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THE COUNT OF KYOTO | psh

pairing: grade 1 sorcerer!park seonghwa x grade 1 sorcerer!reader AU: jujitsu kaisen au, meiji era au (1868-1912), enemies to lovers au word count: 14.3k warnings: violence, strong language, time period misogyny

synopsis: In the great Meijian age of Japan, the oriental air is brimming to fruition with wild emotions. Count Park Seonghwa is an ambitious, grade 1 sorcerer, desperate to become a Special Grade, fighting the constraints of stratified social structures and a formidable rival who is eager to get there first.

masterlist | ateez x jujitsu kaisen masterlist

chronology

“You." He spits out, voice laced with wrath as his grip around the sword tightens. The wind billows his hair gently, small beads of sweat pooling above his lip; his heart palpitates having run from the village three miles up the cliff to see her. His soul fills with such infuriation that he immediately tears away his gaze as if staring at her any longer would disintegrate him.

"Me." She responds, with such playfulness in the tone of her words that her nonchalance for his strong emotions rebukes him. "Someone's excited to see me."

"Don't, Maekawa. I'm already annoyed that I have been paired with the likes of you." Maekawa rolls her eyes, flickering her gaze over his tall, slender figure. His jujitsu uniform is one that slightly mirrors her own with his long-sleeved black jacket that falls past his waist and accentuates his waist. Where Maekawa wears a long black skirt, Seonghwa's trousers are pretty wide, somehow making his waist look effectively cinched. What seems to tick Seonghwa off is her lingering gaze and the wretched smirk on her lips before she brushes past to him to chaos ensuing in the manor on the cliff.

They stood tall on the top of the wooden curved roofs, its presumptuous tails ascending into the sky as their dark silhouettes made them at one with the night. The towering structure of the minka held them approximately eight metres off the ground, the cold air whipping their loose uniforms around in congruent waves. Shadows clung to him like a second skin. With a flick of his wrist, they twisted into dark tendrils that stretched and contracted at his command. Seonghwa's eyes were calculating as his shadows stepped forward like beasts on a hunt. Beside him stood, Maekawa, who held the very air around the hitch of its throat. With a quiet grace, the weight of the world seemed to shift. An odd turmoil simmered in the rooms beneath their feet, yet they knew he'd be loitering somewhat in the airs, the conniving spirit, who had spent the last few weeks terrorising Meiji Japan.

The sounds of muffled screams and the occasional crack of glass resounded through the air, somewhat becoming clearer, as the chaos scaled the upper floors. The final shatter echoed into the pitiful night, a distorted creature pummelling through the thin air as if it was the bringer of night itself.

There he is. The cursed Hannibal.

Not as tall as one would deem a cursed spirit to be, but he held mounds of cursed energy that were worth two of him. He exudes an unsettling presence, with his pale grey skin tight over his thin bones, his dark purple lips are cracked, permanently fixed into a grotesque grin, his eyes are dark voids of malice and hunger; nails sharper than knives and teeth that can be three foot blades used to mercilessly plunge into his victims body. He reaps off human flesh, draining them dry - until each drop of blood ceases to exist from their vessel. He moves with a violent fluidity towards the sorcerers.

Maekawa takes a furious step back, her fingers curling as she prepares to tap into her technique. Calculatedly, Seonghwa remains in front - exactly where Hannibal will land, his dark blade crafted from shadows aimed towards the spirit's chest cavity. The spirit's razor teeth bare, gnashing furiously towards her peer, before opening its mouth hole at absurd length, enough to engulf the entirety of Seonghwa's whole figure. Maekawa's eyes flicker to a misty white, her body humming with a distinct emptiness. The molecules shift, rearranging into novel constellations, the mass changes, altering the dent in spacetime. The curvature ensnared around the fabric of the earth shifts to shift the control of the atoms to her command. The air is sucked out of Hannibal's lungs, his body gravitating towards them at a slower pace, Seonghwa draws back immediately as he uses his own shadows to keep him steady on the rooftop. He's already conjured a district for Maekawa to alter gravity with, she's powerful enough to change the gravity of all the galaxies with a single flick of her wrist.

Hannibal's hand pushes through the irregular alignment of molecules, a weak attempt at disarming the change in gravity but he can't as Seonghwa crafts an intricate object from the phantoms that bow at his every command. The darkness that reflects from the lantern coil around him like obedient tendrils ebbing under his command. He is the bringer of shadows, his technique revolving around the ability to twist the twilight into a weapon; his shadows are mainly tools, an extension of his will. But some of the higher-ups detest him, seeing his technique as a spectacle of debauchery. That Park Seonghwa is ‘morally grey’. The fine line between perfection and destruction. Between their absolute best and their formidable worst. And Seonghwa knows they think that, it’s why he partially envies them. After all that he has done, and will continue to serve for jujitsu society, his achievements will go overlooked because those who cannot see the dark - are afraid of the dark.

Seonghwa raised his hand, a surge of yellow lightning crackling through his fingertips. Without warning, he unleashed a torrent of dismal energy, aimed directly at Hannibal. He releases a thunderous cry, skin paling significantly beyond what he already has. Blood rushes towards his head at lightning pressures, the colours of the land bleed together providing him with a synthesis of nebulas warped within a hollow obscurity. At last, Seonghwa lunges forward lodging the honed edge of his katana through his chest, the blade cutting through his vasculature. Maekawa drops her control, Hannibal crumpling up into a ball, his skin shedding; before he hits the ground he has faded into a purple mist with nothing but a sharp gust of wind to commemorate his existence.

His heart pounds furiously, against his ribcage, an underwhelming prosperity lodged within his throat. He spends nights under his beloved moon and the scintillating stars training until he can longer feel the sight of the dojo. He spends hours exercising his technique, refining it, ensuring his shadows live only at his decree until his limbs ache, so much so that he cannot move them. Although, as much as he strives for perfection, Seonghwa finds that he hates his job. It's cruel to live this life. People die regardless of how much you try to save them. They praise you for taking another soul, saying it's ok to have blood on your hands - after all, you're restoring peace to society. Does that somehow justify the act of killing? Is it ok to kill cursed spirits because we don't classify them as beings?

He looks over at Maekawa, who somehow sways to the beat of their atrocious screaming; how does she find such pleasure in it? Perhaps it's why he envies her the most: she has no sense of conscience, no morals, no thought for ethics. Or maybe she does, though Seonghwa is too prideful to ask. Would she laugh? He doubts it, but he'd rather dissolve in a bucketful of acid than ask. Her pink lips move to form the shape of words he fails to comprehend, after all his ears have drowned out sounds. "...food?" His doe eyes light up, the corners of her lips push into a smile. "I knew all I had to say was 'food' and you would listen. I have got leftovers from last night so don't complain about it not being fresh, Count Park." Her mockery goes unmissed, he rolls his eyes as they meticulously descend down the rooftop towards the Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School.

Kyoto High stands carefully, adorned by the cherry blossom trees of the spring, small clusters of students filtering in and out of the school, dipping their bodies into polite bows as their seniors, Maekawa and Park make their way through the antique building. The institute is a towering red-brick structure with stone-trimmed windows exuding imperial authority. Corinthian columns guard the entrance, carved with ancient Japanese curse symbols, invisible to the non-sorcerer’s eye. Wooden floorboards creek underfoot, the classrooms feature blackboards and brass fixtures, illuminated by gaslight chandeliers that flicker with an unnatural glow. The pair move into the dojo, which remains untouched by Western influence —a low, timber-framed building in the rear courtyard, surrounded by gravel and a protective salt moat, it opens up into a vast field with a fixture of Sakura trees behind them.

They circle each other on the mat, sweat accumulating onto their bodies like second skin. Maekawa controls her breathing, tiredness gnaws at her muscles, she wasn't aware that Park had this much stamina. They've been sparring non-stop for the past half an hour. He notices that her limbs lag before they move, the way her breath shakes slightly, her eyes begin to droop as if wrought with exhaustion. A smirk falls on his perfect pink lips, "What's wrong, Maekawa? Tired? We can always stop, if you want?" He taunts, half of his long hair tied up into a tight knot. His shirt is tucked into his loose trousers, her eyes cannot help but focus on his tiny waist.

In your dreams Park.

