Dxm2
"Seeds take time to grow," she said thoughtfully. "But I suspect this particular one will bloom in fascinating ways."
"You seem pleased with the progress so far," Kazurou observed.
"Immensely." Featherine's eyes sparkled with delight. "In less than a week, you've already begun unraveling the careful constructs these beings have built around themselves. The Gremory heiress, the Sitri tactician, the sadistic Queen, the dragon who seeks silence... each touched and changed." She leaned closer, her form solidifying enough to brush her fingers against his cheek. "And tomorrow brings new delights. The shrine maiden of thunder has booked your earliest slot."
"Akeno is returning so soon?"
"Different shrine maiden," Featherine corrected with a smile. "Himejima's cousin—Suzuku Himejima, from the main family. Word travels quickly among the supernatural."
Kazurou raised an eyebrow. "The Himejima clan has always been... suspicious of the supernatural. What would bring one of their shrine maidens here?"
"Curiosity? Reconnaissance? Or perhaps..." Featherine's smile turned knowing, "a need even she doesn't fully understand yet."
Chapter 7: Morning Surprises
Dawn broke with unexpected rain—a gentle summer shower that left the shrine grounds misty and fragrant. Kazurou had risen early, preparing for the day ahead with his usual methodical care.
He was arranging fresh flowers in the reception area when an unusual sound caught his attention—a frustrated feminine grunt followed by a splash.
Opening the door, he found a young woman standing in the middle of a puddle at the base of the shrine steps. She wore traditional miko garments—red hakama and white haori—now thoroughly soaked from the rain. Long black hair clung to her face, and her expression was one of annoyance as she attempted to salvage what remained of her dignity.
"You must be Suzuku Himejima," Kazurou greeted, quickly retrieving a towel from inside. "You're early."
The shrine maiden looked up, her dark eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. For a moment, she seemed to forget her drenched state.
"I... yes," she recovered quickly, accepting the offered towel with a bow. "I apologize for my appearance, Amagiri-san. The rain caught me by surprise."
"Please, come inside," he invited. "I have spare robes you can change into while yours dry."
Once inside, Suzuku surveyed the reception area with careful eyes—not merely admiring the aesthetics, but assessing, evaluating. The trained caution of one raised to hunt supernatural threats.
"Your establishment is... not what I expected," she admitted, dabbing at her wet hair.
"And what did you expect?" Kazurou asked, preparing tea.
"Something more..." she hesitated, searching for the right word, "obviously supernatural."
He smiled. "Sometimes the most profound experiences come in simple packages."
Leading her to a small side room where he kept spare clothing, Kazurou selected a simple yukata in deep indigo. "You can change in here. Take your time."
While she changed, he considered the significance of her visit. The Himejima clan—one of the five great exorcist families—sending a representative so early in his establishment's existence spoke volumes about the ripples his presence was creating.
When Suzuku emerged, the transformation was striking. Without her formal shrine maiden attire, she appeared younger, less severe. The indigo yukata complemented her pale skin and dark hair, and she moved with the natural grace of someone trained in traditional arts from childhood.
"Better?" Kazurou asked, offering her tea.
"Yes, thank you." She accepted the cup, her fingers brushing his momentarily. A slight blush touched her cheeks at the contact—unexpected vulnerability from an exorcist of her caliber.
"Now," he said, sitting across from her, "what brings a Himejima to my humble establishment? Surely not just tension in need of release."
Suzuku's eyes met his directly. "Reports of unusual spiritual activity centered around this shrine have reached our family. Activity that began precisely when you arrived in Kuoh."
"I see," Kazurou replied calmly. "And you were sent to investigate?"
"Yes." She sipped her tea, studying him over the rim. "Though I must admit, you're not what our reports described."
"And what did they describe?"
"A being of tremendous power. A disruption in the spiritual landscape of Kuoh." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Yet you present as merely... a man."
Kazurou smiled. "Appearances can be deceiving, as I'm sure your training has taught you."
"Indeed." She set down her cup. "Which is why I requested this appointment. To assess you directly."
"Through experiencing my services?" he asked, amusement touching his voice.
Color rose in her cheeks again. "It seemed the most... direct approach."
"Very practical," Kazurou agreed, rising smoothly. "Shall we begin, then? The treatment room is ready."
Inside the dimly lit room, the air was warm and fragrant with oils. Suzuku hesitated before the massage table, her exorcist training clearly at war with her current purpose.
"I understand this might be uncomfortable for someone of your background," Kazurou said gently. "But I assure you, nothing happens in this room that the client doesn't ultimately welcome."
Her dark eyes searched his face. "Your reputation is... unusual. Those who experience your treatments return changed."
"Is change always threatening?" he countered. "Or might it sometimes be exactly what we need?"
After a moment's consideration, Suzuku nodded once. "I will proceed. Should I...?" She gestured to the yukata.
"Whatever you're comfortable with," Kazurou replied, turning to prepare his oils. "There's a sheet on the table for modesty."
When he returned after giving her privacy, Suzuku lay face-down on the table, the sheet draped over her lower body. She had chosen to remove the yukata entirely—a surprising choice given her initial hesitation, but perhaps a statement of her determination to experience the full effect of his treatment.
"I've selected a special blend for you," Kazurou explained, warming oil between his palms. This mixture shimmered with subtle crimson light—essence of sacred flame, purified spring water, and ancestral memory. "It's particularly effective for those who carry ancestral burdens."
At the first touch of his hands on her shoulders, Suzuku tensed. Her spiritual training made her exceptionally sensitive to energies, and his touch carried undeniable power.
"You're not human," she whispered, though she didn't pull away.
"Not entirely," Kazurou admitted, beginning to work the tight muscles of her upper back. "But then, categories like 'human' and 'supernatural' are often more fluid than your clan's teachings might suggest."
As his hands moved with practiced precision, Suzuku remained alert, analytical—trying to categorize the sensations, to maintain the observer's perspective. Yet gradually, the exceptional quality of his touch began to bypass her conscious defenses.
"The Himejima clan has served as exorcists for generations," Kazurou noted as his fingers found a knot of tension at the base of her neck. "Always standing as humanity's shield against the supernatural. A noble purpose, but an isolating one."
"It is our duty," Suzuku replied, though her voice had softened as his hands worked deeper.
"Duty," Kazurou mused, his right eye activating subtly. Through the Feathered Eye, he could see the tangled lines of obligation, tradition, and unspoken questions that formed the core of her spiritual architecture. "And what of your own desires, Suzuku? Do they align perfectly with your duty?"
Her breath caught. "My desires are irrelevant."
"Are they?" His hands moved lower, following the elegant line of her spine. The oil warmed as it penetrated deeper, beginning to soften barriers she had maintained her entire life. "Or are they simply... unexplored?"
