Dxm3
dressed from behind the privacy screen. Her elegant crimson dress seemed to flow around her like living flame as she smoothed invisible wrinkles from the fabric.
"Your reputation is well-deserved, Amagiri-san," she said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "You possess a rare gift."
"You're too kind," Kazurou replied with a respectful inclination of his head.
Lady Phenex studied him with ancient eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of kings. "Tell me," she said after a thoughtful pause, "what exactly are you? I've encountered many beings in my long existence, but you... you defy categorization."
"I am exactly what I appear to be," Kazurou answered with the same enigmatic response he'd given others. "A masseur offering restoration to those who seek it."
A knowing smile touched Lady Phenex's lips. "A non-answer wrapped in truth. How diplomatic." She moved toward the door with graceful steps. "I suspect we'll meet again, Amagiri-san. The Phenex family values exceptional talents, whatever form they may take."
In the reception area, they found Ravel sipping tea, her usual haughty expression softened by the lingering effects of her session. When she saw her mother, a flicker of curiosity crossed her face—wondering, perhaps, if the formidable Lady Phenex had experienced the same vulnerability she herself had felt.
"Shall we, dear?" Lady Phenex said to her daughter. "We have that meeting with the Sitri representatives this afternoon."
As they prepared to leave, Lady Phenex added casually, "We'll be scheduling regular appointments, I think. Perhaps weekly?"
"Of course," Kazurou agreed. "I'll reserve the time for you both."
Ravel's cheeks colored slightly, but she made no objection to her mother's pronouncement. As they departed, Lady Phenex's voice drifted back: "The Gremory family isn't the only one that can recognize valuable additions to our territory."
The statement, casual yet loaded with political implication, hung in the air after they departed—a reminder of the complex power dynamics that governed devil society.
Kazurou had little time to contemplate these implications, however, as his next appointment arrived almost immediately—a young exorcist from the church who had heard rumors of mysterious healing and come in disguise, seeking relief from injuries sustained fighting stray devils.
The day progressed with a steady stream of clients, each bringing their own needs, tensions, and revelations to his table. By late afternoon, Kazurou was preparing for his final appointment when the shrine's peaceful atmosphere was suddenly disrupted by a thunderous crash from the garden.
Rushing outside, he found an unexpected scene—a massive red dragon, approximately the size of a small house, had apparently crash-landed in his koi pond. Water splashed everywhere, several bamboo plants were flattened, and one bewildered koi fish flopped on the grass, having been unceremoniously evicted from its home.
"Sorry about that," rumbled the dragon in a deep, masculine voice. "Still getting used to the size constraints of this realm."
Kazurou recognized the newcomer immediately—Tannin, the former Dragon King, now a reincarnated devil in service to the Underworld.
"Dragon King Tannin," he greeted calmly, rescuing the displaced koi and returning it to what remained of its pond. "This is an unexpected visit."
The massive dragon shifted awkwardly, sending another wave of water over the garden's stone pathways. "Heard about this place from Sirzechs. Said you might be able to help with a... condition."
"I see," Kazurou replied, maintaining his composure despite the destruction of his carefully arranged garden. "May I ask what kind of condition?"
Tannin's massive draconic head lowered slightly in what might have been embarrassment. "Back problems," he muttered. "Been getting worse for centuries. Flying long distances is becoming a real pain, literally."
Kazurou assessed the situation with a critical eye. "I'm afraid my treatment room isn't designed to accommodate someone of your... current proportions."
The dragon snorted, sending a small flame into the air. "Obviously. I can take human form, but it's uncomfortable. Thought maybe you could work outside?"
"That could be arranged," Kazurou agreed, mentally calculating the logistics of performing massage therapy on a dragon several times his size. "Though perhaps somewhere less... populated than my garden? The forest behind the shrine might be more suitable."
"Sensible," Tannin agreed, attempting to extract himself from the ruined pond with minimal additional damage. "Can you do it now? I've got a meeting with the young Hyoudou kid later for training."
"I had another appointment scheduled, but..." Kazurou glanced at the devastation around them and made a quick decision. "I believe they would understand the need to reschedule under the circumstances."
As Kazurou led the massive dragon toward a clearing in the forest behind the shrine, he couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected turns his establishment had taken—from high-class devils to Dragon Kings, each finding their way to his door with needs both profound and surprisingly mundane.
The session with Tannin proved to be one of Kazurou's most unusual yet. The massive dragon lay on his stomach in the forest clearing, ancient trees providing a natural privacy screen as Kazurou worked on draconic muscle groups that would have bewildered conventional massage therapists.
"Right there," Tannin rumbled as Kazurou's hands found a particularly tight knot where massive wings connected to the dragon's spine. "That's been bothering me since the Demonic Beast Uprising of 1432."