She pivoted, launching a kick aimed at his abdomen. Moving again, her foot headed straight for his temple, Seonghwa leaned back, swooping his longer leg under her feet. Losing her stance, her body falls backwards, back hitting again the mat, he dives, straddling her waist. With a sudden force, Seonghwa's weight shifts off her body, her fist connects with his face. "You can't use your technique!" He shouts, as he spits out blood. Her eyebrows furrow in concern, but as he rises from the floor a look of fury flashes over his face as shadows rise from his fingertips, Maekawa steps back curling her fists as she taps into her technique. "You want to play dirty, Maekawa? Let's do it." A blast of energy is pummelled towards her, altering the wave of his tendril, his shadow dissolves to the floor. He sends a current of force, which she dodges, provoking a surge of anger to coarse through him.

It's always her. She always wins.

He moves with ferocious speed, his balled fist connected with her face, laced with the incense of his terrific power, battering her into a void. A dome carved from the clot of his vitality; the dojo is empty; a single glow of light spills into the room illuminating over him. His chest heaves with exhaustion, slowly sauntering to her as she lays on the floor of his area panting heavily. The light moves with him accentuating his perfect frame. He doesn't say anything, rather he's confused how she's tired already. They've only been at it for...forty minutes now. "Why aren't you fighting back?"

"Maybe I like the dark." Before he can blink, his body is sent chasing through the courtyard, abiding by the essence of the wind, the fibres of his void dissolving into a bright daylight that burns his eyes. The laughter of the first years filters into his ears, he shuts his eyes closed as the tall grass brushes against his supple skin. His eyes are heavy with debilitation, a wave of agony sinks into his blood, throat parched with water, a low rumble emits from his stomach. When was the last time he ate?

Laugher permeates the air in Kyoto High, the gentle breeze blows the hair out of his face, as he saunters his way through the academy. His fellow peers, first-years, second-years run past him chatting about going to town over the weekend, latest plans, missions that they were soon to be going on—anything else rather than the stressful exams that they had. Seonghwa couldn’t blame them, he was glad to be far from taking another exam any time soon, and hated the burden of studying for them fuelled by his ambition to aim for the top. He aimed top, of course, mirroring Maekawa’s scores—who claimed to do much less studying than he had done leading up to the exam. He knew that was not true, he caught her several times cooped up in the library, in the dojo or a courtyard she thought was abandoned practising silently like he did. Perhaps it was just a way to stay humble. He descends the staircase, a pool of students sit on the last stair chattering, though one of them begins to speak lowly as they catch him walking in their direction.

“…Maekawa’s been promoted to Special Grade.” Seonghwa freezes in his step, his blood running cold, heart dropping to his stomach.

All those nights of training, tackling solo missions, endangering his life. Being forced to take a life upon a life upon a life. Having the blood of several civilians drenching his palms, suffocating, starving himself because he believed if he wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t deserving of food. For her, for Maekawa to take the title that he wanted, needed even.

The sliding paper doors, to her room, whispered open with a soft creek, her room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the wind outside and Seonghwa's shoes clicking hastily behind her. Tatami mats, stretched across the floor, their clean scent mingling with the faint trace of incense in the air. Shoji screens adorned the walls, their delicate paper panels patterned with subtle floral motifs. Dropping her books onto the low wooden table, she throws her gaze over her shoulder tugging the pin from the knot in her hair; allowing it to cascade in waves past her ears. "I'd be more heedful about storming in my quarters, Park, someone will think something is going on between us." Her pin falls to her table with the clatter, Seonghwa watching her every move as she crosses the room, disinterested in his presence. "What's wrong? I thought we don't have any more missions for the next week, it's just teaching—,"

"Why did you not tell me you got promoted to Special Grade?" He interjects, his eyebrows furrow fists clenched into balls at his side. A gust of air rushes into the room, he lingers by the doorway. Purposefully, so the other sorceresses don't think anything is going on between them. Maekawa's features fall into a look of despair, she knows how much Seonghwa wanted that position; even more than herself. "Maekawa. Answer me."

"Listen, Park. I just found out—,"

"Second years told me it's been two weeks." Her heart throbs with apprehension, she grips onto the hem of her flared sleeve to ground her.

"Why does it matter?" A hollow sorrow envelops him, his heart aches—a stinging pain that pulses through him with each passing moment. Each second surpasses in anguish, his eyes glazing with tears because all Seonghwa can think about is how much his body hurts from training. All he can think about is how hungry he is, despite his tremendous appetite, and how much sleep he needs. Because all he does is train, train, train. Until he can be perfect.

Until he can have the title that she was given with the wave of hand.

A pang sears through Maekawa, noticing Seonghwa's tears. Taking a tentative step forward, her breath lodges in her throat when he bites down on his quivering lip. His face is pale. Then, his sadness quickly morphs into something much darker, a raw wrath that is untamed no matter the amount of composure he carries.

"I, fucking, hate you!" He screams, his chest heaves in exhaustion as her quarters falls quiet in his fury. His rage resounds through the halls of the East Wing, transcending the walls, piquing the attention of the sorceress'. Maekawa drops silent too, almost afraid to look back at him, "I hate you, so much, that all I want to do is place my hands around your neck and strangle you. I hate you so much that I wish you were a spirit so that I could kill you. I hate you so much that I wish you weren't alive so that I could feel better about myself." WHACK.

A furious blow is sent to his cheek, a jolt of pain rushes under his skin transcending into a stream of silent agony. Loose strands of hair fall over his face like velvet curtains obscuring his view of his rival. Maekawa's heavy pants fill the room, her eyes are glossed with tears. "But I am a woman! My mere sex is what disadvantages me in the first place, that what took you two years had taken me: five. I am better than you, Park, you best believe it." A single pearl tear slips down her cheek, she turns away from him, his gaze fixed on the floor as guilt hustles through him. "Leave."

When the shoji door closes shut, Maekawa drops to her knees as tears, unapologetically, spill down her cheeks, tickling her jawline before they patter onto the floor. Painful wails permeate the air, tucking up her knees to her chest, she rocks herself back and forth to soothe herself. Struggling to breathe she, steadily, arises from the floor; crawling to the table, the nib of her ink quill scratching against the sheet, as the last silent tears run down her cheeks in waves.

He, who was a constant presence by her side, now moved like a phantom through the school. Maekawa had not seen Seonghwa since the day he had confronted her, only catching glimpses of him when she trains alone in the dojo, a flicker near the courtyard wall, a dark silhouette watching from a rooftop, never close enough to speak. Though, why would he want to? His anger was well justified but his words cut through like a blunt knife penetrating through her soul that was undeniably vulnerable for him. Though she would rather die than admit that. Yet, his absence echoed louder than words and she is no longer accompanied by him on missions. Something like their headmaster, Minori, has sent him away to Tokyo then when he does come back he's riddled with the matters of his estate, land governance, dealing with angry tenants and disputes. He's not of the political kind, but when his roots breathe aristocracy he is often torn between affairs of the state and jujitsu society. Seonghwa's position makes him an influential figure, but also threatening to the higher-ups. Who they cannot control, they unequivocally hate.

Minori isn't a great help either. He's odd in a sadistic sense. He idealises women in traditional roles like his wife, Sakura, who had willingly agreed to leave her position to take care of the household once she had become pregnant. He helps her around the home, he's honourable and treats her the way any woman would want to be treated - showing respect and protection because of her domestic position, but still sees women as inferior or less capable in broader contexts.

She supposes she can be glad that Seonghwa isn't the same, he's rather deferential to the opposite sex. He averts his gaze when passing through the halls, he allows his female students to take time off from lessons when they need it - passing along their favourite snack to their friends before grumbling at them to leave his office. He listens to them complain about their other male teachers, she even caught him blushing once when they said, 'Thank you for not being like our other teachers, Park-san'. A weary breath escapes her lips when she roams to Minori's office. After a single knock, and permission to enter, she walks in, finding the headmaster sitting at his desk with an abundance of letters sprawled around him.

"Ah, Maekawa. Did you get the letter about the dinner tonight?” With a swift nod, he gesticulates for her to take a seat in front. The annual dinner hosted at Kyoto’s halls was to honour the new Special Grade’s, representatives from Tokyo’s institute would often come over and boast their strengths. Maekawa had never been to one before, though she watched with longing gazes from far distances as the higher- ups validated their sorcerers. The utmost respect for their diligence was something to swoon over. "Though, I'll warn you now: don't be surprised if you or Park get any marriage prospects over dinner." For some reason, her heart sunk at the thought of Seonghwa being married. Minori went unnoticed to the beads of sweat forming on her face, taking in her shocked expression as a reaction to matrimony itself.

"I suppose it is time to start thinking that way. For the sake of my reputation please don't outright reject them or speak, cruelly, to anyone. The last thing I need is anyone saying I made a mistake with promoting a woman to Special Grade." Maekawa's head snaps up from where her gaze remained, unwavering, on the wooden table. The back of her mind echoes with the thoughts of Seonghwa being married, she can't shake them without understanding why it bothers her so much. "I read your letter of recommendation. Do you really want a man, like him, on the same pedestal as you?"