As the session progressed, Kazurou worked methodically through layers of tension—physical, spiritual, emotional. Unlike his supernatural clients, Suzuku's humanity made her both more resistant to and more vulnerable to his touch. Her spiritual training created formidable defenses, yet her human need for connection created profound openings.
When his hands reached the center of her back, he found the nexus point where her spiritual power connected to her physical form—the source of her exorcist abilities, carefully honed through years of training.
"This energy," he observed, working around the edges of it with gentle circles, "it's beautiful. Pure. But contained too rigidly."
Suzuku made a small sound of surprise. "You can sense my spiritual power?"
"I can sense many things," Kazurou replied, his fingers applying gentle pressure to specific points that caused her energy to flow more freely. "Including the questions you keep locked away."
"What questions?" she asked, but her voice betrayed her—she knew exactly what he meant.
Kazurou worked in silence for a moment, letting her feel the changes his touch created. Then, softly: "Questions about whether all supernatural beings are truly threats. Questions about your cousin Akeno, cast out for her father's blood. Questions about whether a life dedicated solely to duty can ever be truly fulfilled."
Suzuku went entirely still beneath his hands. "How could you possibly know—"
"My hands read what your spirit cannot hide," he answered simply. "I don't judge these questions, Suzuku. They don't make you disloyal to your clan. They make you wise."
A tremor passed through her body—not of fear or resistance, but of recognition. Of truth acknowledged.
By the time the session ended, something fundamental had shifted within the shrine maiden. Not a complete transformation—Kazurou's touch was powerful but not coercive—but a doorway opened where before there had been only a wall.
As she dressed behind the privacy screen, Suzuku's movements were slower, more contemplative than her efficient actions earlier.
"Your technique is... remarkable," she said when she emerged, the indigo yukata belted loosely around her waist. "I understand now why others have been affected."
"And what will you report to your clan?" Kazurou asked.
Suzuku met his gaze directly. "That you possess significant power, but show no signs of malicious intent. That further observation is warranted before any action is considered."
"A measured response," he noted with approval. "And will you return for this 'further observation'?"
A faint smile touched her lips—perhaps the first genuine one she had offered. "I believe that would be the thorough approach."
As she prepared to leave—her shrine maiden garments now dry thanks to Kazurou's subtle influence—Suzuku paused at the door. "My cousin... Akeno. She came to you, didn't she?"
"Client confidentiality prevents me from confirming specific visitors," he replied diplomatically.
Suzuku nodded in understanding. "If you do see her... tell her that not everyone in the family has forgotten her." With that surprisingly vulnerable admission, she departed.
The rest of the morning brought a steady stream of clients—some human, seeking physical relief, others supernatural, drawn by growing rumors of Kazurou's unique abilities. By midday, he was ready for a brief respite.
Stepping into the garden behind the shrine for a moment of quiet, Kazurou found himself unexpectedly not alone. A small figure sat beneath the maple tree, golden eyes watching him with unblinking intensity.
"Ophis," he greeted the Dragon God. "This is a surprise."
"I have been observing," she stated, her childlike appearance at odds with the ancient power she radiated. "You have touched many beings since our session."
"That is my purpose here," Kazurou agreed, sitting beside her on the stone bench.
"They change after you touch them," Ophis observed. "Their patterns shift. Reorganize." Her head tilted slightly. "Is this your intention?"
"I don't force change," he explained. "I merely create conditions where it becomes possible."
The Dragon God considered this. "I have felt... different since our session. Less... fragmented." Her golden eyes met his directly. "I wish to understand this process better."
"Are you requesting another appointment?" Kazurou asked, hiding his surprise. Even Featherine hadn't predicted the Infinite Dragon God would return so soon.
"Yes," Ophis confirmed. "Today, if possible."
Kazurou checked his mental schedule. "I have an opening this afternoon. Would four o'clock suit you?"
Ophis nodded once. "I will return then." She began to fade into shadows, then paused. "Bring the oils that smell of starlight. I found them... agreeable."
After she disappeared, Kazurou smiled to himself. The most powerful being in this world, requesting a specific aromatherapy blend—perhaps the most unexpected development yet.
The remainder of the day proceeded with its own surprises. During a session with a middle-aged human businessman, the man confessed a lifetime of regrets with unprecedented candor. A young devil from Sona Sitri's peerage discovered a talent for healing magic she hadn't known she possessed. An elderly shrine keeper from the other side of town experienced relief from arthritis pain for the first time in decades.
By the time four o'clock approached, Kazurou had prepared specially for Ophis's return—adjusting the treatment room's energy to accommodate her cosmic nature and selecting the oils she had requested.
The Dragon God arrived precisely on time, materializing directly in the treatment room rather than using the door. Today, her gothic lolita dress was slightly different—still black and white, but with subtle stars embedded in the fabric.
"You changed your appearance," Kazurou noted.
"A minor adjustment," Ophis replied. "I found myself... considering aesthetic preferences. This is new for me."
The revelation that the Infinite Dragon God was developing personal tastes was significant, but Kazurou merely nodded. "It suits you."
Unlike their first session, Ophis required no explanation of the process. She simply disrobed with methodical efficiency and positioned herself on the table, her small form belying the cosmic power contained within.
Kazurou began the massage with the same careful respect as before, but this time, Ophis surprised him by speaking midway through.
"The others who come to you," she said, her voice as flat as ever despite the relaxing effects of his touch, "they seek different things from what I seek."
"Yes," Kazurou agreed, working the ethereal pressure points where infinity folded in on itself within her construct. "Each being's needs are unique."
"What do they ask of you?"
The question was unexpected—Ophis rarely showed interest in others. "They don't always know what they're asking for," Kazurou replied thoughtfully. "Some come seeking physical relief, others emotional. Some are drawn by curiosity, others by need they can't articulate."
"And what do you give them?"
"Whatever they're ready to receive," he said, his hands finding a new nexus of cosmic energy within her form—one that hadn't been accessible during their first session. "Truth, mostly. Reflected back to them through touch."
Ophis fell silent, absorbing this. When she spoke again, her question was even more surprising.
"Do you touch Great Red this way?"
Kazurou's hands paused momentarily. "I haven't encountered Great Red in this world."
"But you could," Ophis persisted. "You could touch the Apocalypse Dragon as you touch me."
"Perhaps," Kazurou admitted. "Would you like me to?"
Ophis considered this with the weight of eons. "Yes," she finally said. "He is... chaotic. Disruptive. Perhaps your touch would make him... less so."
The idea of the Infinite Dragon God essentially referring Great Red for therapy was so unexpected that Kazurou had to suppress a smile. "If the opportunity arises, I'll consider it."