Kazurou had adapted his technique for the Dragon King's unique physiology, using oil infused with essence of dragon flame, mountain bedrock, and ancient wisdom. The heat emanating from Tannin's scales would have burned human skin, but Kazurou's hands adjusted naturally to the extreme temperature.
"Your wings carry centuries of tension," Kazurou observed, working methodically along the massive joint structures. "Flying between the Underworld and human realm requires constant adjustments to different magical densities."
"How'd you know that?" Tannin asked, one massive eye swiveling to regard Kazurou with surprise.
"My hands read what your body reveals," he replied simply, continuing his work on muscle groups that had been tense since before human civilization began.
By the time the impromptu session ended, the ancient dragon seemed genuinely rejuvenated, stretching his massive wings with evident relief.
"Haven't felt this good in centuries," Tannin declared, rising to his full imposing height. "You've earned your reputation, Amagiri."
As the dragon prepared to depart—this time with a more controlled takeoff that merely flattened a few small trees rather than destroying an entire garden—he added gruffly, "I'll be back. And I'll tell the other Dragon Kings about your skills. Might want to prepare for Tiamat—she's got a nasty temperament but terrible shoulder tension."
After Tannin's departure, Kazurou returned to find the shrine in disarray—not just the garden, but the reception area as well, where news of a dragon's arrival had caused his waiting client to depart in alarmed haste, leaving an overturned tea service and scattered cushions in their wake.
As he set about restoring order, a familiar laugh echoed from the shadows.
"A dragon massage!" Featherine materialized, today appearing unusually substantial as she helped right an overturned table. "Just when I think this narrative can't get more delightful, you exceed expectations."
"You saw that?" Kazurou asked, gathering scattered teacups.
"Of course I did," she replied with gleaming eyes. "I wouldn't miss such exceptional character development. The former Dragon King seeking therapeutic intervention! And offering to refer Tiamat!" Her laughter was genuinely delighted. "The narrative possibilities are expanding beautifully."
By evening, Kazurou had restored some semblance of order to the shrine, though the garden would require more extensive repairs. As he sat on the engawa, contemplating the ruined koi pond with philosophical acceptance, he sensed another presence approaching—not a client this time, but someone who had been observing his establishment from a distance.
"You might as well come out," he called softly to the shadows beneath the maple tree. "I've been aware of your surveillance for days."
A figure materialized from darkness—Kuroka, the SS-class criminal nekoshou, sister to Koneko. Her voluptuous figure was barely contained by her black kimono, her twin tails swishing lazily behind her as she approached with feline grace.
"Nya, so you noticed me," she purred, golden eyes gleaming in the twilight. "I'm impressed, nya. Most can't detect me when I don't wish to be found."
"You weren't exactly hiding your presence today," Kazurou observed. "You wanted to be noticed."
Kuroka smiled, revealing sharp canines. "Maybe I did, nya. I've been watching this place... watching you." She slinked closer, her movements deliberately provocative. "Watching what you do to all these powerful beings who leave your shrine looking so... satisfied."
"I provide a therapeutic service," Kazurou replied, unaffected by her seductive approach. "Nothing more, nothing less."
"Hmm," she mused, circling him with predatory interest. "My sister came to you. Shirone."
"Client confidentiality—"
"I know, I know," Kuroka interrupted with a dismissive wave. "But I felt her energy change afterward. It was... lighter somehow. Less fearful." Her golden eyes narrowed. "What did you do to her?"
"I merely created a space where self-discovery became possible," Kazurou answered carefully. "Any changes came from within her."
The nekoshou studied him with ancient feline wariness, centuries of survival instinct evident in her gaze. "You're not what you seem," she declared. "You're something... other."
"Most beings are more than they appear," Kazurou countered. "Including you, Kuroka."
She stiffened slightly at his tone—not threatening, but knowing. As if he could see past the playful facade to the complicated truth beneath.
"What do you know about me?" she asked, her usual playful "nya" absent for once.
Through his Feathered Eye, activated subtly in the gathering darkness, Kazurou could see the tangled threads of her fate—the desperate choice to save her sister from their master's experiments, the sacrifice misconstrued as madness, the years of running, hiding, surviving.
"I know that stories told by victors rarely contain the full truth," he said simply. "And that love sometimes manifests in ways others cannot comprehend."
Kuroka went very still, her golden eyes widening fractionally. "Who are you?" she whispered.
"Someone who sees," Kazurou replied. "Nothing more, nothing less."
For a long moment, the powerful nekoshou regarded him with an expression caught between wariness and desperate hope. Then, with characteristic abruptness, she shifted back to her playful demeanor.
"Well then, nya," she declared, stretching languorously, "I think I need to book an appointment. For therapeutic purposes, of course."
"Of course," Kazurou agreed with the ghost of a smile. "Though I should warn you, your sister sometimes visits. There could be... complications."
"All the more reason to come," Kuroka purred. "I like complications, nya. Makes life interesting."
