidden. "Too hot creates resistance, too cold causes withdrawal. The goal is to find the perfect balance."
As his hands moved across her shoulders and upper back, Akeno remained silent, though her breathing gradually deepened. Unlike her king, who had surrendered relatively quickly to the experience, Akeno maintained rigid control.
"You're fighting it," Kazurou noted after several minutes.
"Fighting what?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"The vulnerability." His hands found a knot of tension directly between her shoulder blades—the precise point where her conflicting heritages warred within her. "You're accustomed to being the one who causes others to lose control, not experiencing it yourself."
The breath caught in her throat as his fingers pressed deeper, beginning to unravel the spiritual knot that had formed there.
"I don't know what you mean," she said, but her voice trembled slightly.
Kazurou's right eye activated, seeing clearly the divided nature of her soul—half shrine maiden, half fallen angel, neither fully embraced, both kept in precarious balance by sheer force of will.
"Akeno," he said softly, using her given name with deliberate intimacy, "here, in this space, you don't have to be the Queen. You don't have to be the sadist or the priestess or the dutiful servant. You can simply be."
His hands moved lower, working along her spine with methodical precision. With each touch, the special oil sank deeper, beginning to dissolve barriers she had maintained for years.
"What did Rias tell you about me?" she asked, a defensive edge to her question.
"Nothing I couldn't see for myself," Kazurou replied honestly. "Your body tells its own story. The tension in your right shoulder—where you would manifest a fallen angel wing if you allowed yourself. The rigidity in your lower back—where you hold your anger toward your father."
Akeno's entire body went rigid. "Stop."
Kazurou's hands paused immediately, respecting her boundary. "As you wish."
For a long moment, silence filled the room. Then, in a voice so quiet he might have missed it without his enhanced senses, she whispered: "How do you know these things?"
"My hands read what your body cannot hide," he answered simply. "I can stop the session if you prefer."
Another long pause. Then: "No. Continue. But... be gentle."
The request—so at odds with her usual preference for intensity, for pain mixed with pleasure—revealed more than any admission could have.
"Of course," Kazurou agreed, resuming his work with even greater care.
As the session progressed, he avoided the most emotionally charged areas, focusing instead on creating a foundation of trust. Gradually, Akeno began to relax truly, not the forced relaxation of earlier but a genuine surrender to the experience.
When his hands finally returned to the spot between her shoulder blades—that nexus of her conflicted heritage—she didn't tense again.
"May I work deeper here?" he asked, his fingers hovering over the area.
"Yes," she whispered, then added something that surprised even her: "Please... Daddy."
The word hung in the air between them—a revelation of her deepest psychological needs, spoken without conscious intent. Akeno herself seemed shocked by it, her body tensing again in embarrassment.
Kazurou, however, accepted the term without judgment. "Relax," he said, his voice taking on a gentle authority. "Daddy's going to take care of you now."
The effect was immediate and profound. Something in Akeno broke open—not violently, but like a flower finally permitted to bloom. A soft, vulnerable sound escaped her as Kazurou's hands worked deeper, beginning to harmonize the warring elements of her nature.
"That's it," he encouraged as she surrendered fully to his touch. "Let go. You're safe here."
Tears began to slip silently from beneath her closed eyelids—not tears of pain, but of release. The Queen of the Gremory peerage, the sadist who delighted in others' discomfort, now found herself experiencing a different kind of surrender.
By the time the session ended, Akeno had been transformed—not permanently, not completely, but a door had been opened that could never quite close again. She had glimpsed integration where before she had known only division.
As she dressed behind the screen, her movements were languid, relaxed in a way she couldn't remember feeling before.
"How do you feel?" Kazurou asked when she emerged.
Akeno considered the question seriously. "Like... parts of me that have been at war forever have declared a temporary truce." Her violet eyes met his. "What did you do to me?"
"Nothing that wasn't already possible within you," he replied. "Sometimes we need another's touch to remind us of our wholeness."
She studied him with new eyes—not the calculating gaze of before, but something more vulnerable, more genuine. "I'd like to come back."
"My door is always open to you," Kazurou said.
As she prepared to leave, Akeno hesitated. "That thing I called you... during the session..."
"Remains between us," he assured her. "As does everything that happens in the treatment room."
Relief washed over her features. "Thank you... Kazurou."
After she departed, Kazurou refreshed the space, preparing for his next client. The morning progressed with several regular humans from town—elderly Mr. Tanaka with his chronic back pain, Mrs. Himura recovering from a minor stroke, young Kenji the track star with an overused hamstring.
These sessions were more straightforward—physical rather than metaphysical—yet Kazurou gave them the same care and attention he offered his supernatural clients. For these humans, his touch was healing in the conventional sense, though perhaps with slightly accelerated results that they attributed to his exceptional skill rather than supernatural influence.
By late afternoon, he had a short break before his final appointment of the day—the one Featherine had mentioned with particular interest.
Koneko Toujou arrived precisely on time, her small form and expressionless face betraying nothing of her purpose. Unlike the previous day, when she had accompanied Rias as an observer, today she came alone and with clear intent.
"Welcome back," Kazurou greeted her. "Tea?"
