Director Yoshida's office was on the fourth floor, corner unit, windows overlooking the plaza where Kori had walked in yesterday not knowing what he was.
The door was already open when he arrived. Mori was already inside.
She turned when he entered. Her eyes caught the morning light—emerald bright, shining with something that looked almost like joy.
"Kuroshi-san," she said. "Good morning, good morning."
Yoshida sat behind her desk, severe as she'd been in the briefing room. The same face that had looked at Kori like he was a problem to be solved.
She gestured to the empty chair beside Mori.
"Sit."
Kori sat.
The office was sparse. Desk, chairs, a filing cabinet, a single plant that looked like it had given up on life months ago. No photographs. No personal effects. Just the tools of administration and the woman who wielded them.
"Agent Mori's preliminary report," Yoshida said. She didn't look at the folder in front of her. Didn't need to. "Initial patrol. New district route. One incident."
One incident.
Two buildings erased. Dozens of civilians traumatized. A crater that would take months to clear.
One incident.
"How did yesterday go?" Yoshida's eyes moved to Kori. Gray and flat, like stones at the bottom of a still pond. "Were you compliant? Did you follow the three rules?"
Kori opened his mouth.
"He behaved really, really well."
Mori's voice cut in before he could speak. She was leaning forward slightly, hands folded in her lap, smile warm and earnest. Proud handler reporting on her charge.
"Followed instructions perfectly," she continued. "Didn't manifest without permission. Stayed within the patrol boundaries. When the incident occurred, he responded exactly as trained."
Her eyes flicked to Kori, just for a moment. Bright. Amused.
"A model first day, really."
Yoshida's gaze moved between them. Lingered on Mori. Lingered on the smile that hadn't wavered.
"The incident," she said. "The new district. Two buildings collapsed. Witnesses report a large serpentine entity manifesting for approximately one second before disappearing."
The words hung in the air.
Yoshida knew. She had to know—she'd seen Mori's contract file, seen the cost, seen what "shuu" could do. The destroyed buildings weren't a mystery. They were a question she was choosing not to ask.
Mori kept smiling.
"Random devil attack," she said. "Unfortunate timing. But Kuroshi-san handled himself admirably under pressure."
Yoshida looked at her for a long moment. The silence stretched. Kori could hear the ventilation system humming, the distant murmur of the building going about its business four floors below.
Then Yoshida looked down at her folder. Made a note. Closed it.
"Assessment acknowledged," she said. "Kuroshi Kori. Hybrid. Weapon-class. Compliant asset."
Compliant.
He'd drawn his scythe without permission. Broken rule three. Held the blade to his handler's throat and considered—genuinely considered—pressing it through.
And now he was being filed as compliant.
"His placement paperwork will be processed immediately," Yoshida continued. "Until a permanent assignment is determined, he remains under your supervision, Agent Mori."
Mori's smile deepened. Something shifted behind her eyes—satisfaction, maybe. Possession.
"Of course, Director."
"Dismissed."
They stood. Mori first, then Kori, following her lead like a compliant asset. They walked to the door, footsteps soft on the thin carpet, Yoshida's gaze on his back.
She knew.
Some monsters were simply more useful left unexamined.
The hallway was empty. Morning light streamed through windows at the far end, catching dust motes, making the air look thick and golden.
Mori walked ahead, humming something tuneless, her steps light.
"You lied."
She stopped. Turned. That smile still in place, head tilted, waiting.
"You lied to Yoshida," Kori said. "Covered for me. I drew my scythe. I broke rule three. I—"
Her hand moved.
Fast. Faster than he expected. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled—not hard, just insistent—guiding his hand upward, toward her.
Toward her neck.
She pressed his palm against her throat.
The same place. The same skin where his blade had rested, where obsidian had dimpled flesh, where one twitch would have opened her from ear to ear.
He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers. Rapid. Excited.
She leaned in. Close. Too close. Her breath warm against his cheek, her eyes filling his vision.
"Where's the fun," she whispered, "in losing my little scythe?"
A shiver ran up his spine. The thing inside him stirred—not in warning, not in threat, but in something else. Recognition, maybe.
One predator acknowledging another.
Mori's pulse jumped under his palm.
Then she leaned closer still. Her lips brushed his ear. Her voice dropped to something private, intimate, meant only for him.
"Today we patrol the harbor district. Ōi Wharf." Her fingers tightened on his wrist, keeping his hand pressed to her throat. "There's a devil there. Been feeding on dock workers for three weeks. Class B. Maybe higher."
Her pulse quickened.
"Very, very bad."
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. That smile. That hungry, delighted smile.
"Won't you kill it for me?"
Kori's hand was still on her throat. Her pulse still racing under his palm. The contract pulsed in his spine—kill all devils—and for the first time since the fusion, the demand felt less like a burden and more like a promise.
"Yes."
Mori's smile stretched wider. She released his wrist, patted his cheek once—light, affectionate, proprietary—and turned back down the hallway.
"Good boy," she called over her shoulder. "Meet me at the east exit in ten minutes. And Kuroshi-san?"
She glanced back. Emerald eyes catching the light.
"This time, you have permission."
She walked away, humming again, leaving Kori alone in the golden hallway with his hand still raised and the ghost of her pulse fading from his fingertips.
Permission.
The scythe stirred in his spine. Patient. Eager.
Finally.
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A/N: If you like what you read, consider dropping a power stone or two and add this novel to your library. Dropping 1-2 daily.