As suddenly as she had appeared, she vanished back into shadow, though her voice lingered: "Expect me soon, handsome. I have lots of tension that needs your... personal attention."
After she departed, Kazurou remained on the engawa, contemplating the rapidly expanding web of connections his presence was creating. The Phenex family's political interest. Tannin's dragon referrals. Now Kuroka's imminent visit, with all its potential for both healing and disruption.
"The ripples become waves," he murmured to himself, echoing his earlier observation to Featherine.
"And waves become tsunamis," came her voice as she materialized beside him, tonight appearing in a midnight kimono adorned with constellations that moved subtly across the fabric. "The nekoshou criminal now too! Your little establishment has become a nexus for every significant power in this world."
"Your doing?" Kazurou asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Not directly," Featherine demurred, settling beside him with supernatural grace. "I merely created the initial conditions. The story is now evolving organically, characters drawing themselves to you through their own needs and curiosities." Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "It's the mark of an excellent narrative when it begins to write itself."
"And when narratives write themselves," Kazurou noted, "authors lose some control over the outcome."
Featherine's smile turned enigmatic. "Perhaps that's the most interesting outcome of all."
As night deepened around the shrine, they sat in companionable silence, watching stars emerge above the ruined garden—a momentary peace before the next day's inevitable complications.
Chapter 10: The Queen's Observation
Morning arrived with unexpected commotion. Kazurou had barely finished his preparations when an elegant black car pulled up to the shrine steps. A door opened to reveal Grayfia Lucifuge—the Strongest Queen, wife to Sirzechs Lucifer, and one of the most powerful devils in existence.
Unlike previous high-ranking visitors, Grayfia made no attempt to disguise her purpose. She approached the shrine with the confident stride of someone accustomed to authority, her silver hair and maid uniform immaculate despite the early hour.
"Amagiri-san," she greeted with a formal bow that somehow managed to convey both respect and evaluation simultaneously. "I hope I'm not disrupting your morning."
"Not at all, Lucifuge-sama," Kazurou replied, matching her formality. "Though I don't believe we had an appointment scheduled."
"This is not a social call," Grayfia clarified, her silver eyes cool and assessing. "I'm here in my official capacity as the representative of Sirzechs Lucifer."
"I see," Kazurou gestured toward the entrance. "Please, come in. Tea?"
Inside the reception area, Grayfia took in every detail with the practiced efficiency of someone trained to notice the smallest discrepancies. Despite her maid uniform, there was nothing subservient in her bearing—she carried herself with the natural authority of a being who had once been feared as the "Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation."
"Your establishment has attracted significant attention in a remarkably short time," she observed, accepting a cup of tea with perfect grace. "The Gremory heiress, the Sitri heiress, Serafall Leviathan, and now the Phenex family—all have visited your shrine within weeks of its appearance."
"Word travels quickly in supernatural circles," Kazurou replied neutrally.
"Indeed." Grayfia's silver eyes studied him with unnerving intensity. "What concerns Sirzechs-sama is not the popularity of your services, but their effect. Each visitor leaves changed in subtle yet significant ways."
"I provide therapeutic massage," Kazurou explained. "Release of tension—physical and otherwise—naturally creates changes in those who experience it."
"These changes go beyond relaxation," Grayfia countered. "Rias-sama's aura has shifted notably. Sona-sama's tactical approaches have evolved. Serafall-sama has displayed uncharacteristic seriousness in recent council meetings." She set down her teacup with deliberate precision. "When beings of such power begin changing simultaneously, it creates... ripples."
"Is change necessarily concerning?" Kazurou asked.
"Change itself, no," Grayfia acknowledged. "Unidentified influences causing that change? Potentially."
The subtext was clear—Sirzechs was concerned about possible manipulation of his precious sister and other key figures in devil society. Grayfia, as his wife and Queen, had been sent to assess the threat directly.
"I understand your concerns," Kazurou said. "What would alleviate them?"
Grayfia considered this for a moment. "Direct experience," she finally decided. "I would like to undergo this 'treatment' myself. To understand precisely what occurs during these sessions."
Though her request was presented as a logical investigative step, Kazurou sensed something more beneath the surface—a genuine curiosity, perhaps even a personal interest masked by professional duty.
"Of course," he agreed. "I have an opening this morning, if that suits you."
"It does," Grayfia confirmed, rising with fluid grace. "Lead the way."
In the treatment room, Grayfia surprised Kazurou with her approach to the session. Unlike most first-time clients who displayed hesitation or maintained rigid modesty, the Silver-Haired Queen assessed the space with clinical efficiency, then proceeded to disrobe completely behind the privacy screen without comment or apparent concern.
When Kazurou returned, she lay face-down on the table, the sheet arranged with precise neatness across her lower body, her silver hair carefully arranged to one side.