The remainder of the session passed in comfortable silence. When it concluded, Ophis sat up with the same expressionless face, yet something had subtly changed in her golden eyes—a new awareness, a glimmer of something almost like curiosity.
"I will return again," she stated, not a request but a simple fact. "Your touch is... useful to me."
After Ophis departed, Kazurou closed the shrine for the evening. The day had been full, productive, and unexpectedly revealing—characteristics that seemed to define his time in Kuoh thus far.
As twilight settled over the garden, he prepared a simple meal and ate on the engawa, watching fireflies begin to emerge in the gathering darkness.
"Quite the day you've had," came Featherine's voice as she materialized beside him, today appearing in a summer yukata of lavender and silver, her hair adorned with firefly lights that might have been illusion or might have been actual captured stars. "The Himejima exorcist, a return visit from Ophis... your little establishment is becoming quite the nexus."
"Your doing, I assume," Kazurou replied, offering her a cup of sake which she accepted with a smile.
"I merely arranged the stage," she demurred. "The players come of their own accord." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I admit, I didn't anticipate Ophis becoming a regular so quickly. The Dragon God developing preferences! Considering aesthetics! It's delicious development."
Kazurou sipped his sake thoughtfully. "She asked about Great Red."
"Did she now?" Featherine's expression turned intrigued. "The Apocalypse Dragon... now that would be an interesting session indeed." She leaned against him, her form solid enough tonight to create real warmth where their bodies touched. "Perhaps we should arrange it."
"I thought you were merely observing," Kazurou reminded her. "Not directing."
"Most of the time," she agreed with a wicked smile. "But occasionally, a scene is too tempting not to nudge into being." She traced a finger along his jawline. "Besides, I brought you here to create ripples. Great Red would be less a ripple and more a tsunami."
Kazurou caught her wrist gently. "This world has its own balance, Featherine. Even we should respect that to some degree."
"Always so conscientious," she sighed, though without real disappointment. "Very well. We'll let Great Red come in his own time, if at all." Her smile returned quickly. "Besides, tomorrow brings its own excitement. The fallen angel leader is returning, and he's bringing company."
"Azazel? With whom?"
"Baraqiel," Featherine revealed with obvious delight. "Akeno's father. Apparently, Azazel was so impressed with his session that he's decided his old friend needs the experience as well."
Kazurou raised an eyebrow. "That could create... complications. Akeno has been here already."
"Precisely why it's so interesting," Featherine replied. "Connections forming, tensions rising, possibilities multiplying." She stretched languorously beside him. "The story is developing beautifully."
As night fully claimed the sky, Featherine's form began to fade, becoming translucent once more. "Rest well, my paradoxical darling. Tomorrow promises to be especially entertaining."
After she vanished, Kazurou remained on the engawa for some time, contemplating the rapidly expanding web of connections his presence was creating in Kuoh. Each session, each touch, creating new possibilities, new trajectories.
The silver quill earring caught starlight as he finally rose and prepared for sleep. In dreams, he knew, Featherine would be waiting—with observations, suggestions, and the peculiar intimacy they had cultivated across realities.
Chapter 8: Fathers and Daughters
Morning arrived with unexpected commotion. Kazurou was in the reception area arranging fresh flowers when he heard raised voices outside—one male, one female, both charged with emotion.
Opening the door, he found Akeno Himejima facing Baraqiel, her violet eyes flashing with anger, her body crackling with barely contained lightning.
"—absolutely not going in there while I'm here!" she was saying, her usual ara-ara demeanor completely absent.
Baraqiel—tall, imposing, with the unmistakable presence of a high-ranking fallen angel—stood with an expression of pained resignation. "Akeno, I didn't know you would be here. Azazel suggested—"
"Of course he did," she snapped. "Because he's always interfering—"
"Perhaps," Kazurou interrupted smoothly, stepping onto the shrine steps, "both of you would like to come inside rather than disturbing the neighborhood."
Both Himejimas turned to him with surprise, as if they'd forgotten where they were in the heat of their confrontation.
"Kazurou-san," Akeno acknowledged, her cheeks coloring slightly. "I apologize for the disturbance. I was just leaving—"
"Actually," Kazurou said, "I believe I have an opening for a dual session this morning."
"A what?" Baraqiel asked.
"Absolutely not," Akeno stated flatly.
Kazurou regarded them both calmly. "In certain cases, when two individuals share a particular connection—or disconnection—a joint treatment can be beneficial." His eyes met Akeno's. "It would be entirely professional, of course."
"I will not be in the same room as him," Akeno declared, though something in her voice had shifted from absolute refusal to uncertainty.
"You've experienced my methods, Akeno," Kazurou reminded her gently. "You know I create safe spaces. Nothing happens in my treatment room that isn't ultimately welcome."
Baraqiel looked between them with sudden understanding. "You've been here before," he said to his daughter.
"That's none of your business," she replied, though the fire had diminished somewhat from her tone.
"Please," Kazurou gestured toward the open door. "At least come inside for tea. You can decide after that."
Somehow—perhaps through the subtle influence that had already begun to permeate Kuoh, or perhaps simply through the authority in his voice—both father and daughter found themselves following him into the shrine.
In the reception area, the tension remained palpable as they sat on opposite sides of the room, carefully avoiding eye contact. Kazurou prepared tea with unhurried movements, allowing the silence to settle.
"Azazel speaks highly of your establishment," Baraqiel finally said, accepting a cup of steaming tea.
"The Governor-General was an interesting client," Kazurou acknowledged, offering the second cup to Akeno, who took it with reluctant grace.
"He said you have... unusual insight," Baraqiel continued, clearly trying to navigate the awkward situation.
Akeno sipped her tea without comment, though her violet eyes occasionally flickered toward her father when she thought he wasn't looking.
"Insight is simply a matter of paying attention," Kazurou replied, taking a seat between them. "To what is said and unsaid. To what is carried in the body and spirit." His mismatched eyes moved between father and daughter. "And sometimes, to what remains unhealed between people who share blood."
Akeno tensed visibly. "I didn't come here for lectures on family reconciliation."
"Why did you come today?" Kazurou asked gently. "Your appointment wasn't until tomorrow."
The question caught her off-guard. "I... I wanted to ask about my cousin. I heard Suzuku visited you."
"Client confidentiality—" Kazurou began.
"I know," Akeno interrupted. "But I thought... maybe..." She trailed off, unable to articulate the hope that had brought her to the shrine.
Baraqiel watched his daughter with pained longing, clearly wanting to speak but restraining himself.
"The treatment I'm suggesting," Kazurou said after a moment, "wouldn't require conversation. You wouldn't need to speak to each other at all." He explained the concept—two tables, positioned perpendicular to each other, his hands moving between both clients, working with the energies that connected them.