"No," she replied curtly. "I want to understand what you did to Buchou. And Akeno-san."
Kazurou gestured to a seat, which she took reluctantly. "I provided a service they needed. The same service I offer to anyone who comes here."
"They're different now," Koneko stated flatly. "Their auras are... clearer. But different."
"Is that concerning to you?"
Her amber eyes narrowed slightly. "Changes without explanation are always concerning."
Kazurou studied the small nekomata thoughtfully. Beneath her cool exterior lay tremendous pain—the trauma of her sister's madness, the rejection of her own heritage, the fear of her own power.
"Would you like to experience it for yourself?" he asked gently. "It might answer your questions more effectively than words."
Koneko hesitated, caution warring with curiosity. Finally, she gave a short nod. "Fine."
In the treatment room, her discomfort was evident. Unlike the others, who had disrobed with varying degrees of hesitation, Koneko seemed reluctant to remove even her outer garments.
"You can remain fully clothed if you prefer," Kazurou offered, sensing her unease. "I can work through fabric, though the effect won't be quite as profound."
Relief flickered across her normally expressionless face. "I'll keep my clothes on."
When she lay on the table, her small body was tense as a bowstring. Kazurou selected a different oil blend for her—one with gentle luminescence like moonlight, containing essence of purified youki, mountain herbs, and healing earth.
"I'll focus primarily on your shoulders and back," he explained, keeping his voice calm and unthreatening. "Stop me at any point if you're uncomfortable."
At the first touch of his hands, even through her shirt, Koneko flinched. The nekomata had spent years avoiding physical contact whenever possible—a defense mechanism against the emotional vulnerability it created.
"Breathe," Kazurou instructed softly. "I know touch is difficult for you."
Her head turned slightly. "How do you—"
"Your body tells me," he replied simply. "The way you hold yourself just slightly apart from others, the tension that rises when someone moves too close."
Gradually, his gentle, persistent touch began to create small inroads into her defenses. Unlike the more dramatic transformations of his previous supernatural clients, Koneko's response was subtle—a fractional softening here, a slight surrender there.
Then his hands reached the center of her back, where her concealed youki lay dormant. Through his Feathered Eye, Kazurou could see the sealed power—not destroyed or absent as many believed, but carefully contained, wrapped in layers of fear and control.
As his fingers pressed lightly on that spot, Koneko went rigid. "Stop," she whispered, panic edging her voice.
Kazurou immediately moved his hands away, returning to safer territory at her shoulders. "I'm sorry. Too much?"
The small nekomata was breathing rapidly, fear evident in every line of her body. "You... you can sense it, can't you? What I am."
"Yes," he answered honestly. "But it doesn't frighten me."
"It should," she said, her voice barely audible. "I could become like her. Like Kuroka."
Kazurou worked silently for a moment, letting her calm before responding. "Power doesn't corrupt, Koneko. Fear of power does."
She remained silent, though he could feel her listening intently.
"Your sister didn't fall to madness because of her power," he continued, his hands working gently around the edges of her sealed youki, never directly challenging the barrier she had created. "She fell because she lacked balance, guidance, understanding."
"How would you know?" Koneko challenged, though without heat.
Through his Feathered Eye, Kazurou glimpsed fragments of the true story—Kuroka's desperate choice to protect her sister, the sacrifice misconstrued as madness, the separation that had wounded both siblings deeply.
"Sometimes," he said carefully, "the stories we're told aren't the complete truth. Sometimes they're just the easiest explanation for those in power to accept."
Koneko went very still beneath his hands. "What are you saying?"
"That perhaps, one day, you might want to hear your sister's side of the story," Kazurou suggested. "Not now, perhaps not soon. But someday."
The remainder of the session was conducted in thoughtful silence. Though Koneko never fully relaxed as the others had, something had shifted in her—a tiny seed of possibility planted where before there had been only certainty.
When the massage ended and she sat up, her amber eyes studied Kazurou with new consideration. "You're dangerous," she stated, but the words lacked her earlier suspicion.
"Knowledge often is," he agreed. "But that doesn't make it wrong."
As she prepared to leave, Koneko paused at the door. "If... if Kuroka ever came here... would you tell me?"
The question revealed more than she likely intended—a longing beneath the fear, a connection not fully severed.
"That would depend on her wishes," Kazurou answered honestly. "But I would encourage her to reach out to you."
Koneko nodded once, then slipped away as silently as she had come.
After her departure, Kazurou closed the shrine for the evening. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the garden as he sat on the engawa, reflecting on the day's sessions.
"My, my," came Featherine's voice as she materialized beside him, today appearing as if stepping directly from a folktale—her lavender hair adorned with paper charms, her kimono shifting between patterns like living art. "The Queen's surrender was even more delicious than I anticipated."
"She called me Daddy," Kazurou noted with a raised eyebrow. "Your doing?"
Featherine laughed, the sound like glass wind chimes. "Not at all! That was entirely organic. A pure expression of her psyche seeking what it needs most." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Though I admit, it was wonderfully unexpected."
"And Koneko?" he asked. "What did you think of that session?"
"Subtle," Featherine acknowledged. "But potentially the most significant of all." She stretched languorously beside him. "