Sakura Kuri's face burned crimson. A choked, breathless moan—a raw mixture of shock and overwhelming sensation—escaped her lips. Her eyes instantly glazed over, tears pooling along the edges as she bit down hard on her lower lip, her entire body going slack against Fang Zuo's solid frame.
Her small hands fisted desperately into the back of his shirt, clinging to him as if he were an anchor in a storm. Her breathing came in shallow, rapid rasps, little puffs of air hot against his chest where she buried her face, refusing to lift it. The potent, sweet-musk scent of aroused womanhood thickened the air, saturating the confined space.
"Don't you dare... close your eyes..." she whispered, her voice trembling with profound humiliation. Her delicate face remained resolutely hidden against him, eyes squeezed shut, long lashes fluttering. Even the skin visible beneath the parted vinyl neckline of her catsuit flushed a deep, rosy pink. She steadfastly refused to look up.
Fang Zuo held her firmly, breathing in the intense, layered aroma emanating from her skin – a subtle, wild note of fox underlying the rich, peachy musk of her maturity, a scent rivaling Nagimitsu's own potent allure. His large hand slowly stroked the taut line of her neck, gently kneading the corded muscles there, mimicking the soothing touch used to calm a fractious feline. He watched the flush creep from her neck to the delicate shells of her ears, turning the translucent down covering them into shimmering, trembling halos.
They stood locked together, bodies molded into one shape, for what felt like a small eternity. Gradually, the frantic tension seeped out of Sakura's frame. Though a deep flush still stained her cheeks, she didn't pull away. Instead, she wound her arms even tighter around him.
"Who are you?" The question was a murmur breathed against his chest, filled with an unnatural clarity despite the lingering haze.
"I'm Fujino," Fang Zuo replied calmly, his fingers still tracing slow circles on her neck. "Who else could I be?"
"Liar." The single word was sharp. Sakura tilted her head back just far enough to find the top button of his shirt. She nipped at it sharply with her teeth, then snapped it off with a fierce flick of her head, baring a patch of his chest muscle.
"Your spiritual aura, your physical shape... they're different. I can feel it. Even your blood scent... it doesn't belong here." Her eyes narrowed, sharp and searching. "What are you? An ascetic cultivating his blood?"
Fang Zuo couldn't help a low chuckle. "From a single moment's contact, without a drop spilled, you think you know me?"
"I don't know who you are," Sakura insisted, one small hand sliding tentatively over the exposed skin of his pectoral muscle. "But you definitely belong elsewhere. Your spiritual essence doesn't resonate with this land. Believe me, don't underestimate my sensitivity." She paused, her gaze intense. "And your abilities... I can't decipher them. Someone like you shouldn't exist here in Japan."
"Are you forbidden from telling me? Reluctant? Or just unwilling?" She wrinkled her nose, a hint of the girl she might have been flickering across her serious expression.
"Is there a difference?" Fang Zuo withdrew his hand from her neck, instead finding the small, soft lobe of her ear. He gently squeezed the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
"Mm..." Sakura shuddered involuntarily, a tremor running through her. She recovered, lightly punching his shoulder. "Of course there is!"
"Forbidden means you have reasons you can't speak of," she explained earnestly. "Reluctant means you don't trust me. Unwilling..." her voice softened almost imperceptibly, "...means you have no regard for me."
"It's simpler than that," Fang Zuo countered with an amused smile. "I just think this particular place isn't terribly suitable for such a discussion."
"Then come," Sakura declared, pulling back slightly, though her legs still felt unreliable. She gestured towards the hallway. "My old room." She took a step, stumbled, and was instantly caught back against him.
Without a word, Fang Zuo bent, hooked one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her securely into his arms.
***
Following her directions, he carried Sakura up to the top floor of the Shinyo Kikaku building. Sixteen stories tall, it was a slightly dated yet still imposing Tokyo commercial-residential complex. One of the Sakura clan's earliest acquisitions in the capital, serving as both a stronghold and headquarters. The uppermost level was reserved exclusively for clan members. Despite the building's externally weathered appearance, the interior of the penthouse suite spoke of modern luxury.
