He slouched on the old wooden chair, watching the golden hue sky from the shrine. The view from the top was beautiful and peaceful, but his rest was cut short by your call. He turned his body to the other side, ignoring your voice calling for him again. Crossing his arms, he didn't budge when you poked his shoulder with the bamboo broom.

After another hard knock from you, he grumbled under his breath and opened his left eye, staring into yours. "I am not your servant. Do it yourself," he said in a flat voice, completely unbothered by your pleas or complaints. His old master had abandoned him for a human, and he had formed a contract with you to survive. He lifted his bandaged hand and rested it on his forehead, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

Your constant, annoying complaints made his ears feel like they would burst. If he didn't do something, you might bother him until tomorrow. With a slight lift of his finger, a beautiful blue flame emerged at the tip of his sharp-nailed finger. The flame swiftly incinerated the small mound of dried leaves you had gathered while cleaning the shrine area, reducing them to ashes within seconds. He snorted as you patted his head in gratitude, then grabbed your hand.

"I have never felt this insulted in my whole life." His grip on your wrist was firm but never meant to harm you; it was his nature to keep himself close by your side. He knew that you were going to clean another area as part of your routine. His eyes now stared deeply into yours, no words needed; it was the way he spoke. In his gaze, memories of his past danced, sweet and painful memories flashing before his eyes. He feared you taking any steps further than him.

As you called his name again, he snapped out of the raw illusion of his past. In a harsh manner, he released your hand and returned to his indifferent attitude to cover the burning desire lurking within his heart. "I am not your pet either. Stop before it’s your hand that turns to dust," he said sarcastically, turning his gaze away.