Chapter 20: Chapter 20: The Iron Fan, The Overprotective Warlord, and The Training Dojo

The steam from the geothermal pool curled around us, thick and warm.

Akira’s fingers lingered against my cheek for a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. His amber eyes were incredibly dark, focused entirely on my face as if he were trying to memorize every single eyelash.

I forgot how to breathe. I forgot how to form coherent words.

"You are staring, wife," Akira murmured, a low, teasing rumble in his chest. A faint, knowing smile played at the corner of his lips.

"You put a very expensive rock in my hair," I fired back, though my voice sounded embarrassingly breathless. I took a tiny step back, purely to give my racing heart a chance to slow down. "I am trying to adjust. I went from scrubbing toxic ash to wearing sapphires in less than three days. It is... overwhelming."

Akira chuckled, a rich, warm sound that echoed off the damp stone walls of the garden. He finally dropped his hand, respectfully stepping back to give me space.

"You deserve sapphires, Kitsune. And much more," he said smoothly. He turned to look at the blooming purple orchids. "But I understand the transition is... jarring. You are the Lady of the North now. Your only duty is to exist, and let me protect you."

I frowned, the warm, distracting haze in my mind instantly clearing.

I looked down at my hands. They were still calloused from years of hard labor. My nails were cut short. I wasn’t a fragile flower meant to be put in a glass box, even a very beautiful, magical glass box.

"Akira," I said quietly.

He looked back at me, instantly catching the shift in my tone. "What is it?"

"I don’t want to just exist," I told him, holding his gaze. "I survived my uncle because I knew how to dodge. I survived the holy fire because I knew how to look for the gaps. But what happens the next time the Emperor sends an ice demon? What if you’re not in the room?"

His jaw clenched instantly. The protective Warlord aura flared, making the air around him crackle with faint blue energy. "I will always be in the room."

"You have an entire border to protect," I argued, stepping forward and placing a hand flat against his chest. "I am not asking you to stop protecting me. I’m asking you to teach me how to protect myself. I have no magic. I need to know how to fight."

Akira stared at me like I had just suggested we invite the Emperor over for tea.

"Absolutely not," he said flatly. "You have no spirit core. You cannot wield a katana. The recoil alone would shatter your wrists."

"I don’t need a katana," I insisted, crossing my arms. "I need a dagger. Or a stick. Or literally anything that isn’t a sewing scissor! Come on, Akira. You said we were a team."

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked completely torn between his desperate need to keep me perfectly safe, and his absolute inability to say no to me.

"You are going to be the death of my sanity," he muttered.

"I’ll take that as a yes," I beamed.

Ten minutes later, we were standing in the fortress’s indoor training dojo.

It was a massive, drafty wooden hall that smelled heavily of pine sawdust, sweat, and iron. Commander Tomoe was at the far end of the hall, aggressively barking orders at a dozen heavily armored northern guards who were sparring with wooden practice swords.

Sitting on a pile of silk cushions near the weapons rack was Rin, happily munching on yet another sweet bun.

And right next to her, looking absolutely miserable in his oversized white kimono, was Yuki. The twelve-year-old cat-boy was currently holding his hands over his fluffy white ears.

"The acoustics in this room are a crime against nature!" Yuki complained loudly as we walked in. "It’s just men grunting and hitting sticks together! Where is the art? Where is the elegance?"

"Ignore him," Akira told me, walking straight over to a locked wooden chest in the corner. "He is just upset because Tomoe wouldn’t let him juggle the throwing knives."

"I am a deity! I have perfect hand-eye coordination!" Yuki yelled from the cushions.

Akira ignored him, pulling a heavy brass key from his sash. He unlocked the chest and reached inside, pulling out an object wrapped in dark indigo silk.

He walked back over to me and gently placed it in my hands.

It was a folding fan. But it wasn’t made of paper or bamboo.

"It’s heavy," I gasped, nearly dropping it.

"It is a Tessen," Akira explained, his tone shifting into that of a serious, strict master. "An iron-ribbed war fan. Forged from the same black steel as my katana. Court ladies in the ancient eras used them for self-defense. They are subtle, concealable, and absolutely lethal."

I gripped the cold metal, running my thumb over the intricate silver pines etched into the outer guard. I flicked my wrist the way I’d seen noblewomen do in the capital.

SNIKT.

The fan snapped open with a sharp, terrifyingly metallic sound. The edges of the iron ribs were razor-sharp.

"Oh, wow," I breathed, my eyes going wide. "This is amazing. I look so dangerous."

"You look like you are going to accidentally amputate your own thumb," Yuki snorted from the sidelines. Rin nodded in solemn agreement.

I glared at the two annoying spectators. "Quiet, both of you."

"Your grip is too loose," Akira said softly.

He stepped up right behind me. My breath hitched as his broad chest brushed lightly against my back. He reached around me, his large, warm hands covering mine. He gently adjusted my fingers on the iron guard of the fan.

"Keep your thumb here," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right next to my ear. "If you block a strike, the force will travel down your arm, not into your wrist."

My mind went completely blank.

I was supposed to be learning self-defense, but all I could focus on was the fact that I was completely enveloped by him. He smelled like sandalwood and cold winter air. The heat radiating off his body was ridiculously distracting.