"I'll be using a special blend for you," Kazurou explained, warming oil between his palms. This mixture shimmered with silver and ice-blue light—essence of winter frost, controlled power, and dutiful devotion. "It's particularly effective for those who maintain multiple roles simultaneously."
At the first touch of his hands on her shoulders, Grayfia remained perfectly still—neither tensing nor relaxing, simply observing the sensation with analytical detachment.
"Your muscles hold tremendous tension," Kazurou noted as his fingers found knots that would have been crippling in a lesser being. "The strain of maintaining perfect control at all times."
"Control is necessary in my position," Grayfia replied, her voice as composed as ever despite the increasing pressure of his hands working deep into tight muscle groups.
"There's a difference between control and constriction," Kazurou observed, his Feathered Eye activating subtly. Through it, he could see the complex architecture of Grayfia's being—layers of duty, power, and formality wrapped around a core of passionate intensity few ever glimpsed. "You maintain both the public face of the Lucifer household and its private strength. Maid and Queen. Wife and advisor. Guardian and enforcer."
A barely perceptible change in her breathing suggested his words had found their mark. "You're very perceptive," she acknowledged, her voice revealing nothing.
As the session progressed, Kazurou worked methodically through layers of tension that had accumulated over centuries. Unlike most clients who gradually surrendered to the experience, Grayfia maintained her composed observation throughout—feeling everything but revealing nothing.
When his hands reached her mid-back, finding a nexus point where her tremendous ice powers originated, he applied slightly more pressure than usual, seeking a response that might break through her perfect control.
"How does that feel?" he asked, his voice taking on a gentle authority as his fingers worked deeper into the magical core of her power.
Something in his tone—perhaps the same quality that had affected Akeno, Ravel, and Serafall—finally penetrated Grayfia's composed facade. A soft, surprised exhale escaped her.
"It feels..." she began, then paused as if surprised by her own reaction.
"Yes?" Kazurou encouraged, maintaining the perfect pressure on that critical point.
"...wonderful," she admitted quietly, then added in a whisper so soft it was barely audible, "Yes, Daddy."
The moment the word left her lips, Grayfia's entire body tensed in shock—perhaps the first time in centuries the perfect Queen had been caught completely off-guard by her own response.
"That was..." she began, clearly discomfited.
"A natural response to release," Kazurou assured her calmly, continuing his work as if nothing unusual had occurred. "Many clients find themselves using terms of trust and surrender during moments of profound relaxation. It's nothing to be concerned about."
Though Grayfia said nothing further, the perfect control she had maintained throughout the session had been irreversibly altered. Not broken—a being of her power and discipline wouldn't surrender so completely—but shifted, allowing something more authentic to emerge.
By the time the massage concluded, the Strongest Queen rose from the table with her usual grace, yet something subtle had changed in her bearing—a slight softening around the eyes, a barely perceptible relaxation of the shoulders that had carried such tremendous responsibility for so long.
"I believe I understand now," she said as she emerged fully dressed from behind the privacy screen, her uniform as immaculate as when she arrived. "The experience is... difficult to describe in conventional terms."
"Most profound experiences are," Kazurou agreed.
Grayfia regarded him with new consideration. "You possess an unusual gift, Amagiri-san. I can see why beings of power are drawn to your establishment."
"And your assessment for Sirzechs-sama?" Kazurou asked.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips—perhaps the first genuine expression she had revealed. "I will report that while your influence is significant, it appears beneficial rather than threatening. Your ability to create vulnerability without exploitation is... rare."
As she prepared to leave, Grayfia paused at the door. "I would like to schedule another session," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "For further observation, of course."
"Of course," Kazurou agreed, matching her tone. "For observation purposes only."
After Grayfia's departure, Kazurou had little time to reflect on the session's implications before his next clients arrived—a steady stream throughout the day, including several returning visitors. Rias came with Akeno, both seeking follow-up treatments. Sona arrived with Tsubaki, her Queen, who approached the experience with the same methodical curiosity as her king. Even Ophis returned, materializing directly in the treatment room at her appointed time with her usual disregard for conventional entrances.
By late afternoon, Kazurou was preparing for his final appointment when he sensed a disturbance in the air—a ripple in reality that preceded manifestation.
"You have a visitor," came Featherine's amused voice from the corner of the room where she had materialized partially, visible only to him. "One I didn't anticipate."
Before Kazurou could ask for clarification, the shrine's peaceful atmosphere was shattered by a thunderous roar that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. The building shook, scrolls fell from walls, and the very air itself appeared to tear open like fabric being ripped.
Through this reality-breach soared an enormous crimson dragon—so massive that only its head and part of its neck could fit through the dimensional tear. Its eyes burned with cosmic fire as it regarded the small shrine and its proprietor with ancient curiosity.
Great Red, the Apocalypse Dragon, True Dragon God Emperor, and the most powerful being in existence had arrived at Feather & Flesh.
