Demon-hunter families were, all of them, families that placed weight on bloodline and inheritance.
As with the Ryōgi house’s secret rites.
Only those who had inherited the Ryōgi “talent” were qualified to carry the responsibility of becoming the family’s head.
So although there had been an eldest son before Shiki, he—lacking that talent—could only end up a playboy, never the head of the Ryōgi house.
But… that kind of talent, for each successive heir of the Ryōgi house, was perhaps not so wonderful a thing.
“A person’s energy and capacity are finite.
One who exhausts everything they have can, at most, master a single thing to its peak.”
“What, then, of a body that houses two personalities?”
—That was the truth behind the Ryōgi house.
Those of the Ryōgi line who had withered and died in the underground cells, their minds shattered—they had all been driven mad by the war between their two selves, and died of it.
Akitaka Suzurigi knelt to one side, watching the small girl in Miss Shiki’s arms.
The girl’s face was lovely, and her natural gifts were even more terrifying.
But… she was an outsider.
How could she possibly inherit the Ryōgi house?
Perhaps he was overthinking.
If Miss Shiki had been a boy, there would have been no dilemma at all.
Yet in the moment he looked at Sakura, an odd question rose unbidden in Akitaka Suzurigi’s mind.
How had Miss Sakura learned those Ryōgi secret techniques?
To put it more precisely—how had she learned techniques that required the talent; techniques that even the old master had never managed to learn?
If Sakura had heard his question, she would probably have answered—
‘Just a guess.’
‘It felt like it would work, and so I ended up learning it.’
Akitaka Suzurigi gave a wry smile at the rare sight of Miss Shiki’s indulgent expression, rose, and quietly withdrew.
Sakura nestled into Shiki’s chest and half-closed her eyes.
Big Sis Shiki smelled good—she had only just stepped out of the bath.
And she hadn’t changed into a sports bra or wrapped herself in bindings, so it was very comfortable being held by her.
The soft fullness was nothing like her own sister’s, but at least Big Sis Shiki wouldn’t bury Sakura in her chest until she couldn’t breathe.
And there was a sense of safety to Big Sis Shiki’s hold—she looked slender, but there was a startling strength hidden in her body.
At least… Big Sis Shiki’s thighs felt completely different from her own sister’s when you squeezed them.
Big Sis Shiki’s legs were long and full and lithe, with no obvious muscle lines, but they felt springy to the touch—solid, strong.
Her own sister’s thighs were soft, soft like pudding, smooth and fine—wonderful as a pillow when going to sleep.
Sakura yawned, drowsy.
She’d gone to bed late last night, and there had been some noise outside; she hadn’t slept well.
Shiki looked down at her and drew her in a little closer.
“Sleep if you want to.”
Breathing in the faint, sweet scent, Sakura sank, bit by bit, into a dream.
Shiki had wanted to keep her for dinner, but Sakura shook her head—she had homework to finish.
She took only a small sack of bamboo rice as a parting gift, and rubbed her cheek lightly against Shiki’s shoulder in farewell.
Just-woken Sakura, drowsy and lingering, looked like a milk-cat stretching itself awake.
Ruffling Sakura’s soft hair, Ryōgi Shiki saw her into the family car.
It wasn’t until the black sedan had vanished into the bamboo grove that Ryōgi Shiki rolled her shoulders, eased her waist, and returned to her room.
“Come out.” Her gaze swept toward the window.
“Ehe.” Accompanied by a sweet, sheepish little laugh, the chestnut-haired girl swung down from the eaves with practiced ease.
Yumizuka Satsuki wrinkled her small nose and sniffed.
Her red eyes nearly lit up.
Sakura, Sakura, Sakura… Sakura’s scent~~!
Yumizuka Satsuki, still in her juvenile phase, would find it nearly impossible to resist the sweet, blood-borne fragrance of one she favored—that much Shiki knew well.
And yet…
I really want to give her a beating.
