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Count Saint-Germain (Sanjome) x R.femele.
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Saint-Germain, a collector of the supernatural, begins to be interested in you, not knowing who you really are. Over time, he realizes that you are different from everything he has ever encountered: neither ordinary human, nor yokai, but something unique.
Y/N is a kind and reserved art teacher, Momo's aunt. Secretly, she is also a powerful shaman who lives disguised among humans, hiding her true nature and being constantly chased by yokais - who arise in a comical and inconvenient way.
After a battle in which you fight together to seal an ancestral yokai, a powerful connection is born between you - no longer of hunting and hunting, but of two rare beings who finally understand each other.
Saint-Germain, once obsessed with possessing the hidden, now wants to protect you - even if you need to conquer your protective yokais one by one.
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—Kami School, arts sector.
A new semester begins. You (Y/N), a charismatic, creative and somewhat esoteric art teacher, has just been hired at the school - where your niece, Momo, studies.
You carry a secret: you are a powerful shaman, constantly chased by clumsy yokais, who try to bother you in absurdly inopportune moments. You hide everything perfectly... more or less.
It was the third day of school. The sun beat strongly on the windows of the studio, and the smell of gouache paint and pastel chalk dominated the environment. You were finishing organizing the brushes when you notice someone watching you from the door with their arms crossed.
- "Professor Y/N, right?" - the voice was firm, polite and loaded with an almost anachronistic elegance.
You looked up. A tall man, with a refined appearance, perfectly combed gray hair and eyes that seemed to know more than they showed, was there. She wore an impeccable suit, completely out of tune with the school environment. He leaned in a courteous gesture.
- "Deputy director Sanjome. I came to give an official welcome. I heard that we have an artist among us."
- "And a gentleman among the deputy directors. What a rare miracle." - you smiled with soft irony, drying your hands on a cloth stained with blue paint.
He didn't laugh. But something in his eyes changed - as if he had found a curious pattern in an abstract painting. You felt the chills on the back of your neck. One of his invisible yokais was trying to pull the lace of his shoe.
Discreetly, you gave a light kick to the side, hitting the air. The yokai hissed softly: "Aiiiii!"
- "...Something wrong?" - Saint-Germain asked, arching an eyebrow.
- "It's just that... the floor is slippery. Paint stains." - you smiled, trying to keep your composure.
He just tilted his head. His eyes moved from his expression to the environment. For a man like him, something there didn't hit.
- "Are you... a relative of the student Ayase?" - he asked casually during the coffee break in the teachers' room.
- "I'm her aunt." - you replied, looking absently through the window - and then, in a corner of the peripheral view, a yokai with a lamp body and octopus legs lurked Momo in the courtyard.
You threw the whole coffee in the trash, pretending to be natural.
- "Oh, I forgot I'm... fasting with caffeine. Spiritual motives."
Saint-Germain stared at the trash can dripping coffee with an expression that bordered on anthropological fascination.
- "Interesting. You seem... very centered. Despite the chaotic environment of this school."
You smiled widely, trying to hide a small living brush-shaped yokai that tried to climb your leg.
— "Meditation. Art. And sometimes, he really prays andly."
He didn't comment, but he was intrigued. There was something in you - that exaggerated serenity, the way your aura seemed to have no noise, and the fact that you look at "nothing" with millimeter-timed frequency.
Days later, you entered the club room to deliver some artistic materials. Saint-Germain was there, typing on a very modern notebook - but in a suspiciously old-fashioned way, as if it were the first time he used technology after a century.
— "Teacher Y/N. Curious. I thought I would avoid this place."
- "I just came to bring pastel pencils. Art needs color even in paranormal investigation clubs."
You put the materials on the table. Unintentionally, he knocked down a portrait of Momo made by a student - behind him, a talisman fell. One that you had discreetly pasted there to protect your niece.
Saint-Germain caught him before you got it.
He looked. A subtle glow crossed his gaze.
- "This stamp... do you know ofuda well, teacher?"
- "My hobbies involve a lot of paper."
He didn't return the talisman right away.
- "You have many secrets, don't you?"
- "And you haven't been deputy director for a long time, have you?"