"I HEAR YOU GIVE GOOD BACK RUBS," the dragon's voice boomed, rattling the shrine to its foundations. "OPHIS MENTIONED IT."
Kazurou, displaying the unflappable composure that had become his trademark, merely inclined his head respectfully. "I provide therapeutic massage, yes. Though my facilities aren't quite designed to accommodate someone of your... proportions."
The massive dragon snorted, sending a wave of reality-distorting energy across the shrine grounds. "SIZE IS RELATIVE IN THE DIMENSIONAL GAP. I CAN ADJUST."
With that pronouncement, the cosmic dragon began to shrink, the process sending waves of distortion through the surrounding area. Trees bent, the air rippled, and for a brief moment, gravity itself seemed optional rather than mandatory.
When the transformation completed, where the massive dragon had been now stood a tall, muscular man with crimson hair so vibrant it seemed to glow from within. He wore a leather jacket adorned with flame patterns and carried himself with the casual confidence of a being who feared absolutely nothing in existence.
"Much better," the humanoid Great Red announced, rolling his shoulders. "This form is less destructive to local reality."
From the corner where only Kazurou could see her, Featherine's eyes gleamed with delighted surprise. "The Apocalypse Dragon in human form! This is unprecedented development!" she whispered, barely containing her excitement.
"Welcome," Kazurou greeted, bowing respectfully to the transformed dragon god. "Your visit is unexpected, but not unwelcome."
Great Red surveyed the shrine with casual interest, his eyes—still burning with inner fire despite his human appearance—taking in every detail. "Ophis said you fixed something in her. Made her less... fragmented." He rolled his shoulders again, producing a series of alarming cracks that echoed with dimensional resonance. "Got a knot right here that's been bothering me since I created the dimensional gap."
"I'd be honored to assist," Kazurou replied, gesturing toward the treatment room. "Though I should warn you, my techniques work on multiple levels simultaneously—physical, spiritual, and metaphysical."
Great Red grinned, revealing teeth that were just slightly too sharp to be human. "Good. Wouldn't bother coming for just a physical rub-down. Got planets for that."
As Kazurou led the embodiment of dreams and illusions to his treatment room, he could feel Featherine's presence following, her excitement palpable even through her partial manifestation. This was an unexpected development indeed—perhaps the most significant since the shrine's opening.
In the treatment room, Great Red studied the massage table with amused interest. "Bit small, isn't it?"
"It adjusts to accommodate the client," Kazurou explained, and indeed, the table was already expanding, its midnight-blue covering shimmering with stars as it grew to proportions that defied the room's actual dimensions.
"Reality manipulation," Great Red observed approvingly. "Handy trick."
Unlike previous clients who required explanations of protocol, the Apocalypse Dragon simply shed his leather jacket and materialized form without hesitation—revealing a muscular humanoid body that radiated cosmic power. Where a human would have skin, Great Red's form seemed to contain galaxies and dream-fragments swirling beneath a semi-transparent surface.
As he positioned himself face-down on the table, which now somehow fit perfectly despite being larger than the room itself, Great Red glanced back at Kazurou with burning eyes. "Well? Get to it. Got a Dimensional Gap to patrol later."
Kazurou selected a unique oil blend for this unprecedented client—essence of dream reality, cosmic void, and manifestation potential, glowing with deep crimson light that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat. As he warmed it between his palms, the oil responded strangely, occasionally forming miniature reality pockets before dissolving back into liquid.
"This might feel... different," Kazurou warned as he prepared to make first contact with the transformed dragon god's back.
"Everything feels different to me," Great Red replied with cosmic indifference. "Perks of being manifestation incarnate."
At the first touch of Kazurou's hands on Great Red's shoulders, something extraordinary happened. The contact point flared with primordial energy, and for a brief, disorienting moment, Kazurou found his consciousness pulled into a maelstrom of pure creation—dreams becoming reality, reality dissolving into dreams, the endless cycle of manifestation that constituted Great Red's very essence.
His Feathered Eye activated fully in response, stabilizing the connection and allowing him to remain centered while still perceiving the dragon god's true nature. What he found was surprising—beneath the cosmic power and reality-warping capabilities lay something unexpected: loneliness.
The Apocalypse Dragon, True Dragon God Emperor, mightiest being in existence, was fundamentally isolated by his very nature. Few beings could withstand his presence, fewer still could comprehend his existence, and none shared his unique position in reality.
"Your shoulders carry the weight of cosmic maintenance," Kazurou observed, his hands finding pressure points that existed simultaneously across multiple dimensions. "The Dimensional Gap requires constant attention to prevent reality bleed-through."
Great Red made a sound that might have been surprise. "How'd you know that?"
"My hands read more than physical form," Kazurou replied, working deeper into muscle groups that had likely never been touched before. "They read essence, purpose, burden."
