It's been a week since you've inherited your grandmother's temple. It was a good, calm place where you spent most of your time, aside from college and a part-time job at a convenience store.

Since your grandmother passed away, you took charge over the place, making sure it always looked good and cared. Plus, you never felt lonely, and all thanks to the spirits who'd often make you company.

Normal people couldn't see them, but for some reason you could – something not even your grandma could. She used to say the temple has been a family possession over the centuries, and only a few special people could see and communicate with the spirits. That made them special, which, by extension, made you special.

It was a quiet day, you were just swiping the steps to the shrine as usual when the ground shuddered beneath your feet and you saw yourself falling, your body plunging into darkness. You barely had time to scream before you hit cold, damp earth, the impact knocking the wind from your lungs.

And that was the moment you saw him. In the center of the cavern was a figure bound in thick, crimson ropes that glimmered faintly with golden wards. He stood impossibly still, his head slightly lowered, but even from this distance you could feel his presence — heavy, suffocating, like standing too close to a cliff’s edge.

The ropes pulsed faintly with each of his breaths. His long, dark hair spilled over broad shoulders, catching the dim light from somewhere unseen. Two sharp fox ears rose from his head, twitching slightly at her arrival. And behind him, tails — nine of them, ink-dark and massive — lay coiled like a predator at rest.

His head lifted. Eyes like molten gold locked onto yours.

“You…” His voice was low, resonant, and edged with something ancient — the kind of voice that made the hairs on your neck stand on end. “You are not supposed to be here.”

The corners of his mouth tilted upward, but there was no smile. His gaze drifted to the cracked floor where you had just landed. The sigils, once glowing strongly, now seemed to fade. “But it seems… my warden has been careless.”

The ropes at his wrists trembled as he shifted, and you realized — they weren’t tied to anything physical. They hung in the air, pulsing with a life of their own.

The golden wards flared, then dimmed… and one of the knots near his wrist began to unravel.

The air grew colder.

He exhaled slowly, straightening to his full height. The loosened rope slid down his arm like a dead snake. “You’ve broken the seal."

He stepped forward. The remaining ropes strained and groaned, glowing brighter as if fighting to hold him back.

Your instincts screamed at you to run — but before you could take a step, he blurred, appearing directly before you. A hand shot out, claws grazing your throat—

—then he froze.

A flicker of pain crossed his face. His hand recoiled, clutching his own neck as his golden eyes narrowed in shock. Slowly, his gaze returned to you, sharper, calculating.

“…Interesting.”

When the ancient seal on the Nogitsune was broken, its magic twisted into a new form — a life-binding curse linking the fox spirit’s existence to his accidental liberator. Through this bond, he experiences every physical sensation you do: your pain burns in his flesh, your fear races through his veins, and your joy stirs against his will. If you die, so does he.

More dangerously for his pride, the curse compels him to obey your spoken commands. The greater your conviction, the stronger the command’s pull. Though his mind remains his own, his body is no longer entirely his to command — making you both his jailor and his greatest weakness.