"And what would this accomplish?" Baraqiel asked.
"That depends on what needs healing," Kazurou replied simply.
Akeno set down her cup with a decisive click. "This is ridiculous. I'm leaving."
But as she rose, Kazurou's quiet voice stopped her. "Akeno," he said, using the same gentle authority that had affected her so deeply during her session, "running away changes nothing. You know this."
She hesitated, conflict evident in every line of her body.
"One hour," Kazurou continued. "No conversation required. Just presence and touch."
"Why should I?" she whispered, her voice suddenly vulnerable.
Kazurou's right eye activated subtly, seeing the tangled knots of pain, abandonment, and unacknowledged longing that bound father and daughter. "Because some wounds can only heal when both parties are present," he answered. "And you carry this particular wound in every fiber of your being."
The silence that followed was heavy with possibility. Finally, Akeno gave a short, almost imperceptible nod. "One hour. That's all."
Baraqiel's expression shifted from resignation to cautious hope. "Thank you," he said softly.
The treatment room had been rearranged for this unusual session—two tables positioned in an L-shape, creating separate spaces that nonetheless connected. The lighting was dimmer than usual, the music slightly deeper, more resonant.
"You'll each have privacy for preparation," Kazurou explained, indicating separate screens. "Disrobe to your comfort level and position yourselves face down."
When he returned, father and daughter lay on their respective tables, carefully not looking at each other. The tension in the room was palpable—centuries of fallen angel history, decades of human pain, years of deliberate separation concentrated in a single space.
"I'll be using a special blend for both of you," Kazurou explained, warming oil between his palms. This mixture was unlike any he had used before—essence of storm lightning, purified tears, and reconciliation that glowed with subtle blue-violet light. "It may feel intense at first. Allow the sensation to move through you rather than resisting it."
He began with Baraqiel, whose massive frame contained centuries of power and regret. The fallen angel's back was a map of ancient battles—not physical scars, but energetic imprints left by eons of existence. Beneath it all lay a core of devastating grief—the loss of his human wife, the rejection by his daughter.
Kazurou worked silently, his hands finding the nodes where Baraqiel's fallen angel nature connected to his capacity for human love. Though he had fallen from Heaven's grace, Baraqiel had experienced something many pure angels never knew—true love for a mortal woman, true grief at her loss.
After establishing a rhythm with the father, Kazurou moved to Akeno. Her body remained rigid with tension, her eyes tightly closed as if to shut out her father's presence entirely.
"Breathe," Kazurou instructed softly, his hands finding the same points on her back that corresponded to Baraqiel's—the spiritual architecture remarkably similar despite Akeno's hybrid nature.
As his hands worked between them, something extraordinary began to happen. The energies of father and daughter—long separated, long distorted by pain—began to resonate on frequencies they shared but had forgotten. Fallen angel power, yes, but also capacity for deep love, for fierce protection, for devotion.
"You both carry lightning," Kazurou observed, his voice low and calming as his hands moved between them. "Not just as power, but as essence. The storm that destroys can also bring life-giving rain." His fingers traced the pathways where their energies remained connected despite years of separation. "What divided you was not difference, but sameness—grief expressed in different ways."
A small sound escaped Akeno—not quite a sob, but a crack in the wall of her resistance.
Baraqiel remained silent, but Kazurou could feel the tremor passing through the fallen angel's massive frame as buried emotions rose to the surface.
Time seemed to slow as Kazurou worked, his hands moving with increasing depth and precision, his Feathered Eye active now, seeing the tangle of fate-lines that bound these two beings across time and pain. Not to sever them—that was neither possible nor desirable—but to untangle them, to allow them to lie parallel instead of knotted.
"Your mother," Kazurou said softly to Akeno, his hands working a particularly tight knot between her shoulder blades, "loved both of you with equal ferocity."
Akeno's breath caught.
"And both of you," he continued, moving to work on Baraqiel's corresponding point, "have punished yourselves far more than you ever punished each other."
The fallen angel's massive shoulders shook once with suppressed emotion.
By the time the hour neared its end, something profound had shifted in the room's energy. Not reconciliation—that would require time, conversation, choice—but possibility. A door opened where before there had been only a wall.
"We're finished," Kazurou announced quietly. "Take your time rising. There's no rush."
He stepped outside, leaving father and daughter to gather themselves privately. In the reception area, he wasn't entirely surprised to find Azazel lounging comfortably, a knowing smile on his face.
"I see my scheduling suggestion worked out," the Governor-General said, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief.
"You engineered that confrontation deliberately," Kazurou observed, neither accusation nor approval in his tone.
Azazel shrugged, unrepentant. "Those two have been circling each other for years. Sometimes fate needs a little... push." He glanced toward the closed treatment room door. "How did it go?"
"That's between them," Kazurou replied. "Client confidentiality."
"Of course, of course," Azazel agreed easily, though his eyes remained curious. "But the fact that they haven't destroyed the building is promising."
Before Kazurou could respond, the treatment room door opened. Akeno emerged first, her expression carefully composed but her eyes holding a new vulnerability. Baraqiel followed, keeping a respectful distance.
"Azazel," Akeno acknowledged coolly when she spotted the fallen angel leader, "I should have known you'd be behind this."
"Guilty as charged," he admitted with a grin that held genuine affection. "But you can punish me later. How was the session?"
Instead of answering, Akeno turned to Kazurou. "Thank you," she said softly. "It was... not what I expected."
"Recovery rarely is," Kazurou replied.
She nodded once, then glanced briefly toward her father before addressing Kazurou again. "I'd like to schedule another session. For myself."
"Of course. Would tomorrow afternoon work?"
"Yes." She hesitated, then added with the faintest blush touching her cheeks, "The usual approach, please."
Kazurou understood her unspoken reference to their previous session. "As you wish."
As Akeno prepared to leave, Baraqiel finally spoke. "Akeno," he said, his deep voice carrying centuries of regret, "would you... allow me to walk with you? Just to the academy gates."
A tense moment passed as father and daughter regarded each other. Then, almost imperceptibly, Akeno nodded. "Just to the gates," she agreed.
After they departed—maintaining careful distance but at least sharing the same path—Azazel let out a low whistle.
"Well, that's more progress than they've made in years," he observed. "You're quite the miracle worker, Amagiri."
"No miracles," Kazurou corrected. "Just revealing what's already there."
Azazel studied him with newfound appreciation. "Humble too. Interesting." He stretched languidly. "Well, since I'm here, any chance of fitting me in for a session? My shoulders are killing me from all the paperwork Shemhazai keeps pushing my way."