He returned the paper and leaned slightly, now with another energy: that of a man deeply interested - not only in finding out what you were, but in unraveling each layer as if you were a supernatural puzzle in the form of a woman.
At the end of that month, an infestation of small yokai invaded the school. They couldn't hurt you, but they caused general chaos: furniture moved by itself, paintings fell from the walls, and there was always an inexplicable smell of ginger.
You left discreetly at night, drawing a protective circle with chalk on the studio floor.
But when he turned around, he was there.
- "I knew I'd find you after hours. And still with chalk, not brushes."
- "If you're going to deny me, let it be after I expel this yokai with a toilet face who hid in the clay closet."
He didn't answer. He just watched, while the closet trembled and a weird grunt echoed from inside.
- "You are a cursed old man, probably immortal, who hides in a school."
He laughed. For the first time, he really laughed.
- "Great. So close your eyes and don't move anything."
And while you exorcised the yokai with a brush bathed in coarse salt and sunflower oil, Saint-Germain just watched... with a sparkle in his eyes. For the first time in centuries, someone had surprised him.
And he definitely wanted to know more.
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The teachers' room was strangely silent for an end of work. You were sitting with a cup of jasmine tea, reading a sketchbook. The weather was calm... until the chair next to him moved by itself.
- "Not now. I'm in human time."
- "I also prefer the night for more... spiritual matters."
You turned your face. Saint-Germain was there. Discreetly elegant, as always, now watching your notebook - where you had, by mistake, sketched a snake yokai with too much anatomical details to be just imagination.
He extended a gloved finger over the paper, without touching it.
- "You see them. You understand them. You even draw as if you had lived with them."
- "Every artist lives with monsters."
He then stretched out his hand - slowly, without breaking eye contact - and with his index finger, passed through the edge of his aura. You felt an intense chill. He noticed.
- "Curious. Your energy is contained. Condensed. You are a living seal."
You collected the notebook calmly.
- "And you're the kind of man who likes to discover things that should still be locked up."
Saint-Germain didn't deny it. He just said, with that monotonous tone and loaded with double meaning:
- "That's exactly why I'm so interested in you."
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It was supposed to be just another normal day.
But an old yokai - a sealed entity that you had forgotten to review - woke up in the basement of the studio. He used as a receptacle... a clay sculpture made by a first-year student.
The creature took shape, grew three meters, and started screaming:
- "Y/N! MY ETERNAL WIFE! I'VE ARRIVED!"
You froze. Momo widened his eyes. Several students ran. And you whispered through your teeth:
- "Damn. It's Kazuzuki. I thought he had reincarnated in a cat."
The yokai chased you for centuries and you always deceived him. Now he was possessed by a ceramic sculpture.
You ran to the storage room, making seals with your hands, preparing an imprisonment circle... and then heard calm steps behind you.
Saint-Germain, of course. With your hands in your pockets.
- "Do you need help with your clay admirer?"
You were sweaty, tired and irritated.
- "He was once a spiritual war general, but now he's just a clay stalker with romantic delusions. Typical of my ex-yokais."
He observed everything - and then, without you asking, he drew a seal in the air with a precise, elegant and frighteningly magical movement.
The creature froze. For five seconds.
- "You... know how to use ritual magic." - you widened your eyes.
- "Let's say that... I learned by watching. And you are very didactic."
And there, something changed.
Saint-Germain, for the first time in centuries, felt a pulse in his chest. Curiosity, fascination... and the seed of a kind of dangerous desire: to possess you.
But not like you have a secret. As if you were a rare and living art, which he didn't want to let slip.
In the following weeks, he began to appear more.
In the hallway of Momo's room.
But always with a polite pretext: review school rules, do an inspection, check security against yokais (which theoretically no one knew existed).
He presented you with an old case, beautifully carved with forgotten symbols. You recognized the seals: it was a spiritual containment case. A gift from someone who knew exactly what you were facing... and wanted you to know that he was watching.
- "Do you think you're studying me, Sanjome?"
- "I'm admiring. And trying to understand how you still breathe with so many eyes on the other side staring at you."
- "Maybe I'm just waiting for someone to understand that I don't want to be collected."
