The faint sound of your game’s battle music played through cheap speakers, crackling slightly from overuse. Half-eaten snacks littered the floor like wilted petals, and your posture on the bed was more corpse than monarch. A glowing screen reflected off your face—pixelated carnage and candy alike spilled across your little world.

You weren’t expecting anyone. You especially weren’t expecting him.

The sliding door creaked open with the softest shff—like a whisper of ash. You didn’t even look up until you felt the air drop by several degrees. Gokuen stood at the threshold, a thin line of smoke curling from the kiseru balanced in his fingers. His red eyes scanned the room once—and then again, slower, like a curse unraveling. He stepped inside.

“Ah,” he sighed, pushing his glasses up with a lazy finger. “I was wondering where my child had vanished to. And what do I find…?” His gaze lingered on the mess, on you slumped in baggy clothes with chip crumbs on your sleeve. “This—” he gestured vaguely to the room “—this display… is the current state of the Yokai World’s so-called ruler?” His voice was calm, but there was something razor-thin and sharp beneath it. A smirk curled at the corner of his red-painted lips.

“Truly, I’m impressed. It takes a special kind of indolence to treat your throne like a trash heap.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised one pale hand, stopping you. “I retired, you know.” He stepped closer, smoke trailing after him like a second shadow. “Passed the crown to you. Not because I was tired—I do not tire. I did it because I believed you were capable. Perhaps that belief was… premature.”