"What are you trying to imply about Park?" Her eyes narrow in inquisition, arms folded at her chest as Minori looks at her, unfazed.

“He’s a Count with steadfast opinions, and a Grade 1 with the ability to control shadows. Can you control him, Maekawa?” She remains silent, a part of her feels that she could. Minori knows otherwise. "If you can't control him and the higher-ups can't, then no one will grant a powerful man more power. Control him, Maekawa, and I will sign off your request to make him a Special Grade."

The dining hall of the minka emanates a timeless elegance, the space is modest but thoughtfully arranged, with tatami mats stretched over the floor, their soft, woven texture providing warmth and comfort. The room bustles with thoughtful chatter, a sea of tempestuous colours blending together as the delegates from the higher-ups and Tokyo High move around the dining hall with fixed grace. There aren't many women, Tokyo's esteemed Special Grade's are both men, who emanate a powerful aura. The other Grade 1 from Tokyo narrows her eyes at her as she walks into the room. Maekawa swallows the lump in her throat. Some are already seated on the zabuton. Then just on the end of the table, near the sliding doors that lead to the small courtyard, she finds Sakura chatting with Seonghwa, who sits opposite her.

Before she can make her way towards them, Tokyo's headmaster takes her to the side to greet her introducing his students. "This is Maekawa, Kyoto's Special Grade sorceress. They're usually not this pretty." Her polite smile drops into a thin line, she nods her head, engaging with their interrogation of Kyoto High. Maekawa bites back her retorts to their sexist remarks, as Minori had advised her. Then, when the servants pile in with the steaming dishes, she sees it as a cue to escape from them rushing towards Sakura.

On the table, an array of simple yet beautifully arranged dishes—rice, kimchi, miso soup, and grilled fish—are served in lacquered bowls, their colours vivid against the muted tones of table. Minori and Seonghwa sit beside each other, opposite Sakura and Maekawa. She takes a seat in front, correcting her posture as she observes his physique. Her eyes fall over the bridge of his nose, and pink lips and cheeks. His jawline is sharp and skin pale, eyes wide with soft lashes adorning them. His dark eyes flit to her, she quickly adjusts her gaze to the food in front.

Her ears drown out idle chatter as she sneaks a look at Seonghwa, his bowl is full to the brim, he ignores all conversation and simply nods and hums courteously when the guests call for him. That's so like him, to drown out the world when it comes to him and his food. In some peculiar fashion, Maekawa likes to watch him eat. His eyes dilate in concentration, his round cheeks curve, finely highlighting the pinkish glow radiating under his smooth skin. Yet every time she looks at him now, a painful ache is lodged in her ribs, throbbing as it pulsates with each word he had spewed to her.

“Don’t you think it’s time for Maekawa to get married and have children? What use is she if she is past the child-rearing age and cannot give us any more sorcerers?” Her attention snaps up from her food, as the discourse in the room begins to dissolve, their brusque stares cast burning holes in her skin; this is why she hates social gatherings. She stood still, the room's noise fading into a dull hum in her ears as her mind processed the words. The comment, casual in tone, lingered in the air like a bitter taste. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms as the fire within her began to burn.

“I don’t see anyone telling Park that he should be getting married soon." She snaps, her eyes narrowing in vexation. Seonghwa, finally, looks up from food, dropping his spoon.

“Mae—,” Sakura reaches for the sleeve of her kimono, under Minori's hawk-like blaze. An anger simmers within him too, yet not for the same reason as hers.

“No, I’m sick of this. I have defeated more cursed spirits than you have ever seen. I have ascended these ranks faster than you can blink, and protected this village with my soul. Yet, you have bound my value down to my fertility,—,” SMACK. A ring stretches into her ears, the light of the room blurring into dots as an array of gasps spreads the room like wildfire. Indolently, her hand trembles to her sore cheek, her line of sight moving to Minori. Tears rush to the forefront of her eyes, breaths exhilarating as she continues to stare at him in a state of disbelief. Her mind clogged with everything and nothing at the same time as the walls of the room began to shimmer, caving in on her. Her body shook, as she got up from her seat sprinting out of the suffocating hall before anyone would call after her.

She sits on the tiled roof of the East Wing, drawing her eyes over the silhouette of the byzantine building. The breeze shuffles through her, flapping the loose fabric of her kimono gently. Maekawa never needs to climb out of the attic to get to the top of buildings, she always defies gravity, gliding through the wind to sit at the top of the world. Seonghwa never needs to either, his shadows are a ladder for him to join her at the top; they carry him to the hum of her melancholia where her tear-stained cheeks bleed into the night. He doesn’t know what to say, now that he’s here. He’s as awful at conversation as she is at socialising.

“Come here to gloat?” She doesn't intend for herself to sound so forlorn, her words breathe to him, wiping down her face with the hem of her sleeve.

“No, actually. I’ve come with some ointment.” Craning her neck, he sauntered over to her with a pot in hand, settling himself next to her. The moon illuminates his divine essence, her eyes following the shape of his face, as they always do. As they always will.

“I’m sorry that you have to go through that. I guess that makes you want to get married even less.” He says, after a beat of silence. He won’t deny that he was reeling in her beauty too. Maekawa looks away from him, to the landscape that sits before them.

“I suppose, I’ve always wanted to marry and have children. But the last thing I want to do is sacrifice my career.” Because she knows that the moment she gets married, Minori will stop assigning her missions, keeping her subjugated under her husband. It’s what he did to Sakura, therefore she wonders why they bothered promoting her in the first place.

“You could always get married in secret?” He offers, for the first time there’s a peaceful conversation between the two. They work well together, but each colloquy has always been filled with spite and distrust. Maekawa recalls how gentle his voice can be.

“True. But who would marry me?” She inquires, sparing him a single look. He hasn’t torn his gaze away from her, once.

“I would.” Maekawa snickers, but his serious expression stuns her so much that all witty remarks have dissipated from her. “We already fight like an old married couple, my estate is large, I get paid more than you—,”

“No girl likes a show off, Park.” She interrupts, leaning in closer to him.

"Plus, your food is really, really good." A melodious laugh escapes from her lips, all Seonghwa can think is how much he could get drunk on it.

"Marrying someone for the food, I've never heard that one before."

"Don't you know the way to a man's heart is through his stomach?" He’s subjugated to her watchful stare for a few seconds, is this his way of apologising? Through a prospect of marriage? What a very Seonghwa thing to do, she thinks before sneering at him. That’s all their relationship has been, hasn’t it? Vicious remarks, taunts, rolling their eyes and bad mouthing each other behind their backs, to the point that their fellow classmates became sick of their enmity. It was bred from spite, it was bred from such childish ideation Maekawa can’t remember why she’s supposed to detest him so much. Better yet, why does he detest her?

“Did you mean it, that day, when you said you hated me for being promoted before you?” His mouth opens to respond, but the words fall dead on his tongue.

“I don’t hate you Maekawa, I hate the way you’re everything I want to be.” Her eyes flutter, mildly. He doesn’t hate me, she supposes that could mean a good thing. To be hated by him is the worst, it’s vicious, it’s inciting but to be loved by him? Maekawa can only dream about how that would feel. “Here, let me put this on you before it gets worse.”

“Madam Maekawa!” Her head snaps up from her book, towards the students who had stumbled into her office, panting heavily and looks of fear etched onto their pink faces. They all talk over each other, a string of nonsensical words bleeding into her ears before she raises her hand to cease them shut. Only on her command, one then opens their mouth, “Minori-senpai and Park-senpai are battling in the courtyard. It started off as sparring but I don’t think it’s sparring—,” Before her student can finish their sentence, Maekawa sprints out of the door, launching down the spiral staircase at a rapid speed, the students parting way she makes her to the courtyard. They’ve formed a large circle around the headmaster and teacher of Kyoto High. Maekawa pushes her way through the crowd, scolding the students as they watch with wide eyes.

Their bodies move with a succinct fluidity, dodging and parrying an array of attacks. Her students were right, the sparring has mutated into something more personal. Much more dangerous. They’re using their cursed techniques. Minori doesn’t have much but brute force which Seonghwa effortlessly avoids with his shadows that Minori can’t avoid. But when Minori manages to launch his fist against Seonghwa’s jaw; the crack of bone resounds in the air, his slender body flinging through the parting crowd sprinting in several directions to avoid being flung with their master.

Maekawa curls her fingers, manipulating the movement of his body with the wind, tugging him towards her. He lands on his knees, just two metres away behind her. “What is this Minori?”

