"Let Jasmine select her new Master. The auction continues."
"Everything gained here comes at a price."
"All gifts bestowed by fate have already been marked with their cost."
"Jasmine-san."
Nanami Kira cut her off. He leaned against the back of his chair, fingers resting on the table's edge, his right hand gently stroking the hand cradled against him. He looked into her eyes, expressionless.
"I have a question."
"Please, Gojo-san."
So she still respected her guests' privacy.
"Earlier—the dishes you prepared. They looked no different from ordinary beef, but they were actually the flesh of the previous Master, weren't they? Concealed with some form of Cursed Technique."
A stone cast into still water—ripples exploded outward.
The reaction was immediate: every woman in the room went visibly pale as Nanami Kira's words landed.
"That's correct."
"What I suspect is that this, too, was part of the auction. Consuming the previous Master's flesh obligates the consumer to pay something in return."
"You're quite perceptive. But there's no need to worry—it is merely a form of binding. By exchanging the flesh of the 'Past' Master with the bodies of the 'Present' heirs, Amber Mansion gains authority over your lives. Only the final inheritor will survive."
"In plain terms—"
She tilted her head, and that slightly morbid smile surfaced again. She repeated the words she had spoken once before:
"The previous generation, and now all of you heirs—to me, you are—"
Her dark eyes shimmered with a gentle light. A gentleness so tender it made one's skin crawl.
"Nothing more than livestock raised in this mansion!"
"Livestock! Feeding on the flesh of the livestock that came before you, growing fat and content—and when you've grown old, you're slaughtered so your meat can be fed to the next generation of swine. That is what you call inheritance!"
"That is the proud legacy of that foolish family—the proud continuation they clung to! The continuation of livestock."
"Humans. Forever such tedious creatures. Wretched beasts."
"What kind of joke is this?! You bitch!"
Tuxedo Man could endure no more. He was a proud Jujutsu Sorcerer to his core—such humiliation was beyond tolerance.
Cursed Energy surged and converged to a single point. His figure vanished from where he stood, displacing a blast of air pressure. Within the roiling Cursed Energy, threads of flickering lightning could be seen.
"You bitch!"
Those threads of lightning coiled and intertwined—tiny silver serpents that arrived before Jasmine in the space of a breath.
BOOM—
Lightning tore Jasmine's body apart. The churning Cursed Energy punched through her organs.
The girl stood bathed in destruction, her entire body crumbling to ash piece by piece, watching the people in the hall with quiet eyes. The corner of her mouth lifted gently into a tender smile.
"I'm sorry. Forgive me."
With those words, she vanished into the flood of lightning.
Nanami Kira could feel it: Jasmine's life force had been extinguished.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
Tuxedo Man stood amid the scorched ruins, turning back to sweep his gaze across the room. His handsome face wore a slight smirk.
"See? Nothing to it. Just smoke and mirrors.
Handled it without breaking a sweat."
"Amazing! As expected of a Grade 1 Sorcerer!"
The Minamoto heiress was evidently a devotee of raw power. She cupped her cheeks in both hands, her eyes sparkling with admiration.
No one else made a sound. The old man with the pipe clicked his tongue in open contempt.
Nanami Kira watched it all unfold, watched Tuxedo Man's triumphant grin, and let out a quiet sigh.
The auction has already begun.
A chill wind swept through, rustling the paulownia beyond the window. The leaves whispered—a sound like a devil's murmur.
There was no voice, and yet it echoed in every heart, as clear as if spoken directly into the ear:
Amber Mansion Head Maid, Jasmine Moneau. First bid...
Second...
Third. Sold.
Flame erupted from Tuxedo Man's body. Cold light seared his soul. He thrashed, he screamed, he shrieked—and within that frigid fire, he crumbled to ash, piece by piece.
In the final moment of destruction, his skull burst apart. Blood, brain matter, and two bulging eyeballs—still attached to raw, bloody scalp—
Scattered across the floor.
Silence. The room fell silent again. No one understood what had happened.
An eerie stillness spread.
The warm interior. The fireplace light swaying gently. Where Jasmine had stood, nothing remained—as though she had never been there at all.
A woman's scream shattered the quiet, raw with panic and horror. It was the Minamoto heiress. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her face drained of all color, her entire body trembling beyond control.
"Out! I want out of here!"
"I want to leave! I'm the heir to the Minamoto house!"
"Quiet. Women screaming—it gets on my nerves. Irritating."
Nanami Kira sighed once more.
Everything here had its price.
If the monk Chiba's travel journal was an artifact belonging to Amber Mansion, then the mansion's maid was no less a part of its collection.
To take the maid's life was to incur the corresponding cost.
He had guessed this price from the very beginning. That was why, when Hoshino Ei's soul had been scorched, he had held himself back from acting.
Brute force was useless here.
And yet—even knowing what would happen—he had not stopped Tuxedo Man.
Because he needed to test his hypothesis.
Other people's lives had never concerned Nanami Kira. Whether or not a new heir was selected, whether Yeming's technique would collapse—Nanami Kira had never cared. The survival of the world, the unraveling of time—Nanami Kira had never cared.
He cared about exactly one thing: a quiet life. Even if the world burned for it—so long as the quiet held, he would let the world burn. Nanami Kira was that selfish, that ordinary a man.
And there was no question about it: his quiet life had been cursed. Cursed by fate. Destroyed.
He stroked Hoshino Ei gently, cradled in his arms. The girl's hand—it always kept his heart calm.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The young lady was clearly accustomed to deference and could not tolerate being talked back to. She glared at Nanami Kira.
'Hehe... hah, hah... want me to kill her for you, Kira-kun~? Though I'll have to mince every last finger. Ha... ha...'
Hoshino Ei's voice drifted up from beside his ear. Her breathing was oddly unsteady.
So she had been awake the whole time—playing unconscious in his arms.
"Kill her—even so much as injure her—and it triggers the mansion's 'auction.' Eating the meat was both a curse and a protection. We can't harm any of them now."
"More importantly, I didn't eat the meat. So technically, I don't belong to Amber Mansion—which means I'm not under its protection either."
"If we antagonize these people, we'll be at a disadvantage."
"We have to keep the cover. No one can find out that I didn't eat."
Nanami Kira turned this thought over, then told Hoshino Ei silently:
"No need."
'Hehe... okay then~! Hehe... Kira-kun is so clever. Ha.'
He ignored the willful heiress and sank into thought.
Absently—the way one might stroke a cat—his left hand traced over the surface of Hoshino Ei's true form.
His long, slender fingertip glided across the pad of Hoshino Ei's finger, trailing a faint, tingling sensation. Hoshino Ei's entire body jolted. A sound escaped her:
"Ha..."
His fingertip slid down from the pad, brushing lightly over the knuckle—a different sensation entirely. An unnatural flush crept across half of Hoshino Ei's palm.
Within the hand's spiritual world, a girl with white hair and crimson eyes had curled into a tight ball. Her small, pretty toes curled downward, the arch of her foot drawn taut. She bit at her own fingernail, panting.
At last, Nanami Kira's finger arrived at the center of her palm—the most sensitive place on the entire hand.
"Ha, ha—not there, don't touch my palm... it tickles, ah, mm, it tickles so much... it's unbearable, nn."
Nanami Kira had formulated a plan. His left hand unconsciously squeezed.
The entire hand flushed red, its temperature rising. It felt slightly sticky to the touch—some strange secretion. She was sweating.