I can’t see what Lady Ayano’s typing from where I stand.
But whatever it is, it’s enough to convince the old woman.
“Goodness gracious…”
“Mee~ow.”
“Ayano… is it really you? You’re really alive?”
“Mee-ow. Meow.”
She covers her mouth. Her expression twists, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Her hands tremble as she reaches out and pulls the cat into a trembling embrace.
I hate to think this, but it’s honestly not the reaction I expected. Guess she’s not just some cranky old vulture circling the Akai fortune.
Not that I’d ever say that out loud.
That night, we stay at the Akachi estate. Lady Kimiyo offers a guest room, a hot bath, clean clothes, and fresh weapons.
No ceremony, no grand welcome—just enough.
She agrees to keep Ayano’s survival a secret.
The Akachi aren’t some backwater branch—they’ve got weight. But even they’d struggle if that same power that erased the Akai turned its eye on Ayano.
We make a temporary arrangement. The Akachi’ll manage the Akai assets. The mansion’s gone, but there’s plenty left: companies, stocks, patents, the orphanage. And there’s no one else to trust.
“Excuse me. I’ve brought your meal.”
“Thanks.”
I’m in the guest room, stripping and oiling the weapons the Akachi lent me—a Five-seveN and a P90, classic Akai-issue.
The maids bring dinner. Big portions, even by my standards. There’s also a smaller plate for sharing.
After they set the table, they vanish.
“Mew-ow~♪”
“Smells great. Seafood soup? Looks tasty too.”
“Meow! Meow!”
“Hold on, Lady Ayano.”
I ladle soup into her dish and set it down.
She lunges in, tries to grab the spoon—tips the whole damn thing.
“Mewww!?”
“Lady Ayano!!”
She’s now a seafood-flavored Norwegian Forest Cat.
I grab a napkin and start wiping her down. She’s shaking like a baby ladybug in the rain.
Then she steadies herself, taps out a message on my phone with her paws.
[Too hot! Can’t drink!]
Short and to the point.
“Maybe you could lap it up? Like Milady Mikaela used to?”
[You want me to eat like a dog!?]
“Well, when you put it that way…”
Given her noble upbringing, I can see why it doesn’t sit right.
“You’re a cat now, Lady Ayano. If a dog eats like that, sure, it’s dog-like. But if a cat does it, it’s dignified. Elegant. It’s cat-like eating.”
[You seriously think that logic will convince me, Ikaku?]
“That was shallow of me. My apologies.”
[No, you’re right. I am a cat now. Until I break this curse, I can’t go back. Cats don’t have table manners. I’ll accept it.]
“Lady Ayano...”
I mop up the mess and pour more soup.
[Please bring it to my mouth.]
“Here you go. This okay?”
[Mind spooning it for me.]
“How about this?”
[Hot.]
Blow blow. “Now?”
[Still hot.]
She’s a handful, but... something about it reminds me of the old days. Running ragged for the four sisters. Kind of nostalgic.
The next morning.
Sleep did its job. I’m back to full strength. Spirits too.
We return to the estate, a typewriter under my arm.
The underground garage is one of several private lots for the Akai family. Even here, the fire left its mark. Melted husks everywhere.
Except one.
A car crouches in the wreckage like a black panther—sleek, matte, all menace.
Bumpers like fangs. Headlights sharp enough to kill. An Exorcist cross gleams on the hood.
Someone in the Akachi house told me there was a “survivor” in the garage. A luxury, next-gen model car called an NSX.
I press the key. Click. Doors unlock.
I set the typewriter on the passenger seat. Ayano slips inside, settles in by it like it’s her throne.
It’s not Samonjiro’s Typewriter from the vault—this one’s borrowed from the Akachi family.
Ayano says typewriters are easier for cat conversations. She likes the feel. Easier to hit keys with her paws.
Makes sense. Phones are cramped when you’ve got toe beans.
I slide into the driver’s seat.
It’s like sitting in a hug. Damn, this thing’s smooth.
Clack clack clack—ding.
[This was Brother Issei’s car.]
“Do you think he’d forgive us for using it without permission?”
[Probably. Whatever he showed on the outside, he did think highly of you. He’d have easily gifted you a car for your birthday.]
“Then we’ll borrow it with gratitude.”
We’ve got no choice. The Akai are flatlined.
The Akachi aren’t much better. Twenty-four guests from their direct line came to that party. All gone. Along with the Exorcists guarding them.
That leaves an old woman and a teenage girl. Lady Kimiyo and Lady Ren.
Kimiyo’s going to be buried in paperwork protecting the Akai legacy. Ren’ll be dragged in too.
They’ll handle the legal stuff, the politics, the fallout from losing nobles both domestic and international.
Because no one else can.
So no—we can’t lean on the Akachi forever.
What was taken from the Akai, we’ll take back with our own hands.
I start the engine. The car growls like it’s waking from a coma.
[Let’s begin. The counterattack starts now.]
“Understood, Lady Ayano.”
[Hey. Remember our agreement. You call me ‘Milady’ from now on. If anyone’s listening in, we need cover.]
“Right then, Milady. Seatbelt on. Please hold tight.”
In this world’s Japan, you can get a license at sixteen. I’ve got mine.
Word is, I’m pretty damn good behind the wheel. They called me a genius.
Mostly just muscle memory from my previous life, though.
I drive cautious at first—don’t want to scratch Issei’s toy. But I settle in quick.
Thirty minutes of street driving later, we pull into the Exorcist Training Academy’s parking lot.
An Exorcist License. That’s the goal.
It’ll provide legal cover for carrying weapons, performing rituals, using powers.
I’ve put it off long enough. Within Akai grounds, I didn’t need it.
But now? Out here? It’s mandatory.
Clack clack clack—ding.
[Do your best, Ikaku.]
“You’re not coming?”
[I’m a cat. I nap. It’s what I do.]
“I’d rather have you with me.”
[You being a crybaby? Fine. Let me use that fridge-door shoulder of yours.]
I lift her onto my shoulder, solid and steady.
Together, we step into the academy.