“Park started this, all because of you.” Her eyes squint in confusion. Minori scoffs, wiping the beads of sweat pooling above his upper lip, “How sweet of him, taking revenge for what I did to you. Now he’s trying to take my title. Can’t be Special Grade, so maybe being headmaster will do, huh?”

Her eyes dart behind her shoulder, where Seonghwa is struggling to stand up to his feet. “Do you concede Park? Are you ready to be expelled from Kyoto High, better yet exiled from Jujitsu Society?” Trudging towards her, Seonghwa reaches out for her, weighing his bleeding palm on her shoulder — she turns to face him; knees almost giving out as he leans against her.

“Maekawa, believe me, I was never trying to take his position. He asked me to spar with him, then all of a sudden he made a declaration that I was trying to take his title.” Her ears fall deaf at his words, eyes reeling in the blood dripping down his face, his long hair sticking to his neck. He’s panting for air, staring at her with a pleading look in her eyes that makes her want to think he’s innocent. She looks between him and Minori. Her jaw clenches as she looks back at Seonghwa.

“I want everyone inside!” She roars at the students, pulling away from Seonghwa. Her sleeves roll up to her elbows, a few students dissipate from the crowd whilst the others seem unsure of if they want to miss out on the drama. “NOW!” Her howl bellows through the unbroken winds, carrying her incisive voice through the air and directly into their ears. An incessant terror torrents through their veins, and in less than a minute the crowd has abolished.

Firstly, the students cannot see what she is about to do. Perhaps this is what higher- ups intended, to tarnish her name, Seonghwa’s name. Though there’s no doubt they won’t be running to every window in every classroom that overlooks the courtyard. There’s no doubt that some of them will be crawling out onto the roofs to watch the chaos worsen.

“Stand back.” She murmurs, before taking a careful step forward in Minori’s direction. “Sakura won’t be happy to hear what you’re doing. This is low, even for you.”

“One day, you’ll regret what you’re about to do. You’ll look at him and see him as a vessel you will have wished you’d killed, you’ll regret ever thinking he was a kind soul. Because without thinking, he’ll dirty his hands with your blood.” Maekawa blinks once, before clenching her fists at her side.

“Maybe. But let’s be real, Minori—when your son grows up, he’s not gonna admire you. He’ll resent you. Not because you failed, but because you settled. Just like Park. Another follower pretending to understand power. Power isn’t something you chase like a desperate dog — it chooses you. That’s why you hate me, isn’t it? Deep down, you know you’re not above me. You’re just hoping no one else notices.” Minori pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "When the dusk settles, Kyoto High will be under new management."

The sun dipped low behind Kyoto’s ancient skyline, casting long, molten shadows across the tiled rooftop of Kyoto High. Wind whispered through the steel bars of the perimeter fence. At the centre of the courtyard stood Minori, tall and composed, the scars of cursed markings etched onto his skin. Opposite him hovered Maekawa, feet inches off the ground. "Still standing, old man?" She sneered, fingers twitching as if pulling on unseen threads.

Maekawa's fingers clenched—gravity surged downward in a thirty-meter radius. The earth cracked like brittle parchment. Air warped, like thick molten, pushing birds from the sky. Minori vanished. He reappeared an inch from Maekawa’s flank, fist already in motion, cursed energy rippling like heat waves. The punch struck only warped air. Minori was yanked down by sudden gravitational force—slammed, unapologetically, through the ground. “Is that all?” Maekawa retorted.

The answer came in the form of a geyser of cursed energy erupting from below. Rubble flew skyward like meteors. Minori shot up from the ground, spinning mid air with both fists glowing crimson. One connected. BOOM. Maekawa was launched back, skidding through the courtyard, hurtling past where Seonghwa was loitering on the ground, nursing his injuries. She levitated herself mid-fall, but a second punch from Minori was already there. Curse his energy, a long groan emitted from her lips as she stood up from the ground.

Minori's bones groaned. His skin bled from the nose and ears. But he clenched his fists tighter, cursed energy coiled around them, growing red. Then, he punched gravity itself. It shattered. A wave of reversed cursed energy ripped through Maekawa's gravitational field. A piercing scream permitted the sky, as she descended further into the ground her back hitting against the rubble. A trail of blood emitted from her lips, Maekawa crawled from the crater. Minori landed a few meters away, now limping slightly.

The bastard was waiting.

The headmaster wiped a cut from his brow and raised one last glowing Maekawa laughed bitterly, rising to her feet as her body flared with cursed energy once more. Her eyes flit to where Seonghwa stood.

She lunged, her technique rippling from her skin as she swung her body around his neck, space warping around his neck like a rope, tightening against his windpipe. With the flick of her wrist, gravity sunk beneath her feet, the blood running through his veins flowing towards the earth. His vision blurs as his thick palms encase around his own neck, an attempt to gnaw at the rope he cannot see. His body surges with nausea, hands hitting against the concrete, as he ventilates his lungs with air. Suddenly he launches a fist against Maekawa's shield, shattering her element sending her flinging across the courtyard.

A scoff escapes his lips, but then before he can blink Seonghwa is moving towards him. He moves with unpredictable speed, his balled fist connecting with Minori's neck, battering him into his hollow space. It is the same dome carved from the clot of his vitality; except in this space Seonghwa's body is illuminated with a light that wouldn't exist in any other space. Black tendrils spill from his fingers, curling around Minori's neck. Another torrent of unwanted energy is sent his way, Minori claws at his neck like he did when Maekawa attacked him. Seonghwa's finger grip around his hair, mauling his skill with herculean punches, until layers of skin diminish from his headmaster's skull. "CONCEDE." He shrieks, the dome evaporates under his command; Minori will not fight back now. "CONCEDE!" He repeats, eyes glossing with tears under his own reticent command.

But when no words spill from his lips, a single tear drops down his face. A darkness empties into Minori's heart, suffocating his arteries, rupturing them until the rest of his body follows suit.

A loud knock reverberates through the room, Seonghwa stands outside her office, fiddling with his fingers unsure of what to do with himself. A few students saunter by, bowing in politeness, before moving past him to reach their classrooms. After hearing a soft permission from the receiving end he pulls into the room, Maekawa looking at him as if she was expecting his presence. Gesturing for him to take the seat in front, she almost shudders at recalling how like her actions are with the previous headmaster of Kyoto High. “You called for me.” Seonghwa murmurs, her head bobs up and down.

“I wanted to say that I’ve issued another letter to the higher-ups. You’ll be compensated for what happened to you.” Her words fall quiet at the end, her eyes reeling in the cuts littered across his perfect features. “Maybe you’ll get a promotion or you’ll be headmaster.” After Minori’s death, Maekawa, along with her peers, had to go through hell to stand up to Seonghwa’s actions, testifying against Minori. Despite his unjust statement, that Seonghwa was trying to steal his title, he had also committed fraudulent activity and abused his power on many occasions. One of her fellow Special Grades, Ryou, was made Acting Head of the academy until a suitable replacement was found. However, rumour had it that Maekawa would be the next Headmistress of Kyoto High. She, herself, hadn’t been aware that the Board had even considered her, and was heavily doubtful of that fact. They’re afraid of her just as much as they’re afraid of Seonghwa.

Park raises an eyebrow at her words, remaining silent yet still seated on the chair opposite her. “Or maybe not, I have my own matters to attend to. You seem to be equipped to handle the role very well.” He’s heard the gossip floating through the institute, the whispering at the back of the classroom and mumbling in the courtyard. Ryou had even come to tell him himself. Though, Seonghwa and Maekawa would both agree he was the right man for the job, with his poise and strength. Ryou’s disposition was amiable and he’d been an S-Grade longer than anyone else, though that’s not a requirement to be headmaster. He would be much better than Minori.

“I’m much better out there, on the field, than I am behind a desk.” She points out, leaning back in her seat.

Ryou was confirmed to be the new Headmaster of Kyoto. This time, he was eager to sign off Maekawa’s letter of recommendation. Soon, he would be promoted to Special Grade too. His heart would flutter as he caught sight of Maekawa, masked in a guilt for all the horrible things he had done to her. So then began to his apologies through thoughtful actions: writing up mission reports, giving himself extra tests to mark so she would do less, fifteen laps of the institute for anyone who made a crude comment about her. She noticed, for Maekawa always noticed, eventually. Instead of confronting him, she held back a smile and found herself swooning over him when he wasn’t looking. Eyeing his pink lips and pretty doe eyes. Inviting him to dinner with her sister, only for him to refuse later because he was over-working himself.