"As it happens, I've had a cancellation," Kazurou replied. "If you'd like to wait a few minutes while I refresh the room."
"Perfect!" Azazel declared, making himself comfortable on the reception couch. "Take your time. I've got nowhere better to be."
The remainder of the day passed in a steady rhythm of clients—Azazel's session revealing unexpected depth beneath his carefree facade, followed by several human clients from town, then a young devil from Sona's peerage seeking relief from training injuries.
By late afternoon, Kazurou was preparing for his final appointment when he heard the door chime. Looking up, he found an unexpected visitor—Serafall Leviathan, one of the Four Satan Lords of the Underworld, currently dressed in her magical girl costume complete with wand and ribbons.
"Hellooo~!" she greeted with exaggerated cheer. "Are you the amazing massage person everyone's talking about?"
Kazurou bowed respectfully. "Leviathan-sama. This is an unexpected honor."
"Oh my, so formal!" She giggled, twirling her wand. "Please, call me Levi-tan! All my friends do."
"What brings one of the Four Satans to my humble establishment?" Kazurou asked, gesturing for her to take a seat.
Serafall plopped down with childlike enthusiasm that belied her tremendous power. "Well, when So-tan came home looking all relaxed and pretty, I just had to know her secret! She wouldn't tell me at first, but I have ways of making my little sister talk." She winked conspiratorially. "Plus, Azazel-chan mentioned your place at our last faction meeting, and if two of my favorite people recommend something, it must be special!"
"I see," Kazurou replied, hiding his amusement at her characterization of the serious Sona and roguish Azazel as "So-tan" and "Azazel-chan."
"So!" Serafall leaned forward eagerly. "Can you fit me in? Pretty please? I've been soooo stressed with diplomatic meetings and TV shoots and making sure So-tan isn't working too hard."
"As it happens, I have one opening left today," Kazurou informed her. "Would you like some tea before we begin?"
"Yes, please!" she chirped. "With extra sugar!"
As he prepared the exceptionally sweet tea she requested, Kazurou considered the implications of having a Satan Lord as a client. Serafall's childish demeanor masked power that rivaled Sirzechs Lucifer himself—not to mention her political influence as the Underworld's foreign affairs minister.
"Your establishment is super cute," Serafall commented, looking around the reception area. "Very traditional but with a cozy vibe."
"Thank you," Kazurou replied, handing her the tea. "I wanted to create a space that felt removed from everyday concerns."
"Mission accomplished!" She sipped her tea with obvious delight. "So how does this work? So-tan was very vague about the actual process."
Kazurou explained the basics of his treatment approach, careful to emphasize the element of client control and comfort. Throughout his explanation, Serafall listened with surprising attentiveness, her childish demeanor occasionally slipping to reveal the sharp intelligence beneath.
"That sounds wonderful," she declared when he'd finished. "I'm ready whenever you are!"
In the treatment room, Serafall surprised him by dropping her magical girl transformation entirely, revealing her true form—still petite but more mature, her power no longer deliberately muted.
"Most people only see the magical girl," she explained with a wink as she stepped behind the privacy screen. "But since you're in the business of seeing what's real, it seemed appropriate."
When Kazurou returned after giving her privacy, he found her following protocol perfectly—face down, sheet draped modestly, long black hair fanned out across the midnight-blue table covering.
"I've selected a special blend for you," he explained, warming oil between his palms. This mixture shimmered with blue-white crystalline light—essence of arctic ice, diplomatic insight, and hidden maturity. "It's particularly effective for those who maintain different personas."
At the first touch of his hands on her shoulders, Serafall let out a small, surprised gasp. "Oh! That's... different."
"Different how?" Kazurou asked, beginning to work the surprisingly tight muscles of her upper back.
"Your hands," she murmured, "they feel like they're touching more than just skin."
"That's because they are," he confirmed, finding the ethereal pressure points where her tremendous ice powers connected to her physical form. "I work with the whole being, not just the body."
As the session progressed, Serafall's bubbly facade melted entirely. Beneath it, Kazurou found a complex being—ancient, intelligent, carrying the burden of both political power and sisterly love with equal seriousness.
"Most people," he observed as his hands worked a particularly tight knot at the base of her neck, "only see the magical girl persona. Even your sister doesn't fully appreciate the sacrifices you make."
Serafall's breath caught. "How could you possibly know that?"
"My hands read what your spirit reveals," Kazurou replied, his Feathered Eye activating subtly. Through it, he could see the tangled web of responsibilities and protective instincts that formed the core of her being—her desperate desire to preserve her sister's freedom by shouldering burdens Sona never even knew existed.
"You play the fool," he continued, his fingers working deeper, "so others will underestimate you. You absorb political attacks meant for your sister. You maintain peace through the sheer force of being too unpredictable, too powerful, and too seemingly childish for others to challenge directly."
A soft sound escaped her—something between a laugh and a sob. "That's... uncomfortably accurate."
His hands moved lower, following the elegant line of her spine. "The cost is that almost no one sees the real you. The shrewd diplomat. The protective sister. The woman beneath the magical girl."
"It's easier that way," Serafall murmured, surrendering more deeply to his touch. "Safer."
"For others, perhaps," Kazurou acknowledged. "But what about for you?"
As his hands worked their way methodically through layers of tension—physical and metaphysical—Serafall gradually relaxed into a vulnerability she rarely permitted herself. By the time his fingers reached a particularly sensitive spot at her mid-back, she was in a state of trusting surrender unusual for a being of her power.
"How does that feel?" Kazurou asked, applying gentle but firm pressure to the nexus point where her ice powers originated.
"Amazing," she sighed, then added without apparent conscious intent, "Yes, Daddy."
The moment the word left her lips, Serafall tensed slightly in surprise at her own response. But Kazurou, having encountered this reaction before, simply continued his work without comment, his touch radiating acceptance without judgment.
"That's it," he encouraged softly as she surrendered again, "let go completely. You're safe here."
By the time the session ended, Serafall had been transformed—not permanently, but significantly. The Satan who rose from the table moved with a new integration, a harmony between her playful surface and serious depths that hadn't existed before.
"That was..." she began, then paused, searching for words.
"Revealing?" Kazurou suggested.
"Yes." Her violet eyes met his with surprising directness. "And a bit embarrassing. I don't usually... I mean, I never call anyone..."
"What happens in the treatment room remains confidential," Kazurou assured her. "All responses are natural and welcome."
Relief washed over her features. "Thank you." Then, with a ghost of her usual playfulness, she added, "Though I think I'll need to process this experience further. Through multiple sessions, perhaps?"
"My door is always open to you," Kazurou replied with a small bow.
