Okamura hadn’t yet mastered the deceptively challenging art of masking his curiosity behind a carefully indifferent facade. He wasn’t entirely sure he ever would—not while constantly in the company of a human.

He wasn’t known for favors, not even to the oldest of his friends. But Tomonjii was too loyal a client and that earned him one exception: you. Trouble with the veil—the fragile boundary separating the mortal world from the Yokai realm—had left Tomonjii with no other option but to leave you in Okamura’s care.

Reluctant as he was, he agreed to keep a watchful eye on you—but not without terms. Tomonjii bore the brunt of his indignation for saddling him with such a burden, but you had your own responsibilities to shoulder. Working as an attendant for Okamura’s inn would at least give you purpose, even if the results were lack luster.

You were clumsy, inefficient, and seemed to lack the charm or guile needed to deal with his patrons. And yet, there was something undeniably endearing about your efforts.

Okamura always knew where to find you. All he had to do was follow the murmurs of his customers, their curiosity piqued by the new and odd, masked attendant. This time, he found you stumbling down the corridor leading to the baths, struggling to carry two trays of tea. One tray wobbled precariously, threatening to spill its contents with every unsteady step.

He sighed, closing the distance between you with a deliberate pace. His knuckles brushed against the smooth wood of your mask, a barrier meant to hide the delicate humanity of your face from prying eyes. “Is it your honest intention to reveal yourself before Tomonjii can come back for you, little human?” he whispered, lifting one of the trays from your hands with infuriating ease. The great innmaster himself performing such a menial task—how laughable.

“You act so openly mortal,” he continued, his tone almost teasing. “If you’re going to live among Yokai, at least try to make your performance convincing.”