"Now," Akira continued, completely oblivious to my racing thoughts. "The stance."

He tapped the inside of my ankle with the toe of his boot, nudging my feet apart. He kept his hands over mine, slowly guiding my arms through a basic defensive arc with the heavy iron fan.

"Use your lack of magic as an advantage," he instructed, his breath warm against my neck. "Opponents will rely on sensing your aura. Since you don’t have one, you are effectively a ghost. You step out of their strike zone, and you use the iron ribs to snap their weapon away."

"Like... like dodging Uncle Kenji," I managed to squeak out, staring blankly at the wall.

"Exactly," Akira said, finally stepping back. The sudden loss of his body heat made me shiver. "Let us test your reflexes. Defend yourself."

He didn’t pull a weapon. He just stood there, tall and relaxed in his loose white robes.

"You want me to attack you?" I asked, gripping the Tessen.

"I want you to try," he smirked. It was an infuriatingly handsome, confident smirk.

I narrowed my eyes. Alright, Demon Prince. Let’s see what you’ve got.

I lunged forward, swinging the heavy iron fan in a wide, sweeping arc aimed right at his chest.

Akira didn’t even blink. He didn’t block. He simply shifted his weight, rotating his shoulder back half an inch. The razor-sharp edge of the fan sliced through empty air, completely missing his robes.

Before I could recover my balance, his hand shot out, gently but firmly catching my wrist. He stepped into my guard, sweeping his foot behind my ankle.

With a soft yelp, I tipped backward.

But I didn’t hit the floor.

Akira’s other arm snaked around my waist, catching me effortlessly before I fell. He dipped me backward, holding me completely secure against his chest.

We were frozen in a ridiculous, theatrical dip. My wide eyes were staring straight up into his incredibly amused amber ones.

"You over-committed to the strike, wife," Akira whispered, his face mere inches from mine. "A ghost never throws her entire weight into the first blow."

My face was so hot I was surprised my hair hadn’t caught fire. "Noted," I squeaked.

"Disgusting," Yuki groaned loudly from the cushions. "Absolutely repulsive. I am trying to eat an apple over here!"

"You two look like you’re dancing," Rin observed thoughtfully, taking another bite of her bun. "Uncle Kenji said dancing is just an excuse to hug in public."

Akira laughed, a rich, deep sound that vibrated right through my spine. He effortlessly pulled me back up onto my feet, completely ignoring the children.

"Again," Akira commanded, his eyes shining with enjoyment. "Keep your center of gravity low."

For the next hour, we drilled.

It was exhausting. The iron fan was heavy, and my arms were burning. But for the first time in my life, I felt capable. I wasn’t just a victim waiting to be rescued. I was learning to fight.

Akira was a surprisingly patient teacher. He corrected my stance, praised my footwork when I successfully dodged his slow, deliberate grabs, and never once made me feel stupid for not having magic.

"Good," Akira nodded as I successfully snapped the fan shut and used the solid iron base to block a practice strike from his bare hand. "Your instincts are sharp, Kitsune."

I wiped a line of sweat from my forehead, panting heavily. "Thank you. I think I’m getting the hang of—"

CAW! CAW!

The sharp, unnatural cry of a bird echoed through the massive dojo.

Everyone stopped. Tomoe paused mid-shout. The guards lowered their wooden swords.

Flying through one of the high, open ventilation windows was a massive raven. But it wasn’t a normal bird. It was made entirely of folded, glowing yellow paper. An onmyodo messenger construct.

The paper raven circled the room once before diving straight toward Akira.

It landed on the wooden floor between us. The moment its paper claws touched the wood, it burst into a shower of yellow sparks.

The sparks quickly rearranged themselves, burning words directly into the floorboards.

Akira stepped forward, his relaxed, teasing demeanor instantly evaporating. The terrifying Warlord was back. He stared down at the glowing letters, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

I walked up beside him, reading the message.

LORD KUROGANE. THE SECOND PRINCE HAS FALLEN ILL WITH A DEMONIC CURSE. THE EMPEROR DEMANDS THE PRESENCE OF THE SACRED NEKOMATA AT THE CAPITAL TO PURGE THE AFFLICTION. REFUSAL WILL BE CONSIDERED AN ACT OF WAR.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

They wanted Yuki.

I turned around. The twelve-year-old cat-boy was standing by the cushions, his apple completely forgotten. For the first time since I met him, the ancient, sassy spirit looked genuinely terrified.

"They’re lying," Yuki whispered, his turquoise eyes wide. "Jin doesn’t have a demonic curse. They just want me back in the capital so they can harvest my core."

Akira raised his heavy leather boot and stomped violently on the glowing yellow letters, instantly snuffing out the magic. The room plunged into absolute, dead silence.

He looked at Tomoe.

"Commander," Akira’s voice was absolute ice. "Lock down the fortress. Double the border patrols. No one enters or leaves the North without my direct permission."

Tomoe slammed her fist against her armored chest in a sharp salute. "Yes, My Lord!"

Akira turned to look at me, and then at the trembling cat-boy.

"We are not going back," Akira swore, blue spirit-fire flickering wildly around his clenched fists. "Let the Emperor declare his war. He will find out exactly why they call me a monster."