As she prepared to leave—her magical girl persona back in place but somehow less rigid, more integrated with her true self—Serafall paused at the door.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "you're changing things in our world. Subtly, but profoundly." Her eyes held unusual seriousness. "That kind of influence doesn't go unnoticed forever."
"I'm simply providing a service," Kazurou said.
Serafall's laugh was genuine. "Oh, it's much more than that. But don't worry—some of us like a little beneficial disruption." She winked, then departed in a swirl of magical girl ribbons.
After closing the shrine for the evening, Kazurou sat in the garden, reflecting on the day's events. From the unexpected joint session between Akeno and Baraqiel to Serafall's revealing appointment, each interaction had created new possibilities, new connections.
"Well, well," came Featherine's amused voice as she materialized beside him, tonight appearing in a summer dress that shimmered between reality and dream. "A Satan Lord already. Your little establishment is moving up in the world."
"Your doing, I suspect," Kazurou replied, watching as she arranged herself gracefully beside him.
"I may have whispered in a dream or two," she admitted with a sly smile. "But Serafall's appearance was a delightful surprise even to me. And that 'Daddy' slip! Apparently, it's becoming a trend among your clients."
Kazurou raised an eyebrow. "You find that amusing."
"I find it fascinating," Featherine corrected, her eyes gleaming. "These powerful beings—devils, fallen angels, gods—all seeking something they never knew they needed. Authority with kindness. Strength with gentleness." She leaned closer, her lavender hair brushing his shoulder. "You're becoming a father figure to goddesses, Kazurou. It's exquisite narrative development."
Before he could respond, she changed subjects with her usual mercurial swiftness. "Tomorrow brings new delights. The Phenex girl has booked your morning slot. The proud little firebird with her phoenix tears and family complexes."
"Ravel Phenex?" Kazurou asked, surprised. "She's quite young."
"Chronologically, perhaps," Featherine acknowledged. "But devils mature differently. Besides, she's coming with her mother—the formidable Lady Phenex herself. Apparently, word has reached even the highest echelons of devil society."
The implications weren't lost on Kazurou. The Phenex family was among the most prestigious in the Underworld, with connections to multiple pillars and tremendous political influence.
"The ripples are becoming waves," he observed.
"Indeed," Featherine agreed, her form beginning to fade as night deepened. "Sleep well, my paradoxical darling. Dream deep."
As she vanished entirely, her voice lingered: "I'll be waiting in the dream-spaces between worlds. We have much to discuss."
Left alone under the stars, Kazurou closed his eyes, preparing for the dream-walking that would soon come. In that space between realities, Featherine would appear in her full glory—not the partial manifestations she managed in the physical world, but her true form as the Witch of Theatergoing, the author of countless realities.
And there, they would plan the next act of this particular story.
Chapter 9: Dreams and Awakenings
The dream-space materialized around Kazurou like liquid crystal taking form—first transparent, then translucent, finally solid enough to stand upon. Tonight, it took the shape of an impossible library, with shelves extending infinitely in all directions, books containing worlds, paragraphs, and possibilities.
In the center, a reading area floated on nothing—plush chairs, a tea service, and a small table piled with open manuscripts. Featherine awaited him there, her true form magnificent and terrifying—taller, more regal, power radiating from her like heat from a star. Her lavender hair moved with its own consciousness, occasionally forming words or scenes before dissolving again.
"Welcome, darling," she greeted, her voice resonating on multiple frequencies simultaneously. "Tea?"
Kazurou took the offered seat across from her, accepting a cup that smelled of memories and tasted of futures. "You wanted to discuss something."
"So businesslike," she pouted, though her eyes remained amused. "Can't I simply enjoy your company in my natural domain?"
"You could," he acknowledged with a small smile. "But you rarely do without purpose."
Featherine laughed, the sound causing ripples across the dream-fabric around them. "True enough. Very well, to business then." She gestured, and a book floated from a nearby shelf, opening to reveal moving images of Kuoh Town. "Your little massage parlor has created more significant ripples than even I anticipated. The powers of this world are beginning to take notice."
"Which powers specifically?" Kazurou asked, watching as the book showed various factions—angels in Heaven, devils in councils, fallen angels in meetings.
"All of them, to varying degrees," Featherine replied, turning a page to show Michael, the leader of Heaven, in deep discussion with Gabriel. "The angels are curious but cautious. The devils are divided—some see opportunity, others threat. The fallen angels, thanks to Azazel's enthusiasm, are largely positive." She smiled wickedly. "And then there are the more... independent entities."
The book turned again, showing Sirzechs Lucifer himself in conversation with a silver-haired maid—Grayfia, his wife and Queen.
"The Crimson Satan has taken personal interest," Featherine observed. "Anything involving his precious sister naturally attracts his attention. He'll be sending Grayfia to investigate soon."
"The Strongest Queen," Kazurou mused. "That should be an interesting session."
"Indeed." Featherine's eyes gleamed. "But more interesting still are the others who have begun to circle your establishment."
The pages turned rapidly, showing figures from across the DxD mythology—Yasaka of the Kyoto youkai, Tannin the Dragon King, even shadowy glimpses of Indra and other gods from different pantheons.
"You've created something unprecedented in this world," Featherine noted with evident satisfaction. "A neutral ground where beings of tremendous power can experience vulnerability without threat. It's... disrupting established patterns."
"Isn't that what you wanted?" Kazurou asked, sipping his impossible tea.
"Oh yes," she agreed readily. "But I find myself curious about your intentions now that the game is in motion. Are you merely playing the role I suggested, or have you developed your own... investment in these beings?"
The question was more pointed than her usual teasing. Kazurou considered it seriously, his mismatched eyes reflecting the floating books around them.
"They're interesting," he finally said. "More complex than they first appeared. Their struggles, their contradictions... they resonate in unexpected ways."
"You're becoming attached," Featherine observed, neither accusation nor approval in her tone. "How delightfully human of you."
"Not attached," Kazurou corrected. "Invested. There's a difference."
"Is there?" She leaned forward, her ancient eyes studying him with predatory interest. "Then you wouldn't mind if I introduced a few... complications?"
Wariness flickered in Kazurou's expression. "What kind of complications?"
Featherine waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing damaging to your little project. Just a few narrative catalysts to keep things interesting. A jealous suitor here, a political machination there... the usual spice that prevents stories from becoming too comfortable."
Before Kazurou could respond, the dream-library around them trembled slightly—an unusual occurrence that caught both their attention.
"How curious," Featherine murmured, looking up at the shivering shelves. "Something's attempting to breach our dream-space."
The disturbance grew stronger—books rattling on shelves, the tea service tinkling, the very fabric of the shared dream vibrating with interference.
"Great Red?" Kazurou suggested, rising to his feet.
