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The man heard the voice of the next Shinto Priest filled with anticipation and thought to himself.

“Indeed, Onmyoji are impressive.”

He interpreted the next Shinto Priest’s joy at meeting the Onmyoji as sheer excitement and felt that their exhilaration came from the honor of finally seeing a noble Onmyoji in person.

He didn’t find this “obvious” interpretation strange at all.

Onmyoji are remarkable, and indeed, a remarkable Onmyoji should naturally be respected by people.

It was only logical for people to be moved by their nobility and grace bestowed by the Onmyoji, and to treat them with respect.

This was common sense.

The “common sense” that Onmyoji were expected to possess and would undoubtedly have.

Thus, the man judged the next Shinto Priest according to his own common sense and took out a paper doll to summon a Shikigami to receive the proper “treatment.”

The summoned Shikigami took the form of a bird the size of a person.

He nervously mounted the Shikigami, which flapped its wings at his command, transporting him to the villa.

Not wanting to appear too hasty, he traveled leisurely, and although the pace was not fast, moving upwards to the sky was certainly quicker than driving a car.

And so the man arrived at the villa.

A place once ominously dubbed the “House of Death.”

It was where Saigo Shrine’s next Shinto Priest awaited him.

Clunk.

Was someone anxiously waiting for his arrival?

No sooner had he dismounted the Shikigami than the door of the villa swung open, and a Shamaness clad in a ritual outfit stepped forward to greet him.

She had long hair cascading like ebony.

With a youthful appearance that seemed to belong to someone in their late teens or early twenties, she exuded a peculiarly fox-like aura.

“Oh, you’ve come to greet me.”

“Welcome to the villa. Inside, the next Shinto Priest is waiting for you.”

The Shamaness opened the door and politely guided the man inside.

“Hmm. They sent a Shamaness to welcome me…,” he thought.

The man nodded with satisfaction at the next Shinto Priest’s “courteous” gesture of having someone like the Shamaness come to greet him, mentally giving the next Shinto Priest a higher score.

Of course, if the next Shinto Priest fell below his standards, that score would mean nothing.

As he followed behind the Shamaness, he surveyed the villa.

‘By the way, this doesn’t look haunted at all?’

The villa’s appearance had completely transformed.

Before the change in ownership, the “House of Death” truly lived up to its dreadful name, an eerie and chaotic environment where it wouldn’t have been surprising for ghosts to pop out at any moment. At the entrance, careless visitors had left graffiti, creating a mess.

Of course, it was a place where real ghosts would genuinely cause harm, so stepping just a little outside the entrance would eliminate the graffiti, but still…

Instead, it appeared as though some ghosts wreaked havoc with poltergeist activity; the windows were shattered, and doors were broken, with debris and trash scattered around. Moreover, fabric scraps clung to the windows, making it difficult to look inside, and residents even reported sightings of vague shapes passing through the fabric at night.

But what was the situation now?

Thick windows enveloped the villa, and all the broken and worn parts had been repaired. Not to mention, the place had apparently undergone an interior renovation that complemented the villa’s ambiance—everything felt vintage yet stylish, with a mix of modern and traditional decor scattered throughout.

Just based on its current appearance, one would struggle to believe this house was once known as the “House of Death.”

It felt like the work of one of Japan’s wealthiest individuals who put significant effort into its restoration.

However, there were still shortcomings.

‘Hmm. Seems like they lack an educated eye for art.’

It was the paintings hanging everywhere.

One and all were perplexing, bizarre, and hard to comprehend.

If they had displayed traditional Japanese art, or even famous artists’ works, or at the very least reproductions of Van Gogh or Gauguin, that would have been perfect.

‘How dreadful.’

Paintings that seemed to have been made by wildly swirling lines.

Pieces that looked as if they were created by shaking unmixable paints all around.

Paintings where strange characters gathered to form a house shape.

Pictures with odd shapes swirling together.

Art that managed to twist thin lines into something resembling a human face.

All of them were paintings utterly out of place in the villa.

One would think they belonged in an art museum rather than a villa.

‘If there’s a flaw to be found, it would definitely be that.’

As the man cast a disdainful glance at the paintings adorning the villa, he inwardly complained.

On another note, he couldn’t help but wonder whether the person he was about to meet would be someone with no refined taste at all.

“We have arrived.”

How long did they walk?

Finally, he reached his destination.

The Shamaness stopped before a door labeled ‘Reception Room.’