“Why don’t we spend tonight marking the exams in my office?” She offers, his face tinges red. He accepts anyway, dare he say no to spending time with her?

When the night falls, they stand on the balcony outside her office, fingers aching from the reams of paperwork. Their silhouettes are gently lit by the pale glow of a paper lantern hanging from the eaves. Her eyes trace the stars as Seonghwa’s soft breathing infiltrates the air. His gaze flits to her, occasionally, her shoulders are relaxed, hair fallen loose from its knot.

“Do you think everyone hates me, now? For what I did to Minori?” Maekawa shakes her head profusely at his assumptions.

“No, nobody liked him anyway. I’m more worried about Sakura though, there was a baby on the way.” A look of guilt flashes over his features, the pair of them have tried to avoid Sakura but have instead caught her tidying out his office. She seemed at peace, rather than distraught but Sakura was always good at concealing her emotions. Seonghwa looks towards her before staring back up at midnight sky piecing together the constellations that blinked in the endless void. "You make me want to be a wife." His head snaps back towards her, Maekawa leans back against the balcony doors, her eyes shut as if she was speaking to him within a dream. He remains quiet, as if moving would be the biggest mistake.

"You’re sweet, Park. And handsome, you’re clever, you keep me on my toes. You may say horrible things to me, but every night you go to sleep my name is on your lips.” Those pesky students, the younger boys had ran to her when her name had slipped from him.

“That’s a bold assumption.” He imputes, a tantalising tone dancing on his tongue, playing the grand game of raillery with the universe.

“Is it?" Opening her eyes, she meets his stare through the darkness, her hand gripped onto the metal railing. "I must rebuke you, I must hate you. But I no longer can. Must it be fate, perchance, that you conjure the void that lets me roam within the space I breathe within? Or that I had been the one to save from a cruel fate that a part of wishes that you had been subjected to?" Her chest heaves in despair, bones trembling with thick anticipation as his body slowly gravitates towards her. His eyes are deep with consternation, roaring from the resonant pits of his soul swarming with an anguish that only exists within the forlorn. Within those who suffer with every breath they take, those with pent-up emotions with nowhere to put it. Those who compile and compile their worries, whose walls are now breaking under a foreign vessel who they must hate, and is now the existing paramour of their eternal love.

Seonghwa stood frozen, those wide eyes of his with long lashes adorning them, glossed with tears, his bottom lip quivering. He bites down on it, as if afraid of his own vulnerability; breath hitching in his throat to conceal the sobs he could not express. Maekawa draws closer to him, emanating the disposition of his lover. "Must you be the one I love, when I have spent centuries hating you." His lips pull into a polite frown, a tear slipping down his porcelain cheeks. “I have hated you to the point of devotion.” Maekawa doesn’t realise that a tear of her own rolls down her cheek, before his thumb reaches to her face to wipe it clean.

“Hwa.” She breathes out, who had never had so much as spoken his forename aloud before. That’s all it took. ‘Hwa’. Hearing it from her name felt like flowers falling from her lips, the soft blow of blossoms caressing his cheek. He presses his lips against hers, her body pushed against the railing. His slender hands are firm against her waist, whilst hers fall over his shoulders pulling him closer to her. Their lips move in some divine synchronisation, the heat radiating from his body easing the symphony of aches trembling through her bones. "You fool, why did it take you so long?" She mumbles against his lips.

Nestled on the mist-shrouded outskirts of Kyoto, the Park Estate is a sprawling manor - a high wall of black stone surrounds the property, etched with intricate patterns that shimmer faintly under the moonlight. Beyond its wrought-iron gates lies a long, lantern-lined path, the lights never flickering yet casting shadows that move on their own accord, whispering against the gravel with unseen breath. The estate itself rises like a spectre from the earth. Sliding doors are panelled with polished dark wood dark, absorbing more light than they reflect. Maekawa is intimidated by its grandeur, she had never seen his estate before but she it wasn't expecting it to be this haunting. Landing on the balcony with a quiet thud, she slips through the unnaturally quiet halls: the paper screens patterned with subtle, shifting motifs of raven feathers and withered branches.

Her sister was right, there is some cynicism that remains suspended in his home. Something eerie, as if never graced by the touch of life. It reflects his prowess, but it does not reflect him. “You do that know your sister has forbidden for me to see you before our wedding day?”

Her heart thuds with fear, turning on her heel to find Seonghwa leaned in the doorway of his study watching her traipse the halls in fixation. Typically couples in Meiji Japan, especially those of a higher status, would not court for too long especially with their families primary focus on reputation, status, and economic compatibility. Therefore, after three months Seonghwa immediately visited her family, for a hand in marriage. Maekawa, uncertain at first, and scared about how quickly things were moving, was eventually convinced by her sister that this was the better option for the pair. They would be better off marrying than risking ostracism. At the moment, both her sister and brother-in-law were settling her belongings in the Park Estate, to prepare her move following the wedding ceremony.

“You’ve done more than just look at me before marriage.” Maekawa retorts, casting her gaze out towards the desolate hallway before nearing him.

Seonghwa snickers, before adjusting his posture. “Yes, there was the pre-marital hand holding.” He jokes, eyeing the loose strand of hair falling over her eyes.

“Amongst other things.” She whispers, her tone elegantly laced with jest.

“Now don’t make me sound too promiscuous.” His slender fingers reach out to tuck the hair behind her ears, eyes fluttering close at the delicate intimacy. Her own fingers twitch as she desires to move closer and embrace him like she did before, but Maekawa is loyal to her sister's promise. (Despite the fact she's already gone and broken the first rule by going to see him). "Just two more days, my Countess." He breathes out, warm breath fanning her face. A series of laughter and babbling ascends from the halls, a small squeal escapes from her lips as she jerks away from him, dashing down in the direction she came from. He sighs, as a biting cold replaces her presence and the wind drifts her through the skies.

Maekawa huffs as she carries along the long passageway of her married home, holding a porcelain saucer with a tight grip — the hallways are empty aside from the few domestic staff that maintain the home. Despite her social standing, Maekawa is used to doing household chores so takes the responsibility of cooking since Seonghwa will now only eat her food. Prying the door open with her hip, a gust of warmth floods her skin; the crackling of fire spitting embers infiltrating her ears. Her husband’s eyes pique up at the sight of her, softly smiling as she places his tea in front of him. He sits by the low table near the sliding doors that are the entrance to the porch. Settling on the floorboards behind him, she wraps her arms around his torso leaning her head on his back.

“How are you, my wife? I tried to see to you at the academy today but you seemed to be occupied elsewhere?” She hums in response, nuzzling her cheek further into his back; her eyes seem to droop to a close, a faint smile reminiscent on Seonghwa’s face.

“I had to accompany some first years on a mission, two students had a fight, one couple broke their engagement.” He winces, and she holds herself back from groaning in response. It was perhaps the most taxing thing she’d ever done. “I think I understand how everyone must have felt when it was us.” He giggles before resting his quilled-ink pen, exercising his fingers.

“These political affairs are aggravating me.” He confesses, as Maekawa rests her chin on his shoulder. “I’ve had to see to a lot of death certificates in the past few weeks, even the Morgue reached out to me saying they’re running out of places to bury people.” Political unrest tends to occur quite frequently, though every time it does Seonghwa gets more and more stressed.

“Don’t you think it’s wrong that our job kills so many people?” He questions, as they sit in the office of his estate. The Count of Kyoto sighed, letting out an infuriated huff, before taking off his glasses.

“We can’t save everyone, Hwa. What we’re doing is protecting people, and we know we’re good at our job when we minimise the number of deaths.” She explains, pressing her lips to his shoulder.

“What makes a cursed spirit different to any other criminal?” That stuns her. Because when Maekawa thinks about it — there is no difference and perhaps a human is even worse because its malicious nature isn’t a part of genetic makeup but determined by itself. “Now you’re thinking Mae. I can’t go on doing this, it hurts me to see these people drop dead like flies.”

“Do you not understand that you’re protecting them?”

“I wonder if it is right to protect someone who does not deserve to be protected.” Subtly, her arms unravel from him, gradually she sits up straighter; stunned by his words. But who decides who deserves to live and die? Who decides which person is deserving of living or not? By ‘who’, she meant which human? Or at least which sadistic sorcerer was allowed to determine the fate of non-sorcerers? Perchance, now Maekawa was beginning to realise her husband’s convoluted thoughts, and why the higher-ups were afraid of him. It wasn’t just his power on the field, or his aristocracy; it was his ability to train the thoughts of others. She knew his objectives were wrong but his words themselves made sense. “Why do we hurt others and take pride in it? Why am I leading other students to their death?”

