The carriage fell silent for a few seconds after You finished speaking.
You looked around.
The surrounding passengers were packed in tightly, all wearing expressions of eager onlookers. You sighed inwardly. He couldn’t really blame them—if he were in their shoes, he’d be curious about a “hellish scene” too.
“Too many ears here,” You lowered his voice. “Somewhere more private?”
Chihaya didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze lingered on You’s face, as if trying to read something from his expression. Then she nodded.
Akane said nothing, giving a slight nod of her own as tacit consent.
The three of them walked a few steps along the carriage connector and turned into a relatively secluded area—near the end of the car, with the restroom door on one side and the emergency exit sign on the other. Few people passed through here, and only the occasional rattling of the train caused the door panels to creak softly.
Akane leaned against the wall, her crimson eyes appearing deeper under the dim lighting. Her expression remained that same icy facade, but her gaze swept between You and Chihaya once.
“No idle ears here.”
Her voice was faint.
“Talk.”
You took a deep breath.
He considered his wording.
“Miss Tsuchimikado—”
“Akane.”
She cut him off.
“Tsuchimikado Akane. Don’t call me ‘miss.’ It sounds awkward.”
You blinked, then nodded.
“Miss Akane—”
“Drop the ‘miss.'”
“…”
You opened his mouth.
“Akane.”
Akane didn’t correct him again. That counted as approval.
You took another deep breath and began.
He started with spiritual power perception—of course, only saying he’d “awakened” to the method of sensing it, without detailing how. Then he mentioned learning “Purification,” achieving incantationless casting within five days, and now studying “Healing.” He kept it as concise as possible, omitting specific cultivation details—just stating the facts.
He had spiritual power now.
And it was the kind that couldn’t be hidden.
Then he revealed the real dilemma.
“My father… is Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto.”
He spoke the words in a voice so low it was nearly swallowed by the train’s noise.
Akane’s expression didn’t change.
But her finger tapped lightly against her arm—the first extraneous movement she’d made since entering.
“I’m returning to Tokyo this time by pure accident, completely unprepared,” You continued. “My spiritual power can’t be concealed. The moment I get off the train and go home, when I see my father, I’ll definitely be found out. So I need—some kind of technique to mask spiritual power fluctuations, or a talisman. The sooner, the better.”
He didn’t mention the solution Masako had proposed over the phone—staying at a hotel for a few days until he mastered a concealment technique before going home.
Not deliberately withholding, but he did have ulterior motives.
Akane was from the Tsuchimikado family, a descendant of the head house of Onmyoji. Chihaya had said that Onmyoji and shrine maidens operated on different power systems. Shrine maidens relied on divine authority from deities; Onmyoji depended on their own spiritual power and shikigami. As for talismans, even Masako admitted they had “remarkable utility”—so they had to be something good.
He wanted to learn.
But he was also well aware that given his current relationship with Akane—or more accurately, the complete lack thereof—directly asking her to “teach me talismans” was out of the question.
Get her help first. Find an opportunity later.
“We know the Tsuchimikado family is the head house of Onmyoji. As Heavenly Crimson, Akane, you definitely have a way.”
You subtly flattered her.
“So… I’d like to ask for your help.”
You finished, waiting for her response.
Akane didn’t answer immediately.
Her gaze rested on You’s face, something churning in those crimson eyes, as if weighing the gravity of his words. In truth, she was already stunned senseless by this bombshell. How could Tsukuyomi possibly have a Divine Child?
She recalled the night a week ago when she’d encountered You at the front desk of the Snow-Reflecting Pavilion. At the time, she’d wondered—surrounded by shrine maidens from two Shinto family clans, could this playboy be Tsukuyomi’s Divine Child?
And it turned out he actually was?
‘I was just guessing randomly back then. And I actually hit the mark?’
Myōken Sonshinnō Bosatsu above, this was too surreal.
Chihaya stood nearby, silent the whole time, her face beginning to pale.
Not the kind of pallor from fright—it was a deeper, more visceral whiteness surging from within, like something inside her was slowly collapsing.
Drowning guilt consumed her.
She should have thought of it after You learned Purification. She should have taught him a technique to mask his fluctuations back then. It was the most basic of basics—any shrine maiden, after learning to perceive spiritual power, would move on to learning how to hide it.
But she hadn’t. When You had asked to learn Healing, she’d gone along with it because of his earlier probing of Futaba—she’d wanted to teach him a lesson.
By yesterday, when everyone suggested returning to Tokyo, she should have stopped it. But she’d been in the middle of her anger. The thought that You-kun might have had close relationships with girls she didn’t know about in the past had completely thrown her heart into chaos, leaving no room for anything else.
Looking back now, if she’d just calmed down for a moment, she would have realized how serious this problem was. Masking spiritual power fluctuations, not being discovered by Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto—this was something she should have reminded You about. It was her most basic duty as his fiancée, as the next family head of the Mochizuki family, as You’s future legal wife.
But she hadn’t.
This was her failure.
Chihaya’s voice rose, low, as if talking to herself.
“It’s… my fault for forgetting.”
You turned to look at her.
Chihaya stood there, hands at her sides, clenched into fists. Slightly trembling.
“The day you started learning Healing… and yesterday afternoon… when everyone said we should return to Tokyo…”
Her voice trembled, but every word came out clearly.
“I… at that time…”
She didn’t finish.
You looked at Chihaya’s expression, and his heart clenched suddenly.
In those eyes that were always cool and composed, something was shattering. She wasn’t crying—Chihaya wouldn’t cry in a situation like this—but that desperate effort to hold herself together, to keep from collapsing, was harder to witness than tears.
He realized that the guilt this revelation had inflicted on Chihaya was far heavier than he’d imagined. He opened his mouth.
“Chihaya—”
“It’s my failure.”
Chihaya’s voice regained its calm, but that calm was forced, like a taut string ready to snap at any moment.
“I should have thought of this beforehand. This matter… I will take responsibility—”
Chihaya didn’t look at him. She stared at the ground, her gaze fixed on some nonexistent point.
You didn’t know how to console her. He understood Chihaya’s personality—she wasn’t the type to be comforted by words like “it’s okay” or “it’s not your fault.” She was Mochizuki Chihaya. Her pride and her sense of responsibility were two sides of the same coin. If something went wrong, it was her responsibility. She didn’t need others to make excuses for her.
But he spoke anyway:
“You can’t be blamed for this—”
“You-kun.”
Chihaya lifted her head and looked at him.
That look in her eyes was very calm.
But You read a message in it: You don’t need to make excuses for me.
You fell silent.