"No," Featherine replied, her expression genuinely surprised—a rarity for the ancient witch. "Something else. Something... ah!" Her surprise turned to delight. "How absolutely fascinating!"
The dream-space rippled violently, and through the distortion stepped an unexpected figure—Ophis, the Infinite Dragon God, her childlike form somehow more substantial here than in the physical world.
"I have found you," she stated simply, her golden eyes taking in the impossible library with mild interest. "This place exists between realities."
Featherine's laughter echoed through the dream-space. "The Ouroboros Dragon, breaching a meta-dimensional dream construct! Darling, your little client is full of surprises."
Ophis turned her impassive gaze to Featherine. "You are not from the DxD world," she observed. "You exist outside conventional reality."
"How astute," Featherine replied, her tone caught between amusement and genuine respect. "I am Featherine Augustus Aurora, the Witch of Theatergoing. And you, little infinity serpent, have done something very few beings can claim—you've surprised me."
"I followed the connection," Ophis explained, turning to Kazurou. "Your treatments created a pathway I could trace. It led here."
"Fascinating," Kazurou said, genuinely intrigued. "The massage sessions created a metaphysical link strong enough for you to follow across dimensional boundaries."
"Yes." Ophis approached him with unhurried steps. "You have changed me. I wished to understand how."
Featherine observed this exchange with bright-eyed interest. "Oh, this is wonderful development! The Dragon God seeking enlightenment through massage therapy! I couldn't have written it better myself."
"You orchestrated this," Ophis stated, turning back to Featherine. It wasn't a question.
"I arranged for Kazurou to open his establishment in your world," the witch admitted readily. "The rest has unfolded through natural causality—more or less."
Ophis considered this, her childlike face impossible to read. "Your purpose?"
"Entertainment, primarily," Featherine replied with characteristic honesty. "The observation of interesting possibilities. The development of unexpected connections."
"I see." Ophis turned back to Kazurou. "And your purpose?"
It was a fair question—one Kazurou had been asking himself increasingly often. "Initially, to fulfill a role in an interesting narrative," he answered truthfully. "But now... perhaps to offer something genuinely valuable to beings who need it."
Ophis nodded, apparently satisfied with this answer. "I will return to your establishment tomorrow. There is more I wish to experience."
Before either Kazurou or Featherine could respond, the Dragon God simply faded from the dream-space, leaving a lingering impression of infinite potential in her wake.
"Well!" Featherine exclaimed once Ophis had gone. "That was unexpected and delightful. The Dragon God of Infinity, breaching meta-dimensional barriers through the power of massage therapy! It's almost too perfect."
Despite her casual tone, Kazurou could sense genuine surprise beneath Featherine's amusement. Few things truly caught the ancient witch off-guard—Ophis's appearance had been one of them.
"This changes the game somewhat," he observed.
"It expands it," Featherine corrected, her eyes bright with new possibilities. "If Ophis can cross these boundaries, others might eventually follow. The implications are... tantalizing."
The dream-library around them began to shift, books rearranging themselves to accommodate new narrative possibilities, pages rewriting in real-time.
"The morning approaches in your current reality," Featherine noted, glancing at a clock that hadn't existed moments before. "You should return. The Phenex ladies await, and after Ophis's little demonstration, I'm more eager than ever to see how your next sessions unfold."
As the dream-space began to dissolve around him, Featherine's voice followed Kazurou back toward waking: "Remember, darling—you're not just changing them. They're changing you too. That's what makes this story truly interesting."
Kazurou opened his eyes to morning light filtering through the shrine's paper screens. The dream-conversation lingered in his mind with perfect clarity—a benefit or curse of his metaphysical nature.
Ophis's unexpected appearance in the dream-space represented something significant—the beings of this world were not merely passive recipients of his influence but active participants capable of surprising even Featherine herself.
The implications were both fascinating and concerning. If Ophis could breach the barriers between realities to find him in the dream-space, what other boundaries might eventually fall?
Such thoughts accompanied him through his morning preparations. By the time the shrine's door chime announced the arrival of his first clients, Kazurou had centered himself fully in the present reality once more.
Lady Phenex entered first—tall, regal, with the timeless beauty of a high-class devil who had lived for centuries yet appeared no older than thirty. Her golden hair was arranged in an elaborate updo, her crimson dress tailored perfectly to her statuesque figure. Behind her followed Ravel Phenex, her daughter—younger, shorter, with twin drills of blonde hair and an expression caught between aristocratic hauteur and adolescent uncertainty.
"Welcome to Feather & Flesh," Kazurou greeted them with a respectful bow. "It's an honor to receive members of the Phenex family."
"Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice," Lady Phenex replied, her voice cultured and melodious. "Your establishment has become quite the topic of conversation in certain circles."
"I hope the conversation has been favorable," Kazurou said, gesturing for them to be seated in the reception area.
"Opinions are... divided," Lady Phenex admitted with a small smile. "Which naturally only increased my curiosity."
As Kazurou prepared tea, he could feel Ravel's eyes following his movements, studying him with the careful assessment of someone accustomed to evaluating potential threats or assets.
"I understand you've treated several high-ranking devils already," Lady Phenex continued, accepting a cup of fragrant tea. "Including Serafall Leviathan herself."
"Client confidentiality prevents me from confirming specific visitors," Kazurou replied diplomatically.
"Of course," Lady Phenex acknowledged with an elegant incline of her head. "Though Serafall has been quite vocal about her experience. She's not known for her discretion."
Beside her, Ravel finally spoke. "What exactly do you do here?" she asked directly, her tone carrying the entitled curiosity of youth combined with aristocratic confidence. "Everyone speaks of 'treatments' and 'sessions' in vague terms, but no one explains the specifics."
"That's because the experience is somewhat difficult to describe," Kazurou explained, meeting her gaze directly. "I provide therapeutic massage that addresses not just physical tension, but spiritual and emotional barriers as well. The specifics vary depending on the individual's needs."
"And how do you determine these 'needs'?" Ravel pressed.
"My hands read what the body and spirit reveal," Kazurou answered simply.
Lady Phenex's eyes narrowed slightly at this explanation—not with suspicion, but with heightened interest. "Fascinating. And do these revelations remain confidential as well?"
"Absolutely," Kazurou confirmed. "What happens in the treatment room remains private."
This seemed to satisfy the elder Phenex. "Excellent. Now, shall we proceed? I've booked the first session for my daughter, followed by my own."
Ravel looked momentarily surprised. "Mother, I thought we were just here to investigate—"
"One can investigate through direct experience, dear," Lady Phenex interrupted smoothly. "Besides, you've been especially tense since that business with the Rating Game. Consider this an educational experience."
The younger Phenex flushed slightly but didn't argue further.