Fang Zuo stepped into a traditionally styled Japanese room. Inside, Sakura had discarded her constricting leather catsuit. When he moved to pick it up, she snatched it away. With ruthless efficiency, she invoked a small fire spell, reducing the garment to a pile of greasy ash on the tatami.
Fang Zuo's laughter echoed in the room.
Free of the catsuit, he could truly appreciate the startling beauty of Sakura Kuri's form. The curve of her back flowed into perfectly rounded, lifted buttocks. But it was her legs that commanded attention – impossibly long, flawlessly sculpted, with skin like smooth, cool alabaster that seemed to glow in the low light. Though her height was moderate, perhaps 170 centimeters, her proportions were exquisite, without flaw. Unlike many who claimed long legs only with towering heels, Sakura's beauty was inherent. Even barefoot, her legs flowed seamlessly from a taut waist in a ratio far exceeding the mundane 50/50 average.
Sakura hurried into the adjoining washroom. When she emerged moments later, damp hair framing her face, she wore a simple yukata patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms. Her long, dark hair cascaded freely, emphasizing the sharp, refined lines of her unpowdered face, lending her an almost ethereal, traditional grace. Barefoot, her steps silent, she moved across the room on small, elegant feet – the arches high, the toes blush-pink and perfect.
She approached a discreet bar, selected a bottle of red wine and two crystal glasses, and poured a generous measure into each.
Her voice, when she spoke, had regained its familiar professional coolness, though an underlying warmth remained.
"My family is the Sakura Clan from Osaka. My mother was of the Fūma Ninja Clan, from Odawara." She took a slow sip of wine. "As a woman born into a major Japanese lineage... destiny was a burden placed on my shoulders from birth."
"After my mother passed away, I... coveted the Shikigami she left for me. To bind it, I stole my family's Onmyōjutsu secrets." She stared into her glass, the dark liquid reflecting the dim light. "The Sakura Clan forbids women from practicing Onmyōdō. When they discovered my transgression, I was cast out."
"The Shikigami... my mother's legacy... was taken from me. Held hostage by the clan." Her knuckles whitened around the stem of her glass. "I came here today... hoping only to retrieve what was hers. But they'd already moved it back to Osaka."
She drank deeply, the wine a dark liquid shadow as she continued recounting her past – the struggle to survive after exile, the years spent honing her natural talents, eventually finding her place and purpose within the Tokyo Exorcism Patrol, and finally, her promotion to Captain.
She finished her narrative. "Then... not long after becoming Captain, they assigned a new patrol member to my unit." Her eyes lifted from her glass to meet Fang Zuo's directly across the low table. "Fujino Gen."
She drained her glass in one final gulp, setting it down with a decisive click. She raised the empty vessel slightly towards him. "Your turn."
Fang Zuo shrugged his broad shoulders, matching her action by swiftly finishing his own wine.
"Fang Zuo. Male. Chinese. That's it."
"Fang Zuo? Chinese? I knew you weren't Japanese," Sakura stated with quiet triumph, leaning back. "But how did you become Fujino? I ran background checks. Fujino Gen's records are meticulous – parents deceased in Kyushu, an uncle later deceased, a young aunt still residing there..." Her gaze sharpened. "You stole his identity." She paused, taking in his changed physique. "And altered yourself to inhabit it. You're not Fujino."
Then her expression shifted into a fierce pout, brows knitting together. "No! That's cheating! Besides 'Chinese,' what else?"
"What else?" Fang Zuo rose smoothly and refilled his glass. "Well, after that... the floor got rather wet." He took another deliberate swallow of the deep red wine.
"You!!! AAAAH! BAKA! BAKAAAA!" Sakura shrieked, her face instantly ablaze. She clapped her hands over her ears. "DAME! DAME! DAME! I can't hear you! LALALALA!"
Fang Zuo simply chuckled, the rich sound reverberating in the intimate space.
"Alright," he finally said, setting the half-empty glass down firmly, his tone shifting from amusement to purpose. "Enough diversion. Update me on the Black Bible cases."