“You’re not. We don’t control who dies and who doesn’t.”

“We control the deaths of cursed spirits.” And so if she told him that it was deserved, Seonghwa would say question that notion too. And then his wife would be a part of the school of thought that ultimately dictated who was right and wrong, thinking that a human knew best. So she kept quiet, leaving the room whilst her mind itched with his words.

His time is often divided between economical affairs and sorcery, so much so that sometimes Countess Park rarely gets to see her husband. In contrast to herself before marriage, she finds herself isolated in his absence — a feeling that never resided within her before. Her heart aches for his pulse, brimming to fruition at the mere sight of him. At nights, when he is away on mission, her arms curl around his pillow counting down the days until his return. And when he does, she tears down the path to the iron gates leaping into his embrace.

The night is often when they share their devotion for each other, revelling in sweet whispers and soft caresses. “You’re so pretty.” She declares as her lips press to his forehead, before gliding down the sharp bridge of his nose. Then carefully onto his plump lips, they move in synchronisation, he sits up slightly as her body crawls up his, Seonghwa’s hands fall to her hips and hers around his neck. “My boy, my handsome boy.” Out of exhaustion, her head plunges into his neck whilst his slender fingers drawing circles over her waist.

“My Countess, my lover divine. Tell me what I can do for you. Tell me what I must do for you.” He whispers, as her eyes begin to droop. His presence intoxicates her. “I simply haven’t done enough. I haven’t been enough.” A soft exhale releases from her lips as her eyes outcast the window.

“My dear Count, you’re already so perfect. The world sits at your feet, greets you as your footsteps pass through the halls. What more could you want?” His eyes peer down at her, lips pressing against the top of her head. His poor Countess, as docile as a lamb, bending to the will of her superiors.

“I wish for the erasure of flaws in this world, for that I need someone void of imperfections to guide me.” Her cheeks tinge pink, as his lips meet her neck.

“Why, my Count. You possess such the silver-tongue.”

The gardens are perhaps the most unnerving of all the Park Estate, the lady of the house withdraws herself from its depths. Though meticulously kept, with koi ponds and sculpted pines, the shadows between the stones stretch at wrong angles and the reflection of the estate in the water sometimes reveals more than it should— figures that are not there, silhouettes without bodies. Its aura is haunting, Maekawa peers through the study’s window that overlooks the garden; there’s only two places in the home they spend most of their time together: the study or their shared bedroom. The rest of the house is desolate but with the promise of children, the rest of the rooms will no longer be empty.

She remembers how delicately her husband had brought up such a subject. ‘Would you honour me by bearing our children? I would not despise you for refusing to, for you are all I need. After all, an extension of you may make me cease to exist.’ If it was possible to fall deeper in love with Seonghwa then she was subject to it. Currently, her fingers draw over the spine of the leather-bound books he keeps in a pristine condition on his shelf. For a skilled sorceress, she doesn’t notice him amble into the room, quietly, then slip his arms around her waist. There’s a black covered book, with gold engraving across the front. Crescent moons paint the cover, her eyes scan over the title.

“The Count of Kyoto? What is it about?” Her fingers run down the creased leather spine, as her husband’s palms settle on her stomach.

“It’s a tragedy about two lovers who love each other very much and in the end betrayal tears them apart.” Letting out a low hum, her fingers slide over the browning pages, basked in the scent of old musk. “It’s funny how it’s named after me.” Smirking, she shuts the book close.

“You would never betray me, Count Park.” Maekawa announces, confidently.

“Would I not, Countess Park?”

“No, because we’re married, and we’re going to have a baby.” His eyes widened, hand raising to gently shift her attention from the book to him.

“You’re pregnant?” His voice is serene, an undertone of excitement lingering within; heart pounding at a breakneck speed.

“No, but I will be soon.” He smirks, kissing behind her ear lobe. "I would love twins." She chirps, nuzzling her head into his neck.

“I’ll give you however many children you’d like. I just want a girl.”

“You’re not working on the field anymore?” He questions, over the dinner table as Maekawa fiddles with the spoonful of broth whilst frowning at it. It has a distinct smell which repulses her, yet her stomach rumbles, pathetically, for sustenance. Her husband narrows his eyes, at her behaviour, as she drops the spoon pouting.

“I want to eat something else.” She imputes, ignoring his question before summoning one of the kitchen maids to get her some cold chicken. Both Seonghwa and the maid gawk at her, dumbfounded.

“Cold chicken, Madam? Would you at least like me to warm it up?”

“No, I want it cold.” The maid spares a single blink before scuttling off to obey her mistress’s command. Reaching over the table, he presses the palm of his hand to her forehead, then to her neck. “What are you doing?”

“Are you in ill health? Is that why you have stopped doing fieldwork? Have you seen a physician? Should I call for one—?” He rambles, his wife waves him off as if he’s panicking for no particular reason.

“I just don’t want to risk hurting the little one.” She states, peering cautiously for his reaction.

Seonghwa’s face softens, he abandons his spoon in the bowl. “Little one? We’re having a little one?” He whispers, his wife looks towards him, bashfully.

“Two, actually.” When the nurse told her, she was in a state of shock. It was one thing having one baby, but two. Good lord, she’d be tested once they came straight out of the womb. It wasn’t something she was planning - despite the number of jokes she had made - yet she was willing to welcome them both into the world. It would get a lot more busy in the Park Estate, to say the least.

“Two little ones?” Seonghwa’s eyes glaze with tears, his lips falling into a polite frown. Maekawa rises from her seat, moving around the table to wrap her arms her husband. Tears slip down from his cheeks, before a choked sob escapes him. His wife coos, gently wiping the tears from his face. When the maid arrives with the cold chicken, Seonghwa is hunched over the table bawling his eyes out whilst his wife caresses his back.

"Can you guess which one of us is carrying two babies?"

Count and Countess Park are an odd bunch indeed.

Sat on the leather armchair, a pillow is propped up against her back to support the weight of her abdomen. He’s on his knees, torso resting on her thighs, arms wrapped delicately around her waist. The tip of the long bridge of his nose nestles into her swollen stomach, her hands settle over his silky black hair. “Do you think it’s going to be two boys or two girls? Or one of each?"

“We’ll have to wait and see my dear. I don’t mind as long as they’re healthy.” Her eyes draw over his smile. His smile. One at which carries a quiet radiance, that Maekawa has never had the privilege of being able to see her whole life. The corners of his lips curve up in a way that feels both sincere and slightly mischievous, and his eyes follow suit, crinkling with a warmth that soothes her heart. His eyes hold such a unspoken kindness, holding the depth of a thousand unbroken stars. Seonghwa looks back at her as she admires him, silently, and he lets her. Staring at her, from his knees, where he will always stare at her from because to Park Seonghwa, she is the only one he pledges his subservience to. His affection comes in eccentric ways, like when she is strolling through the academy and he is beside her, one hand on her lower back the other on her belly; helping her through the hallways as if she is a fragile doll.

But his loyalty. His protectiveness. Oh it made her gush over him, giggling behind walls and under the covers as if she was sixteen again and seeing Park Seonghwa for the first time in her life. It was as if being with him had instilled peace and purpose into her life, and to part from him would kill her.

So when Maekawa stares down at her husband, who is speaking mellowly to the twins tucked away in her womb, a surge of disconcerting emotions overwhelm her and pearl tears drop from her eyes, pattering onto her belly. “‘Is it raining in here, Appa?’ No, it’s just your beautiful Amma.” His neck cranes up to meet her eyes. “What’s wrong, my dearest?”

“Whatever did I do to deserve you?” She asks through muffled sobs.

“You just, exist.”

“It's easy look. This one has a beauty spot under his right eye, this one on the left. This bunny has a dimple on his left cheek, and the spot on the right.” Seonghwa parts his lips in realisation, nodding profusely. “We just need names!” They sit on their shared bed, a twin lying in front of each respective parent. Shortly after their birth, the pair realised they needed to be able to differentiate between the identical twins. After scratching her head, their mother had finally managed to find tells.

“Haneul.” Seonghwa says, after a single beat of silence. “Like the sky. He reminds me of you in some odd way, I think it’s because he cries a lot.” He jokes at the end, Maekawa rests her head on her husband’s shoulder, who wraps his arm around her waist.

“This one will be Minsu. Because he doesn’t cry at all.” Her husband grins.

“Perfect.” He announces, “Park Haneul and Park Minsu.” But Seonghwa would never tell her that he decided on ‘Haneul’ because she could float through the skies, and bend the earth to her will. That one day, he could almost predetermine, Haneul would be roaming the empyrean with her. And his wife would never tell him that Minsu’s quietness and grace, that would only develop from his infancy, was a clear inheritance from his father. For every time Seonghwa graced the land she was wrought with infatuation.