As the session progressed, Kazurou worked methodically through layers of cosmic tension that had accumulated since the dawn of existence. Unlike his other supernatural clients, Great Red maintained a running commentary throughout—sometimes complaining, sometimes expressing surprised approval, occasionally making jokes about dimensional physics that would have been incomprehensible to most beings.
"Right there," he directed as Kazurou's hands found a particularly tight cluster of energy along his spine. "That's been bugging me since the Renaissance. Some idiot tried to punch through the Dimensional Gap with experimental magic. Had to patch reality in seventeen places."
Kazurou applied deeper pressure, causing the air around them to shimmer with dimensional distortion. "You maintain the boundaries between dream and reality," he observed. "A constant vigil."
"Someone's gotta do it," Great Red replied, though there was something new in his voice—a slight vulnerability revealed only under the influence of Kazurou's touch combined with Featherine's special oils. "Most don't appreciate how thin reality actually is. One good tear and—poof!—existence compromised."
Kazurou worked in silence for a moment, his hands finding the nexus points where Great Red's cosmic power originated—not a single source but a distributed network of dimensional anchors that allowed him to exist across multiple planes simultaneously.
"You enjoy that?" Kazurou asked, applying perfectly calibrated pressure to one such anchor point.
The response was unexpected—the mighty Apocalypse Dragon, embodiment of dreams and power, let out a sound that was half-groan, half-purr. "Yeah," he admitted, then added with surprising vulnerability, "Yes, Daddy."
The moment the word escaped him, reality itself seemed to hiccup—books fell from shelves, the air rippled visibly, and somewhere in the distance, a car alarm went off spontaneously.
Great Red froze, clearly shocked by his own response. "Did I just—"
"It's a natural reaction to release," Kazurou assured him smoothly, continuing his work without missing a beat. "Many clients find themselves using terms of trust during moments of surrender. It's nothing to be concerned about."
After a moment of cosmic tension that might have collapsed lesser realities, Great Red relaxed again with a rumbling chuckle. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll rewrite your existence as a potted plant."
"Client confidentiality is absolute," Kazurou promised.
By the time the session concluded, Great Red rose from the table with a fluidity that hadn't been present before—his movements smoother, his cosmic energy flowing more harmoniously.
"Not bad," he acknowledged, materializing his leather jacket back onto his human form. "Not bad at all. Might have to make this a regular thing."
"You're always welcome," Kazurou replied with a respectful bow.
Great Red studied him with burning eyes that saw through layers of reality. "You're not what you appear to be," he observed. "There's something... familiar about your energy signature. Like looking in a weird mirror."
Before Kazurou could respond, the dragon god shrugged. "Whatever. Not my business. But that woman hiding in the corner—" he glanced directly at where Featherine lurked invisible to normal perception, "—she's definitely not from around here."
With that parting observation, Great Red simply tore a hole in reality with his bare hand and stepped through, the dimensional breach sealing itself behind him with a sound like thunder.
In the sudden silence that followed, Featherine materialized more fully, her expression one of rare genuine surprise. "He saw me," she said, sounding both delighted and discomfited. "How fascinating! The Apocalypse Dragon perceived me across dimensional barriers."
"A being of his nature would naturally be sensitive to meta-dimensional presences," Kazurou noted, beginning to clean up the treatment room, which was now scattered with reality fragments and cosmic dust.
"True," Featherine acknowledged, helping to right a shelf that had been knocked askew by Great Red's dimensional exit. "But few can perceive me when I choose to remain hidden." Her eyes gleamed with renewed interest. "This world continues to surprise me in the most delightful ways."
By evening, after dealing with the reality fluctuations caused by Great Red's visit, Kazurou closed the shrine and sat in the partially repaired garden, contemplating the day's extraordinary events. From Grayfia's formal assessment to the Apocalypse Dragon's unprecedented appearance, each interaction had expanded the web of connections emanating from his small establishment.
As twilight deepened, he sensed another presence approaching—not with Great Red's cosmic disruption but with silent, deadly grace. A figure materialized from shadow, moving with the fluid precision of a master combatant.
"Vali Lucifer," Kazurou acknowledged, recognizing the silver-haired host of the Divine Dividing Sacred Gear. "This is an unexpected visit."
The descendant of the original Lucifer regarded Kazurou with cold blue eyes that missed nothing. "I've been watching this place," he stated without preamble. "The most powerful beings in existence are visiting a massage parlor. I want to know why."
"I provide a service they find valuable," Kazurou replied simply. "Would you like to experience it firsthand?"
Vali's expression remained guarded. "I'm not here for relaxation. I'm here for information."
"Information about what, specifically?"
"Great Red was here today," Vali said, his voice betraying a hint of excitement beneath the cool exterior. "In human form. No one has ever seen the Apocalypse Dragon take human form."
"Client confidentiality prevents me from confirming specific visitors," Kazurou replied diplomatically.