He looked at you like a researcher who just discovered that his object of study... had heart. And it was hitting very hard.
He didn't sleep. I didn't need it. But that week... he fell asleep.
With its brushes turning into golden snakes. With his eyes being mirrors that showed himself - fragile, human, young again.
He woke up with his hand extended in the dark, as if trying to reach you.
- "It's not just a play. She's the whole board."
And the next day, he showed up in your living room.
With a rose. Not a common one - one made of braided exorcism paper.
- "Is this a threat, a gift... or an apology?"
He replied, with the softest voice you've ever heard from him:
- "That's all. But above all... it's an invitation."
- "To stop running away."
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The school was evacuated because of an electric storm. Only you stayed. The teachers had left. The students, too. Except Momo, who was still waiting for her mother to pick her up - and you took her to the studio, to draw while the storm passed.
Everything was going well until the lights flashed.
And the seal you kept hidden behind the mirror wall - a seal that hid a centuries-old spiritual crack - broke.
He closed the door, locked it, told Momo to hide, and activated the small seals attached to his paint necklace.
But you didn't expect Saint-Germain to be there too.
He appeared on the door frame as if he had come out of the shadows - with the same calm look, but more attentive. His eyes were darker than usual. As if he already knew.
- "You tried to hide it from me. Why?"
You didn't answer. I was busy holding one of the yokais that had emerged from the mirror. He looked like a bird made of iron and fire.
- "Because collectors like you only see value in controlled chaos. And I don't want to be another item in your window."
Saint-Germain walked among the smaller yokais as if they didn't dare to touch him. And, in fact, they didn't dare.
- "Do you think you can still hide who is from me?"
- "I don't think you still know who you are around me."
Silence. Tense. Almost mystical.
And then he stopped in front of you. Eyes on yours. There was no more theatricality, no more sarcastic smiles. Just... true.
- "You're the only person I can't classify. You are not an ordinary human being. Not even a mystical creature. You are a cross... between what I fear and what I desire."
- "And you're the man I should seal. But, for some reason... I still let you in."
The mirror exploded in ethereal fragments. The oldest yokai, a creature with five mouths and a central eye, emerged from the crack.
— "You promised, Y/N. Centuries ago. You were my guardian, my devotee. The time has come. I came to pick you up."
Saint-Germain looked at you.
A moment of understanding. He knew now. Everything.
— *"You're an ancestral shaman. Sealer. Guardian of forbidden portals. Who lives among humans as an art teacher. And I..."
He stopped. He snapled his fingers.
Behind him, a wind made of energy codes opened - like a floating mandala.
Your invocation blade appeared. He held her like a knight in a temple.
- "...I'm the only man capable of protecting her - or destroying her."
You stood between him and the yokai.
- "It's not time to show power. It's time to decide who to trust."
Then, he lowered the blade.
You sealed the creature together.
The merger of his powers created a new seal. A unique mandala - made with paint, blood and light. A non-verbal pact, but eternal.
Momo slept on a pillow in the studio.
You cleaned the mystical paint splashes from the walls.
Saint-Germain approached with a cloth and began to help - silence between you.
Until he said, without looking:
- "You may have hidden your nature from everyone. But not from me. And now that I've seen it... I can't see it."
He then turned his face slowly towards her. The distance between you has decreased. He stretched out one of his hands to touch her face. A rare gesture. Contained. Almost... human.
- "Y/N... if I say I want to understand you more... that I want to keep you - not as an object, but as part of me... would you run away?"
You smiled for the first time in weeks.
- "If I ran away... I would have already left the country."
He laughed. Low. A strange sound coming from him.
The lips almost touched yours.
But at that very moment... a yokai the size of a cat jumped on his shoulder, throwing a lotus petal in Saint-Germain's face.
- "Kiss only after you get married!" - shouted the little yokai, before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
Saint-Germain blinked. You sighed.
- "Ignore. They are... possessive protectors."
- "They hate anyone who approaches."
He walked away, with an almost affectionate smile on the corner of his mouth.
- "So I'll have to convince them too. One by one."
And he knew: the obsession had become something else.
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