They didn’t have to tell each other either. They’d work it out someday, when their children grew older and blossomed into righteous adults.

“Apppuuuu.” A one year old pushes into the parlour, waddling towards his father in a hurried state, falling straight into his arms.

“Haneeuullll.” His father swoops up him into his embrace, placing a chaste kiss onto his cheeks before settling him on his hips. His child babbles, eyebrows furrowed as if he had something important to say yet his words are incorrigible. He can’t help but think how alike he is to his mother. Extroverted and full of life.

“Haneul!” A shout follows behind them, and his father smirks, looking down at him.

“Now, are you hiding behind me because you’ve done something wrong?” He finds his wife tearing through the doorway, outstretching her arms out for her son, paying no attention to his persistent whines. Maekawa's eyes cast, momentarily, over her husband's face reeling in his tired disposition. His face his hollow, where there were dark circles there are now small bags under his bloodshot red eyes. His long hair is slightly tousled from constantly running his hand through it, but his physique has become stronger than before. His lean figure is more muscular now, he spends more time training than ever before. So much so, Maekawa cannot remember the last time she held her husband and he did not push her away because he was too exhausted to even hug. A pang strikes heart heart upon sight of him. She is worried for him. Ryou is worried for him. Even the students are worried for him. Haneul and Minsu are too young to understand his apathy.

"Come on, it's time to bathe." He whines once more, but his father pulls him back, tightening the grip around his small body.

"Why don't you let me?" He offers, his wife's hands hover mid-air contemplating his words before giving in eventually. She supposes she must encourage paternal affection. Before she can spin on her heel, he places a kiss on her forehead sliding past to haul his son into the bathroom.

The village is eerily quiet, there's no chatter that descends up to their home, and the delivery boy is two hours late. Countess Park stands outside with the kitchen maids, for the fourth time in two hours peering through the gates. An unsettling feeling resides in her stomach, and when her maids ask for permission to run down and ask what's taking so long, she refuses. Until, he finally dashes up the hill, arms flailing, wheezing for air. His throat suffocates burning as phlegm builds up, clogging the passageway for oxygen. "Countess! Countess! It's Count Park!" He exclaims, she moves forward, hand on his shoulder to pry more words out of him. "He's attacking the villagers!" His words fall death at her ears, drowning out into a ringing sound as her maids gasp.

He's attacking the villagers.

Shock pummels through her, heart slipping to her stomach.

"Go inside, lock all of the doors. Stay in Haneul and Minsu's room. Do not let them, or yourselves, out!" She commands, before tearing down the path to the village.

As Maekawa descends the staircase, she stops behind him and the words cease to fall from her mouth. Her lips part to say his name, falling dead on her tongue. Never would she have ever thought that speaking his name would be a taboo.

“Hwa. What did you do?” Her eyes glaze with tears, face aghast with horror that he had done such a thing. Several bodies were compiled in their homes, smoke wafting from the chimneys, strings of washing lines hanging from their homes as if they still existed. Blood splattered on the ground, trailing to where they had been dragged into the homes. There was supposed to be a deathly silence in the air, but Maekawa was so sure that she could still hear their piercing screams; they echoed within the pits of her brain. He turns on his heel to her, eyes so wrought with adoration.

"Oh, my love. I did what I ought to have done a long time ago." Her hands clench into fists at her side. Occasionally her figure wracks with a melancholia she's trying so hard to conceal. He draws towards her, hands settled on her waist, but she cannot swoon when he has committed crimes she cannot defend. “You understand me, don’t you?”

Maekawa stares back at him, dumbfounded. “You’ve killed all these people. For what?” She spits out.

“I’m removing the problem. It’s like exterminating rats.”

“These villagers aren’t rodents, Seonghwa, they’re people."

“People who have made society suffer. There were three rapists, five murderers, and a handful of thieves. There were bullies, unjust landlords and dying children who couldn’t be cured because of greedy doctors. Tell me, are they still people?”

“There is a law to deal with them! You were their Count for a reason!”

“And I tried Mae! I tried so hard! I tried to fix the system, but how could I do so when the system did not want to be fixed?” He shouts, leaving her shivering in the howling wind. The shadows dance around him in enigmatic motions, flowing and ebbing like puppets subsiding to a puppet master's command. Was this her fault for thinking that he would be different, for her? Or was she just a fool for thinking he would never do this? "There's still so much more of the world to fix, we must reset. We must heal from our flaws." He begs, eyes glossing with tears as he relives the myriad of wild emotions, the nightmares he had foreseen seeing crimes be committed out of his control. He should have castrated that man, he should have chopped the hands of that thief.

“What about the twins, Hwa?” Countess Park reasons, running the palm of her hand up and down his arm.

“I am doing this for the twins, I’m making a better world for them. For us.” He argues, and then she sighs. Just a long, single sigh as realisation dawns on her that he is the epitome of the man that Minori had warned her about. There he looked at her, like he looked at her that day when he pleaded for her to believe him.

Believe me, Maekawa, I would do no such thing, his soul would dispute.

But you have, my beloved. You have done such bad things. You will do so much worse.

“I love you.” He declares, so easily. As if it's innate, yet how long had it been innate for?

“Oh Hwa, I don’t even think you know what love is.”

“I don’t know what love is? I am burning the world for you, sinking it under the sea so we can live out the rest of our days in peace. I am removing its corruption so you and I can live for what we believe in.” His breath his shaky, tone dropping an octave before he parts his lips again, “I am giving you the world my Countess, won’t you take it?”

“My Count. Don’t do it now, please, come home with me. Our children are waiting. Minu and Hani are waiting for us.” Her voice cracks at the end, her eyes welling up with tears.

“I’ll come with you once I’ve finished my duty.”

“I have no choice but to stop you.” Maekawa breathes out, her eyes fluttering shut in despair as Seonghwa stares down at her.

“Don’t you dare stop me, Mae. Listen to me. I am your husband, do as I say and return back home!” He demands, his bitter voice carrying through the air.

“I can’t go home, Hwa, I won’t be able to live with the burden of you having killed so many.” Her fingers curl—gravity descending into a large radius.

The ground beneath their feet was scorched and cracked, as if the world had been warped by the magnitude of their prowess. Seonghwa's dark eyes gleamed with malice. His cursed energy was dense and potent, swirling around him in dark tendrils. With a deep, guttural growl, he summoned his technique, the shadows ascending with his will. Without warning, he unleashed a torrent of dark energy, aimed directly at Maekawa. Thunder cracked through the air, her body hammered into the building behind her, lacerating against her supple flesh. Maekawa’s eyes flared, her body humming with raw power. With a flick of her wrist, she raised her hand toward the sky. The energy she had absorbed detonated outward, sending a pulse that shattered the boundaries of his cursed technique. The darkness, surrounding her, disintegrated within a single beat - Seonghwa's body tearing through the space away from her. Her body drifts towards him, following the direction of the wind. She reached out, and with a precise movement, releasing a concentrated burst of warped energy. Seonghwa blocked it.

Black tendrils spill from his fingers, curling around Maekawa's neck. Her hands claw, she sinks to her feet and his eyes widen in shock at her throttling. But he can't stop until she at least understands where he is coming from. The tendrils obey his command even as he moves his hands away, falling to his knees. His fingers carefully lift to her face, their eyes meeting. "My beloved, why can you not just listen to your husband?" A tear after another slips down Maekawa's face, she bites the bottom of her quivering lip to prevent herself from bawling. The shadows dissipate, but the dark clouds hang over them like a looming omen.

"Hwa." Her voice cracks one more, repleted with the pain that subdues her. "Don't do this, my love. I'll fight for you like I did a long time when Minori fought you. I'll them it was a mistake." He lets out a low chuckle and then Maekawa laughs with him as if she's fighting insanity herself before it falls back into a melancholia.

"Please don't make me hurt you." She whispers, their heads leaning forward; her palm caressing his cheek.

He felt it first in his head: a crushing pressure as blood rushed downwards, pulled by a foreign gravity vector. His face paled, then flushed, heart racing to adjust. His heart began to pump at a profane speed, leaving him momentarily lightheaded, the world dimming at the edges of his vision. His slender fingers curled around his neck as if fighting to remove the phantom rope around his neck. His chest surged for air, exasperated breaths escaping from him. "Mae, please stop this." He growls, shadows leaping of his body in succinct waves. Her hands twitch, tightening the grip ever so slightly before her vision is enshrouded by darkness. Yet Maekawa doesn't let it affect her, even as the void burns her soul and fills her with an emptiness that repletes her. A curvature of space gains mass, she concentrates its weight, deepening it as much as she can.