Reception.

The meaning of welcoming and entertaining a guest was fitting, as the door was truly grand.

It appeared to be crafted from the finest wood, adorned with an exquisite pattern that looked both antique and elegantly curved, as if handcrafted despite surely being birthed from the wood itself. The luster developed over the years radiated beauty, and although there were no gems or sparkling metals, the door stood so perfectly that it gave off a feeling of opulence.

Moreover, the hinges were not ordinary either.

The brass hinges seemed to boast geometric patterns, giving them a somewhat mystical quality.

With curves and dots overlapping, the designs hinted at characters or perhaps shapes that twisted and crossed to form letters.

If one were to express it in words… yes.

There existed a refinement that felt eroded by the passage of time.

“Hmm.”

The man let out a soft gasp at the sight of the striking door.

He found himself thinking that the next Shinto Priest might possess a refined understanding of beauty, and pondered if they could share appealing conversations together.

Yet, in spite of his hopes, the door remained closed.

Neither from inside nor outside did it budge.

The man looked at the Shamaness in confusion.

However, the Shamaness took a few steps back, as if knocking on the door was not her responsibility.

“My role is solely to guide you. It is your duty to announce your presence and open the door.”

“Oh really?”

The man found her statement “peculiar.”

Of course, he didn’t think it was odd.

Traditions vary from region to region, and clan to clan.

Just listening to tales from those working at the Onmyoji Bureau revealed a myriad of traditions.

Some seniors would live in feminine attire until the Shichigosan (celebration for children). Others talked about strange customs where males and females from certain families were completely separated and could only meet on designated dates.

‘So here, it seems there’s a tradition where the man must take the initiative.’

He assumed this was also part of the tradition.

Thinking it over, this wasn’t surprising.

In the case of noble families or ones involved in politics and economics, there’s usually a patriarchal atmosphere, so such traditions wouldn’t be strange there.

Knock knock.

Thus, the man knocked on the door.

Out of respect for the next Shinto Priest’s tradition.

He then cleared his throat loudly to announce his arrival, and after waiting a moment without the door opening, he realized he would have to open it himself and reached for the doorknob.

Click.

Once he turned it and the door opened, a myriad of candles came into view.

Inside the room, made from high-quality mahogany, candles fluttered and danced, the sheer number of them impossible to count at a glance.

On the wooden floor stood long candles, standing tall like a person’s forearm, spaced just enough to allow only one person to walk through.

The space between them was so small that one would inevitably step on a candle with an ordinary stride, and it seemed one could only tread lightly, balancing on their toes to avoid brushing against the candles.

Candles also adorned the walls.

Thick and long, resembling a person’s arm, they hung from the mahogany wall, the proximity to the candles presenting a terrifying risk of fire, as there wasn’t much space between the candles and the wall.

Additionally, numerous candles dangled from above.

Unlike how a chandelier is used to hang them, the candles were suspended by nearly invisible thin strings, creating an illusion that they floated in mid-air while ablaze.

And amid all those countless candles…

There was a person.

Clad in Shinto Priest garments and donning a fox mask, the man stood at the center of the fiery maze, arms outstretched, facing the door.

Though he should have appeared to be the gracious host welcoming a guest.

The fluttering flames of the candles and the shadows swaying in rhythm.

In a room where the only source of light was from the candles, his elegant presence stood unbothered.

It was a striking sight, one that evoked an almost yokai-like notion rather than that of a human being.

“Ahem.”

The man cleared his throat to shake off the bizarre ambiance.

“You’ve come.”

Reacting to the sound of his cough, the next Shinto Priest spoke as he slowly moved.

He glided gracefully along the narrow path formed by the closely arranged candles, walking over to the man and, when he reached him, extended a friendly gesture of welcome.

The next Shinto Priest lifted a hand to slightly raise his mask, revealing his face, and then extended his other hand as if to shake hands. The man began to reach out as well.

To shake hands.

As a sign of warmth.

And just as they leaned in close to grasp each other’s hands…

The next Shinto Priest, with an overly friendly tone, began to speak.

In what could be described as a very everyday conversation.

“I’m glad to meet you—”

A common phrase heard in business or exchanged during meetings.

Thus, for a brief moment, the man relaxed, letting go of his tension.

“—Nice to meet you—”

*Boom!*

The next Shinto Priest seized the moment of the man’s momentary gap and made his head explode.

 

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