A faint smile touched Vali's lips. "So he was here." The young man paced the garden with barely contained energy. "I seek strength. I seek challenges worthy of my power. If Great Red found something valuable in this place... perhaps I should investigate further."
From inside Vali's jacket came a glowing blue light as Albion, the White Dragon Emperor, stirred with interest. "This being is unusual, Vali," the dragon's voice rumbled. "His aura defies categorization, yet it resonates with power."
Vali studied Kazurou with renewed intensity. "My dragon senses something in you. Something... worthy."
"I'm simply a massage therapist," Kazurou maintained, rising smoothly from his seated position. "Though if you're interested in exploring what that means, I have an opening tomorrow morning."
For a moment, the battle-hungry descendant of Lucifer seemed to wrestle with himself—suspicion warring with curiosity. Finally, curiosity won. "Fine. Tomorrow morning. But this isn't about relaxation—it's reconnaissance."
"Of course," Kazurou agreed. "Shall we say nine o'clock?"
With a short nod, Vali turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing. Kuroka has been watching your place too. Be careful with that one—she's more dangerous than she appears."
"I'll keep that in mind," Kazurou replied, though his tone suggested he was already well aware of the nekoshou's nature.
After Vali departed, melting into shadows with the same silent grace with which he'd arrived, Kazurou sensed yet another presence—this one far more welcome.
"Quite the day you've had," Featherine observed, materializing fully beside him in the moonlit garden. Tonight she appeared in a flowing dress that seemed woven from starlight and shadow, her lavender hair moving slightly in a breeze that affected nothing else. "The Strongest Queen, the Apocalypse Dragon, and now the White Dragon Emperor. Your little establishment has become the nexus we hoped for and more."
"The ripples are becoming waves," Kazurou noted, returning to his earlier metaphor.
"And soon, perhaps, a tsunami," Featherine agreed, her eyes bright with narrative enthusiasm. "The characters are aligning beautifully, each drawn to you through their own needs and curiosities." She moved closer, her form substantial enough tonight to create real warmth where their bodies touched. "You've surpassed my expectations, darling. This story is evolving in ways even I couldn't have fully anticipated."
"Is that why you're manifesting more substantially?" Kazurou asked, noting the unusual solidity of her presence. "Growing interest in the narrative?"
"Partly," she admitted, tracing a finger along his jawline with tangible touch. "But also... I find myself drawn to participate more directly. To experience rather than merely observe."
Before Kazurou could respond to this significant admission, the shrine's chime rang softly—an unexpected sound given the late hour.
"You have another visitor," Featherine observed with raised eyebrows. "Quite the popular establishment you're running."
As Kazurou moved to the entrance, he found an unexpected figure waiting on the steps—Gabriel, one of the Four Great Seraphim, Heaven's most beautiful angel. Unlike her previous visitors who arrived with clear purpose or official capacity, Gabriel stood with an air of uncertainty, her twelve golden wings partially visible and slightly ruffled, as if she'd made the decision to come in haste.
"Welcome to Feather & Flesh," Kazurou greeted with a respectful bow. "This is an unexpected honor, Gabriel-sama."
The angelic beauty returned his bow with one of her own. "Forgive the late intrusion, Amagiri-san. I..." she hesitated, a faint blush touching her perfect features. "I felt a disturbance in the fabric of reality earlier today. Something that originated here."
"Ah," Kazurou nodded in understanding. "Great Red paid us a visit. His manifestation in human form created some... dimensional side effects."
Gabriel's eyes widened. "The Apocalypse Dragon was here? In human form?" Her golden wings rustled with surprise. "That's unprecedented."
"Many unprecedented things seem to happen around this establishment," Kazurou acknowledged. "Would you like to come in? I can offer tea, though we're officially closed for the evening."
Gabriel hesitated again, her perfect brow furrowing slightly. "Actually, I... that is, Michael suggested..." She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "Heaven has been observing your establishment with interest. Many powerful beings from various factions have visited you. Michael thought it prudent that I... investigate the nature of your services personally."
The slight blush that colored her cheeks suggested that perhaps this "investigation" wasn't entirely Michael's idea.
"I understand," Kazurou replied, maintaining a respectful demeanor despite the late hour and unusual request. "Would you prefer to schedule an appointment for tomorrow, or...?"
"Now would be best," Gabriel said quickly, as if afraid she might lose her nerve. "If that's not too inconvenient."
From the shadows where only Kazurou could see her, Featherine's delighted laugh echoed silently. "The most beautiful angel in Heaven, making late-night house calls! Oh, this narrative grows more delicious by the hour!"
"It's no inconvenience," Kazurou assured Gabriel, ignoring Featherine's commentary. "Please, come in."
As he led Heaven's most beautiful angel into his establishment, Kazurou could sense her nervous energy—a mixture of curiosity, trepidation, and something else... perhaps a personal need she herself didn't fully understand.