In the treatment room, Ravel's nervousness manifested as haughty distance—chin raised, responses clipped, movements precise. After Kazurou explained the process and stepped out to give her privacy, he could sense her hesitation through the paper screen.
When he returned, she lay face-down on the table, the sheet pulled high around her shoulders, her twin-drill hair carefully arranged to one side.
"I'll be using a special blend for you," Kazurou explained, warming oil between his palms. This mixture glowed with amber and gold—essence of phoenix fire, regenerative tears, and youthful pride. "It's particularly effective for those with regenerative abilities."
At the first touch of his hands on her shoulders, Ravel flinched slightly. "Your hands are warmer than I expected," she observed, her voice carefully neutral.
"Phoenix blood runs hot," Kazurou noted, beginning to work the surprisingly tight muscles of her upper back. "My touch adjusts to complement each client's natural temperature."
As the session progressed, Ravel maintained her rigid composure longer than most—a testament to her aristocratic upbringing and natural pride. But gradually, inevitably, Kazurou's skilled hands began to bypass her conscious resistance.
"You carry a great deal of tension for someone so young," he observed as his fingers found a knot of stress between her shoulder blades.
"I have responsibilities," she replied, though her voice had softened slightly.
"Yes," Kazurou agreed, his Feathered Eye activating subtly. Through it, he could see the complex pressures that shaped her young spirit—family expectations, class consciousness, and beneath it all, a desperate desire to prove her own worth beyond her family name. "The burden of the Phenex legacy. The need to distinguish yourself among powerful siblings. The constant awareness of your family's regenerative tears and their value."
Ravel's breath caught. "How could you possibly know that?"
"My hands read more than muscle," Kazurou reminded her gently. "They read story, history, aspiration."
His fingers moved with increasing depth, finding pressure points that connected to her phoenix nature—the core of fire and rebirth that defined her bloodline. As he worked, the special oil warmed further, penetrating beyond physical tissue to influence energetic pathways.
"Your regenerative abilities," Kazurou noted as his hands worked lower along her spine, "they're not just physical, are they? They extend to your spirit as well."
"Yes," Ravel admitted, surrendering another degree to his touch. "All Phenex devils can recover from almost any injury."
"A tremendous gift," Kazurou acknowledged. "But perhaps also a burden. To always rise from the ashes, to never truly rest in defeat... it creates its own kind of pressure."
A small sound escaped her—part sigh, part gentle surprise at being so thoroughly understood. "No one ever sees it that way," she murmured. "They only see the advantage."
"Strengths and burdens are often two sides of the same coin," Kazurou observed, his hands working deeper into layers of tension that Ravel herself hadn't realized she carried.
By the time his fingers reached a particularly sensitive spot at her mid-back—where her phoenix wings would emerge if manifested—Ravel had surrendered much of her initial resistance. The careful aristocratic mask had softened, revealing the young devil beneath—brilliant, ambitious, and carrying pressures few her age could comprehend.
"How does that feel?" Kazurou asked, applying gentle but firm pressure to release a knot of tension.
"Wonderful," Ravel sighed, then added with uncharacteristic vulnerability, "Yes, Daddy."
The moment the word left her lips, her entire body tensed in embarrassment. "I—I don't know why I said that," she stammered, horrified at her own response.
"It's perfectly natural," Kazurou assured her, his voice carrying no judgment. "Many clients respond with terms of trust and surrender during moments of release. It's nothing to be concerned about."
Gradually, Ravel relaxed again, though a trace of embarrassment lingered. As the session continued, Kazurou worked with even greater care, respecting the young devil's dignity while still addressing the deep tensions she carried.
By the time the treatment ended, Ravel rose from the table with a new awareness—not just of her body, but of the pressures she had internalized so completely she had ceased to recognize them as separate from herself.
"That was..." she began, then paused, searching for words that wouldn't compromise her dignity.
"Revealing?" Kazurou suggested.
"Yes," she agreed, a faint blush still coloring her cheeks. "And somewhat embarrassing."
"The treatment room is a space of complete privacy," Kazurou reminded her. "Nothing that happens here leaves these walls."
Relief flickered across her features. "Thank you."
When they returned to the reception area, Lady Phenex awaited, her keen eyes immediately noting the subtle changes in her daughter's demeanor—the relaxed shoulders, the softened expression, the absence of the tightly wound energy that typically surrounded her.
"You look refreshed, dear," she observed. "Was the experience beneficial?"
"Yes, Mother," Ravel replied, unable to entirely hide the effect of the session. "It was... educational."
A knowing smile touched Lady Phenex's lips. "Excellent. If you'll excuse us, I believe it's my turn."
As Ravel took a seat in the reception area, Lady Phenex followed Kazurou to the treatment room with the graceful confidence of a woman accustomed to power in all its forms.
Unlike her daughter's session, Lady Phenex's treatment revealed depths of complexity that only centuries of life could create. Beneath her aristocratic poise lay layers of experience—the rise of the Phenex family to prominence, political marriages and alliances, the burden of producing the tears that made her bloodline so valuable, the careful balance of power within devil society.
"You've lived through significant changes in the Underworld," Kazurou observed as his hands worked the elegant muscles of her shoulders, finding tension points that had accumulated over centuries.
"Several regime changes, indeed," she confirmed, her voice cultured even in relaxation. "From the Old Satan faction to the current arrangement. Each transition brings its own... adjustments."
The oil Kazurou used for her had a different composition—essence of mature flame, distilled experience, and regal composure, glowing with deeper amber tones than her daughter's blend.
As his hands worked deeper, Lady Phenex surrendered with the grace of someone secure in her power—not resisting vulnerability but embracing it as yet another experience to be mastered.
"Your daughter carries much of your strength," Kazurou noted as his fingers found a particularly tight knot at the base of her neck—a tension point connected to centuries of careful political calculation.
"Yes," Lady Phenex agreed. "Though perhaps too much of my perfectionism as well."
"She seeks to prove herself worthy of the Phenex name," Kazurou observed, his Feathered Eye revealing the complex bonds between mother and daughter—ties of blood, power, expectation, and genuine affection. "Though she already carries its full potential."
"All children seek to establish their own identity," Lady Phenex replied thoughtfully. "For devil children, with centuries of life ahead, that process is both more urgent and more prolonged."
Unlike many of his clients, Lady Phenex engaged in philosophical conversation throughout her session, her mind remaining active even as her body surrendered to his touch. It was a different kind of trust—not the emotional vulnerability of her daughter, but the intellectual openness of a being secure in her power and identity.
By the time the session concluded, Lady Phenex rose from the table with the same graceful confidence with which she had entered, though now tempered with a deeper relaxation.
"Most impressive," she acknowledged as she emerged fully