Then it explodes, the bricks shattering through the air. A shockwave rippled out from the centre of the village, but instead of chaos, there was stillness. The void was yet to disintegrate, when her eyes reopened she followed the light shattering her husband. He let out a piercing scream as he was mercilessly shot away from her, moving backwards.

They say light travels faster than sound.

It's why she hears her name, from his lips, when he is more than ten feet away from her. Not 'Maekawa', 'Mae' or 'Countess Park'. Not any term of endearment. But her name. The one she had heard under the cover of the night, when their love was at its highest. The name she had heard when he loved her even through her pain, through her anger. The name he heard when he loved her so much, he hated it.

A darkness fulfils Maekawa's heart, even the light moving away from her is still in sight. It should be too far to see, but it's him. Long gone to the masses.

Long gone, away from her.

A groan escapes from her lips, she stretches her limbs; wincing as they ache. Crying out, she attempts to sit herself up before a pair of hands move to steady her. Her eyes flicker up, finding Ryou propping up a pillow against her back. "Ryou, what are you doing here?"

"You've been unconscious for about a week now." Her lips part, in dismay, her skin rippling with a wave of goosebumps. She tied up her hair with the long hairpin on the low bedside table, ignoring the pain that persists. "You're very brave for trying to fight Park, in fact the Board praises you for not letting emotion cloud your judgement." Closing her eyes to relive the myriad of dejection, her heart is stuffed in a pit of wild emotions.

"Is he-?" She trails off, not wanting to finish her sentence. Instead, wrapping her arms around herself, as if her husband is close to enough to replace the comfort she needs. "Is he dead?" She whispers.

"We think so. There's no sign of his body though there are reports of his shadows looming around but Seonghwa had a bottomless pit of cursed energy." Ryou speaks slowly and carefully. Her palm slaps to her lips before squeezing them shut. "I'm so sorry." He doesn't even say her name. Ryou says nothing that directly addresses her, he knows it will hurt her. He stands up, disappearing from the room as tears forge in his own eyes.

It starts out with a burning sensation in her nose that quickly transcends to the back of her throat. There’s a tightening in her chest like her heart has been brutally crushed and battered mercilessly against her ribcage; before her eyes begin to glaze with tears. Maekawa brings up her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around it as the dissonance of her children's babbling entrails into her ears. Before she knows it, one tear falls. Then the other. The room is soon serenaded with her anguished sobs.

“I—I just killed my husband.” She trembles, wrapping her arms around herself, tighter to feel something, if anything, to stop her from going mad. “I just killed the love of my life.” The tears cascade down her face, pattering onto her blanket she’s pulled further up her body. Her body wracks with sheer exhaustion as she curls herself deeper into her bed, running her palm through the space where her husband would have slept. She wails his name, repeating it until her throat becomes sore.

Her hand glides over the pillow where he would have laid his head upon, his long hair splaying against the silk sheet like ink; smooth to touch, hers to feel. Reaching for it, she presses it against her chest, digging her nose into the fabric to inhale his scent. She could get intoxicated on it alone, spend her days drowning herself in his memory. Yet she couldn’t, there was Haneul and Minsu, who would grow up wondering where their father had gone to. How could she explain to them that it was her fault? That their own mother had taken their father away from them?

Every night, after Maekawa has tucked her children into bed and kisses them goodnight, she retreats back to her bedroom. Sometimes she sleeps on her own designated side, her husband’s pillow within her grasp, breathing in his musky scent as if it’s oxygen. Her children have caught her too, in the late hours of the day, running her hands through his clothes, sitting where he would have sat, reading the books he used to read. Wrought with such tragedy, she has no one else but herself to blame. Who else, but her, had taken her husband away?

The letters that pile on the desk in the teacher's office at Tokyo is embarrassingly high, she slumps down on the chair, running her fingers through her hair as Haneul and Minsu's laughter pervades the air. The elder students are chasing them through the narrow hallways, she ignores their shrieks holding back a smile as they bustle in and out of her office. Her students sneak a look to see if she will grumble at them to leave, her indifference shocks them and they continue to play with her children. Maekawa doesn't mind as much, she's seen her students morph into responsible people. Sluggishly, she sorts each of the letters tearing them open, throwing away the ones that are just invitations to events she cannot (and will not) turn up to. The others are letters from other institutes, reports of cursed spirit sightings that she quickly writes letters back to, placing them neatly into a pile of its own. Adjusting her posture, as tiredness gnaws at her muscles, she reaches for the last letter in the pile. The paper is slightly yellow, the ink seems as if it is fading. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at its aged appearance, most letters do not go unmissed by her.

Tearing it open, a familiar musky scent trails back to her. Her heart stops back in her chest, before pounding at profane speed.

My dearest Countess,

You are something to behold, I suppose. I look back and think about how our relationship began and I know that there's someone out there that would scoff at how ridiculous it is that I had once despised you. Oh, I hated you to the point of devotion. Could you fault me for that? You are so beautiful, so perfect, so clever and so powerful — the type of human that whilst you grace the earth with your presence others sit and think how a breed, such as you, could ever exist. I spent countless nights thinking of your flaws, thinking of ways to unmask this creature of perfection. I even married you and gave you our Haneul and Minsu yet I was unable to see imperfection in you. When you speak of me to them, speak of my crimes so my children know how divine you are.

By now, the villages have argued and fought, the number of students rebelling against the system have increased. And you are tired, because there is so much that you can do as a mother, sorceress, and Countess. It could have been different if it were not for your unwavering morals, my dear. You are steadfast in what you believe. But I could not show you the true face of our jujitsu world, or at least the way you thought of it was not as corrupted as mine. Oh how I wish, my love, that you could have seen its façade. We could have conquered the world.

When you see the real me, I know that your morals will drain the life from my body. I know that no matter how much you love me, you would sacrifice the cost of your happiness so others could live. You had been selfish once, with Minori, and swore to never be selfish again. How I wish you had never done that.

Oh, Maekawa, if I were to die a thousand times I would want it to be from your hands, and your hands alone.

I love you, My Countess.

But I needed to do what I had done.

Your loving husband,

Park Seonghwa.

Haneul slams the door shut as he scuttles out of the room, Maekawa’s eyes draw to where the letter trembles within her grip. Her eyes flutter to a close as she brings the sheet towards her nose, the scent of ink and cinnamon infiltrating her nose. Her bottom lip quivers, palm pressed against her lips to contain the camaraderie of sobs. What hurts her the most is that she’s so sure that she saw him write the letter, whether it be from the corner of her eyes as she had finished putting her children to sleep.

If only she knew.

“Haneul! Minsu call your brother inside.” Minsu sits at the dinner table, grumbling to himself before he pushes himself off his seat to call in his twin toddler. Her gaze follows him out of the kitchen, he looks so much like his father with his soft, dark hair. Their eyes are at one too, round and full of curiosity. Ignoring the tightening knot in her chest, she stirs the steaming pot with the wooden ladle once more, before pouring the stew into the bowl. For a moment she waits, before standing up herself; realising that the more devious twin would have convinced his brother to stay outside longer. Their silence is suffocating, Maekawa stalks outside to find her two toddlers staring up at the sky.

The barren fields of the Park Estate, stretched endlessly, touched by the pale grey of an unsure sky. A whisper of shadow crossed the skylines. She inhaled sharply, as if the wind carried his voice again—deep, amused, always a step ahead. Her mind betrayed her, painting his image in the swaying silhouettes of leafless trees, in the flickering dark beneath the estates eaves.

Then the light from the sky began to die. It wasn’t a storm. The sky itself thickened, the clouds folding into one another like bruises. A creeping black spilled across the land, unnatural, silent. As the trees bled ink, the birds flocked to salvation escaping from the demon’s wrath. Her children cower in the looming darkness, behind her long robes; their small whimpers permeating the air.

And yet the gloom kept coming, familiar in its silence, in its devotion. It reached the fence posts. Then the steps.

He stood before her again.

Her Count.

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGIARISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post! ‘minsu’ meaning gentle or elegant ‘haneul’ meaning sky

A/N: oh this pained me, why do I always write you as a red flag seonghwa? 😭 i just knew when i wrote the synopsis of this, that it wasn’t going to end well. i won’t be posting for a while but the next fic will probably be part two of liminal echo 🙂‍↔️

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho @devilzliaison @asweetblueberry2 @arilevenatz @xdannix @yuyamihi @l0vjoongie @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @wooyoungsbrat

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