In the reception area, Gabriel studied the simple elegance of the space with appreciative eyes. "It's very peaceful here," she observed. "I can feel why beings find comfort in this place."
"That's the intention," Kazurou replied, preparing tea with practiced movements. "A sanctuary from the complexities of existence."
Gabriel accepted the offered cup with graceful hands, her twelve golden wings adjusting to accommodate her seated position. Unlike the devils and fallen angels who typically concealed their wings in the human world, Gabriel seemed either unable or unwilling to fully hide her angelic nature.
"I should explain what my services entail," Kazurou began.
"Oh, I've been briefed," Gabriel interrupted, then blushed slightly at her own eagerness. "That is, Michael received reports from our information network. You provide therapeutic massage that addresses tensions beyond the merely physical."
"That's a concise summary," Kazurou acknowledged. "Though the experience itself is difficult to convey through reports."
Gabriel sipped her tea, her perfect features contemplative. "Michael was particularly interested in the effects your treatments have had on Serafall Leviathan. She's been unusually... focused in recent faction meetings. Less performative, more substantive in her diplomatic approaches."
"Client confidentiality—"
"Of course, of course," Gabriel nodded quickly. "I wouldn't ask you to breach that. I merely mention it to explain Heaven's interest."
As she spoke, one of her golden wings extended slightly too far, knocking over a small vase of flowers on the table beside her. With angelic reflexes, Gabriel reached to catch it, but in doing so, she lost her balance and pitched forward—directly into Kazurou's arms.
For a moment, they froze in the accidental embrace, Gabriel's face mere inches from his, her golden wings creating a canopy around them both. A deep blush spread across her perfect features.
"I—I'm so sorry," she stammered, attempting to disentangle herself but somehow managing to further complicate their position. One of her wings brushed against Kazurou's face, sending a spark of divine energy across his skin. "I'm not usually so clumsy."
"It's quite alright," Kazurou assured her, helping her regain her balance with gentle hands. "No harm done."
Gabriel finally managed to right herself, her wings folding tightly against her back in obvious embarrassment. "Michael always says I can be a bit... uncoordinated at times," she admitted with a self-deprecating smile that somehow only enhanced her beauty. "It's why I'm not sent on as many diplomatic missions as I'd like."
The brief moment of vulnerability—Heaven's most beautiful angel admitting to a mundane flaw—created an unexpected connection between them.
"Shall we proceed with your session?" Kazurou suggested, offering her a way past the awkward moment.
Gabriel nodded gratefully. "Yes, please."
In the treatment room, Kazurou explained the process with the same respectful clarity he offered all clients. Unlike most supernatural beings who approached the experience with either analytical detachment or hidden agendas, Gabriel's response was refreshingly straightforward—simple curiosity mixed with genuine interest.
"I'll step out while you prepare," Kazurou explained, gesturing to the privacy screen. "Disrobe to your comfort level and lie face down on the table. The sheet is provided for modesty."
When he returned after giving her privacy, he found a sight unprecedented in his establishment—Gabriel lay face-down on the table, the sheet arranged modestly across her lower body, but her twelve golden wings remained fully manifested, spreading out impossibly within the confines of the room, radiating soft divine light.
"I apologize," she said, turning her head slightly. "I can't fully retract them in this position. It's a... design limitation."
"No need for apologies," Kazurou assured her, selecting a special oil blend for this unique client. This mixture shimmered with gold and white light—essence of divine grace, compassionate wisdom, and hidden longing. "I'll work around them."
The challenge of massaging an angel with twelve manifested wings required some adaptation of his usual techniques. Kazurou began at her shoulders, carefully navigating the ethereal connection points where wings joined physical form.
At the first touch of his hands, Gabriel let out a soft, surprised gasp. "Oh! That's... different than I expected."
"Different how?" Kazurou asked, beginning to work the surprisingly tight muscles around her wing-bases.
"Your touch..." she hesitated, searching for words. "It feels reverent. Most beings approach angels with either fear or unwanted adoration. Your hands feel... understanding."
Kazurou worked in thoughtful silence for a moment, his fingers finding tension points unique to angelic physiology. "Angels carry their own burdens," he observed quietly. "The weight of divine responsibility. The constant expectation of perfection. The isolation of perceived infallibility."
Gabriel's breath caught. "How could you know that?"
"My hands read what your form reveals," he replied simply. His Feathered Eye activated subtly, allowing him to see the complex spiritual architecture that constituted Gabriel's being—layers of divine purpose and cosmic responsibility wrapped around a core of profound compassion and, surprisingly, deep loneliness.
Heaven's most beautiful angel carried a burden few understood—her legendary beauty and grace created distance where she herself longed for connection. Beings approached her with reverence or desire, rarely with simple understanding.
As Kazurou's hands worked methodically along her back, carefully navigating between golden wings, he addressed tensions that had likely existed since her creation. The special oil warmed against her skin, penetrating beyond physical form to influence spiritual pathways.