Chapter 15

 15. Invincible in All Directions

Feigning a hurried appearance, he crosses the corridor where shards of glass scatter, then steps into the classroom.

Beyond the windowless frame facing the courtyard, the sky outside is a clear, bright blue yet inside, it’s shrouded in darkness, thick with miasma.

In the center, a toppled desk and scattered chairs lie in disarray. A humanoid spirit an angry, vengeful ghost grips the upper half of Ichijo’s body with its long arms, lifting him up.

He teeters on the brink, barely floating, or perhaps not at all.

On tiptoe, pale and sweating profusely, Ichijo looks just a little pitiable.

The spirit no, the cursed soul turns to face us.

Noticing the two onmyoji bracing themselves, it deliberately directs its gaze at the man hanging in the air.

A crooked grin spreads across its face, the crescent-shaped mouth stretching to the cheeks, its eyes narrowing maliciously.

It’s laughing.

Laughing cruelly, gleefully, as if toying with a human for its own entertainment.

And that malicious joy causes the miasma to spill from every pore of its body.

Suddenly, a black band appears, gripping Ichijo’s neck and swaying him like a puppet.

He is forced into a frantic, awkward dance, trying desperately to break free, but to no avail one of his shoes is about to slip off at any moment.

The sound of his hesitant footsteps echoes in the tense silence. Ichijo’s mouth is muffled, unable to utter a sound.

The danger from this spirit the cursed ghost was more severe than expected.

I had underestimated it, thinking it an intermediate-level spirit that Ichijo could handle alone. That was my mistake.

Harima clenches his fist, the leather glove creaking sharply.

As tension mounts, the cursed spirit swells in size.

From its body, a burst of mud-like miasma surges outward, crawling across the ceiling and floor like a living wave.

A gaunt woman seated near the door, trembling in fear of the approaching miasma, scampers away down the corridor.

Seeing her frightened escape, Ichijo’s wide eyes fill with anger.

The thick miasma thickens further, darkening the room’s atmosphere.

A colleague, clutching his ears, groans in pain.

He perceives the spirit’s presence mainly through sound when dealing with particularly powerful cursed spirits, it’s said the pain can be so intense that the eardrums threaten to rupture, or the head feels like it’s cracking open.

Even Harima, with his resilience, begins to feel nauseous. He covers his nose and mouth with his hand, pulling a protective charm from his pocket.

In that instant, the room brightens.

The colleague’s eyes widen as he straightens up.

Ichijo, who had been crouching awkwardly, gapes in confusion.

The cursed spirit’s outline trembles violently, as if frightened itself.

From beneath the glove, a luminous jade glow appears.

A powerful, radiant light of exorcism erupts, and Ichijo is thrown to the floor.

The spirit immediately condenses into a mass, then lunges toward the window.

There’s no way we’ll let it escape.

Harima kicks off the floor, leaping over toppled desks and chairs, closing in on the window.

With a swift punch, he strikes the mass of cursed energy just outside the window covered in jade light.

The spirit dissolves into nothingness and vanishes in an instant.

It was dispatched swiftly, almost effortlessly.

A warm breeze sneaks in through the window, rustling the curtains that are about to come off their rails.

A distant, deafening cicada cry slices through the quiet.

Harima, under the direct glare of the midday sun, checks the back of his hand, inspecting the seal there.

Even though it’s faded somewhat, his spiritual power remains strong enough to do its job.

If he slips on this, the power will vanish entirely.

By applying a special glove to that hand, the glow can be instantly suppressed.

Ichijo remains seated on the floor, staring, while his colleague stands frozen in place, both watching.

Harima grips the base of the seal on his hand, then clenches his fingers into a fist, then opens them again.

Satisfied with the condition, he turns toward the others.

“Mission complete. Now, let’s move on to the next case.”

“W-Wait, wait, wait! I didn’t catch any of that! What’s with that seal on your hand? And those symbols are they family crests? And, wait what was that thing at the start?! That was incredible! What even was that?!”

While his colleague continues to shout in bewilderment, Harima already heads toward the exit.

His back is met with a piercing gaze, heavy enough to cut through him.

He calmly remarks without turning around:

“It's a token of appreciation from an acquaintance.”

“Huh?”

“Looking forward to dinner.”

“…Yeah, sure.”

He hints at explaining later, and his perceptive colleague seems to understand.

The case in his pocket is sealed with a special charm to contain the power of the talisman inside.

Bringing it into a cursed spirit-infested scene without proper precautions would risk unleashing its full might indiscriminately, nullifying its effect.

The same seal on his hand, the one he got yesterday, is faint but still potent enough to do the job.

Thanks to that, he’s been able to handle lower-level spirits just walking around.

Creating a protective barrier with a special glove, he directly touches and dispels the spirits an approach that relies on his own spiritual strength.

As he passes through the door, Harima rubs his hand, feeling the power of the seal.

The seal crafted by Kusunoki Minato’s talisman is formidable.

Once you know its overwhelming strength, you can’t help but hesitate to spend a lot on weaker charms.

Now, he only buys the memo-paper talismans, used exclusively by his family.

Harima takes pride in his role as an onmyoji.

He’s not about to rely solely on Minato’s seals, but his own spiritual power is limited.

Lately, the number of ghost-related cases has skyrocketed, forcing him to depend on these inexpensive memo papers.

Today, he has yet another case to go to at a different location.

He stays silent, gazing at the glaring opponent. If they have the strength to keep glaring, that’s enough no need to speak.