Ryōgi Shiki rolled her wrists; Yumizuka Satsuki clearly hadn’t yet grasped the gravity of the situation.
“Aren’t you tired, squatting on the roof all afternoon?”
“Not tired.” Yumizuka Satsuki shook her head lightly.
A vampire ought to bask in the sun a bit~ Loosen up body and soul.
And her most-most-favorite Sakura had been right inside the room.
Now and then the crosswind would carry Sakura’s scent through.
She could see Sakura… Sakura sleeping in someone else’s arms.
At that thought, Yumizuka Satsuki crumpled, deflated.
Little Satsuki—a great failure.
But what could she do, really?
She couldn’t out-fight Shiki, and the woman was her keeper on top of that.
She had no choice but to suffer it, be the punching bag for this violent woman.
“Why didn’t you come inside?” Ryōgi Shiki looked at Yumizuka Satsuki, kneeling there in seiza.
“Because… if Sakura saw me in your house, she would worry, wouldn’t she.” Yumizuka Satsuki kept her head down, eyes on Ryōgi Shiki’s ankle beneath the bathrobe’s hem.
In Yumizuka Satsuki’s world there was nothing more important than Sakura.
Anything that would worry Sakura, she would do her utmost to avoid.
Tap-tap—
A light sound, and Ryōgi Shiki stood before Yumizuka Satsuki.
Yumizuka Satsuki slowly raised her head, and saw Ryōgi Shiki suddenly transformed, as though she were a different person—the corners of that usually cool, distant mouth had tugged faintly upward in a smile.
Her heart skipped.
She turned on hands and knees to bolt—but her collar was already pinched up between Ryōgi Shiki’s fingers.
Compared to the brisk, taciturn Ryōgi Shiki, Yumizuka Satsuki was far more afraid of this Ryōgi Shiki—the one with the gentle smile.
“Squatting on my roof all afternoon~”
“Your legs must be quite numb by now.” With a smile like the neighborhood big sister making idle small talk, Ryōgi Shiki dragged a Yumizuka Satsuki who looked utterly dead inside toward the dōjō.
“Come, loosen up.
Train a little.
Imagine being unable to even beat Sakura—you’d shame your blood-kin to no end.”
Yumizuka Satsuki, head hanging in defeat, suddenly snapped to attention.
“I’m not—I wasn’t!
My legs aren’t numb!”
She struggled, like a condemned criminal on the execution ground remembering, all of a sudden, that she had a pardon tucked away somewhere.
“Wait!
Wait!”
“I felt her yesterday.”
Ryōgi Shiki stopped.
Looked at Yumizuka Satsuki.
“Yesterday?”
Yumizuka Satsuki looked at that just-suppressed smile of Ryōgi Shiki’s, and only a single thought remained in her head.
—Oh, crap.
I’m done for.
Ryōgi Shiki dragged Yumizuka Satsuki toward the dōjō.
The servants in the corridors turned their heads sideways, refusing to look at the two of them.
Yumizuka Satsuki had given up resisting.
These bastards are laughing, aren’t they.
They’re definitely laughing!
Keep laughing—I’ll come bite you in your sleep tonight!
But there was nothing to be done.
She was the one who had ruined the entire Ryōgi bamboo grove.
She thought of the bill, which to her was an astronomical figure, and felt that her life had already lost all hope.
She might very well end up working at the Ryōgi house as a sparring partner and punching bag until she was old.
Wait.
Yumizuka Satsuki suddenly realized a very serious problem—
As a vampire, do I actually still age?
Then… that bondservant contract she’d signed wasn’t just a bad deal, it was a catastrophic one!
Paying no mind to an even more dejected Yumizuka Satsuki, Ryōgi Shiki cast one look back toward the bamboo grove outside, then dragged her on into the dōjō.
That Ancestor—she would have to go and confront them, one way or another.
There was no possible world in which she’d allow a group of Dead Apostles to do as they pleased in Tokyo.
(Other people’s women look so good)