Any effort to show concern would only prompt insults and curses. His ears are already weary of it.

The family crest of Seimei Kikkō the emblem of the Ichijo family comes to mind.

Last time, he was painfully nervous, worried he might see the family crest on Ichijo’s hand.

It was a blunder to be seen today, but there’s nothing he can do now.

He and Ichijo exit down the corridor, their footsteps echoing as they go.

Ichijo clenches his fist so tightly that his jaw grinds audibly, then strikes the floor with a dry, echoing bang his fist leaving a painful mark on the battered room.

---

In the courtyard’s corner, a white mass falls from the third-floor window into the tall grass below.

Gradually, sharp, bluish pearl-colored lights rise from it.

Soon, the luminous pearl sheen glows brightly as the mass moves in a straight line toward the majestic, billowing clouds of a thunderhead.

---

Splash! A small turtle dives energetically into the pond at Kusunoki estate.

Its leap from a high rock creates a majestic water column, splashing water onto Minato’s sandals as it lands.

“Wow, what an incredible jump! Looks like the turtle’s in a good mood today,” Minato laughs, peering into the pond.

The water is clear, and the turtle, a yellowish pearl-colored creature, swims swiftly, darting through the water with speed that’s almost unnatural. Water plants sway as it passes.

I only recently noticed that, unlike before, the pond is now lush with aquatic plants, though it’s still mostly gravel at the bottom.

There are no other creatures no fish or anything just that one little turtle, which is honestly a bit lonely.

It wouldn’t hurt to have some fish or other animals, I suppose.

But, well...

“Well, at least the turtle’s happy here,” Minato murmurs, humming softly as he dips his hand into the pond to scoop up some divine water.

The pond’s water is always cool and refreshing, maintaining a steady temperature.

He stirs the water’s surface, and his reflection distorts disturbed by his own movements.

The garden feels like a different world altogether detached from the mortal realm.

No living beings other than Minato himself.

And strangely, he doesn’t feel scared.

“It’s comfortable here,” he says softly, smiling.

He lifts his hand, humming a tune, and fills a watering can with sacred water.

---

Meanwhile, at the busy sushi restaurant used by his colleagues, the place is lively and crowded.

But in a separate private room, calm and quiet, the atmosphere is completely different.

A spacious tatami room, with a low table at the center, a scroll of ink wash painting hanging in the alcove, and a small dry garden visible through shoji screens.

A gentle stream of sand, mimicking flowing water, is arranged with stones that cast soft shadows from a lantern.

Two onmyoji, relaxed after finishing their meal, sit quietly.

One, leaning back in his seat, raises his beer mug, reaching for a handful of edamame.

“—So, it turns out the reason your complexion’s been looking so good lately is because of that blessed memo paper,” he says with a grin.

“Yeah,” Harima replies, taking a sip of whiskey, then setting his glass down, the ice clinking.

The countless empty bottles of sake and whiskey on the table are mostly his doing he’s been drinking heavily, especially lately, overwhelmed with spirits he can’t handle alone.

It’s been a while since he could unwind with a good friend, and today’s on him an indulgence to blow off steam.

His colleague picks up the memo paper, examining it carefully.

“Just some writing only a name but man, it’s incredible. The power it holds.”

“Truly a rare ability,” Harima agrees. “And it’s getting stronger, too.”

“Yeah, but—” his colleague hesitates, “—that thing behind it, the ancient gods backing it up… that’s terrifying. No matter how powerful the talisman, I wouldn’t want to go into the realm of gods myself. That’s a dangerous game.”

He shudders slightly, then flips the memo paper over.

On the back, a small, neat signature of the shop’s name is written in tiny characters.

His colleague nods in understanding.

“Bizen-an’s Daifuku is amazing, though. I get it you like it too. The sweet bean paste isn’t too sweet, and the mochi is just right. They sell out in a few hours after opening, so it’s hard to get.”

“Really? I’ll have to go early next time. It’s helpful that the shop name’s written on the note I can just bring that as a gift.”

“Smart move,” his colleague chuckles.

While they laugh, Harima pours himself another glass of whiskey, filling it to the brim.

Whatever power is written on that memo paper, it works he swears it from the bottom of his heart. It’s a huge help.

Because, when he brings a gift from that shop, he can almost guarantee the gods’ favor.

Once past the gate of the Kusunoki estate, a heavy pressure presses down on him.

A divine force an ancient god’s power makes it hard to breathe, difficult to walk straight.

The divine wind, infused with divine authority, blows constantly, making him feel as if he might kneel or even fall to his knees at any moment.

But when he offers a gift something as simple as a sweet treat the situation suddenly changes.

The oppressive weight lifts, and he’s released from the grip of the divine realm.

It’s almost like standing at the edge of hell’s cauldron, only to be swiftly freed.

In truth, the “intimidation” isn’t the divine warning, but the god’s expectation probably a desire for the sweet, bean-filled confections, and its impatient, commanding presence.

Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

“Honestly, aren’t memo papers kind of awkward to use? They’re pretty fragile can’t throw them around too much.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But I heard they’re going to start making business card-sized ones instead.”

“Business cards you throw? Like, with a leotard and three girls your sister and your little sister, all together?”

“…What?”

“You don’t get it? Guess that’s just the generation gap. I can feel how different the times are.”

His younger colleague frowns in confusion, and Harima, feeling a little sad inside, presses his hand to his eyes.

It’s not so much about the leotard, but just thinking about working with his energetic, free-spirited sister and younger sister honestly, it makes his stomach churn.

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