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Chapter Text

The moon hung fat and pale over the Bamboo Forest of the Lost, bathing its silent stalks in silver. On the veranda of Eientei, the night was quiet save for the soft rhythm of pestles striking mortar, the rabbits at their eternal task of pounding mochi. The air smelled faintly of steamed rice and herbs, carried by the drifting smoke of a lantern.

Anaxa sat cross-legged, a cup of warm tea balanced between his hands. The dango laid before him was skewered neatly, its glaze glistening under the moonlight. Though peaceful, the air here carried a weight—this was not a place one visited by chance, nor was the host an ordinary one.

Across from him sat Yagokoro Eirin, the Lunarian pharmacist, her every movement composed with an elegance that could only belong to someone who had seen centuries pass like falling petals. She poured tea into his cup without hurry, as though even time itself would pause for her courtesy.

For a while, neither spoke. The crack of wood against stone from the courtyard kept steady rhythm with the night’s chorus of crickets. Only after the steam rose once more between them did the woman’s voice finally break the silence.

“You endured the procedure well,” she said, as if commenting on the weather. “Few can boast such resilience.”

Anaxa’s gaze drifted to the pestle-wielding rabbits, then back to his cup. The tea was fragrant, but there was a bitterness beneath it that did not belong to ordinary leaves.

The night’s calm belied what they had just done together. Hours earlier, within the dim-lit halls of Eientei, the veranda had echoed not with the sound of mochi-pounding, but with the careful ritual of extraction. Anaxa’s golden blood—liquid thought, divine residue, a heritage not meant for mortal instruments—had been drawn into crystal vials under Eirin’s steady hand.

The purpose was not healing, nor weaponry. It was creation.

With her usual poise, Eirin had set about her trial: to take the base essence of a rabbit youkai, fragile yet endlessly adaptive, and fuse it with the spark of divinity that coursed through Anaxa’s veins. On the surface, it was nothing more than alchemy refined to its highest pitch. In truth, it was closer to trespassing upon the work of the gods themselves.

The procedure, Eirin had warned him, would not be swift. His blood was unlike any she had studied before—not even the pure veins of Lunarians could compare to its strange density, its stubborn refusal to obey the ordinary laws of essence. She confessed this with a kind of delight veiled in clinical composure, as though the problem itself were a gift to her craft.

Anaxa, for his part, had trusted her. To him, Eirin was not merely a healer or a manipulator of poisons, but a fellow researcher. Their languages of reason and inquiry were different, yet he recognized in her the same hunger to peel back the veil of nature and see what lay beneath. If she said such a splice could be attempted, he would not stand in her way.

And yet, the nagging remained.

He had seen the initial stages: the careful extraction, the golden ichor siphoned from his veins into crystal phials that caught the moonlight like living flame. But once that was done, the process shifted beyond his reach. There had been transmutation involved, he was sure of it—arcane operations folded into lunar science, words and sigils whispered under Eirin’s steady breath.

And then there was her protégé. Reisen Udongein Inaba, loyal assistant, had not been standing at her mistress’s side this time. She had been strapped to the table, still as a patient in some hidden ward, her scarlet eyes glimmering with something between fear and obedience.

Anaxa had risen instinctively, a question on his lips. But Eirin’s smile stopped him. Gentle, courteous, but firm, she had ushered him from the chamber with words that allowed no refusal.

The door slid shut. Whatever happened next, whatever she wrought with his blood and the body of her dearest student, was kept behind that thin screen.

he second skewer of dango sat a little heavier in his stomach than the first. Sweet at the start, but strangely numbing toward the end. By the time he set the stick aside, Anaxa found his vision blurring at the edges, the courtyard rabbits shimmering like mirages pounding at an endless mortar.

He rubbed at his temple with one hand, willing the dizziness to clear. Eirin’s voice broke through like silk across glass.

“Oh dear. Feeling a little lightheaded?” she asked, smile unshaken, as though this were nothing more than a mild case of indigestion. “It happens to the best of us. A little too much sugar, perhaps. Or…” She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “A hidden hangover?”

Her hand drifted close, fingers poised as if to smooth over his hair. “Shall I give you a head massage?”

Anaxa straightened quickly, coughing into his sleeve in an effort to recover what composure remained. “That will not be necessary.” His tone was clipped but polite, the refusal of a man more embarrassed than offended.

The pounding in his skull deepened, every pulse like a hammer striking from the inside. His fingertips tingled, numb and uncooperative, as though his own body were quietly deserting him. He cast a glance at the cup beside him, suspicion hardening in his chest.

The tea?

But before he could push the thought further, Eirin’s voice slipped in, smooth as mercury.

“It wasn’t the drink,” she assured, as if plucking the doubt straight from his mind. Her tone was gentle, almost motherly—yet it froze his spine far worse than any poison might.

Anaxa turned his gaze downward. The plate lay innocent on the wooden floorboards, the last skewer of dango untouched. And yet—there it was. When the moonlight caught it just so, he could see the filling glimmer faintly, streaked with green and gold. His blood, folded neatly into a sweet.

His lone eye widened.

In an instant, he was on his feet. The veranda blurred into the hallway as he staggered inside, one hand clamped to his temple, the other groping blindly against the wall for support. The pillars seemed to sway, sliding back and forth as though mocking his steps.

Behind him, soft footsteps followed at a leisurely pace.

“Careful now,” Eirin’s voice sang from the dark, her smile almost audible. “Wouldn’t want you to trip and bruise that fine specimen of a body, would we?”

Her shadow lengthened across the shoji, closing in as the world tilted around him.

His mind screamed the order to flee, to spread wings he no longer had, to summon strength that refused to answer. But his limbs betrayed him, vanishing one by one into numbness until he collapsed onto the wooden floor.

It felt, in that instant, as though he were being forced into a box too small for his shape. His body folded inward, crushed against itself, warped at angles no creature should endure. He did not see what became of his arms and legs; his single wide eye caught only the flickering of the lantern light, warping as though mocking him.

He thought of the laboratory earlier, of the restrained figure on the table. The muffled scream of Reisen, his only hint at what had transpired once he had been ushered out. He had chosen not to ask then. Now, with the same scream echoing in his skull, he regretted his silence.

The pressure snapped, and darkness swallowed him.

When his vision returned, the sensation that greeted him was… softness. Not the grain of wood or the bite of cold earth, but fabric—his entire body wrapped in it, clinging strangely against shapes that were not his own.

From behind him came a voice rich with satisfaction.

“Ah, splendid. A successful experiment, if I do say so myself.” Eirin’s delight was unmistakable, a quiet melody of triumph.

Anaxa blinked his lone eye, the world around him somehow too wide, too tall. The familiar curtain of his bangs no longer hung in view. Instead, his vision stretched unbroken, as though someone had polished the horizon itself just for him.

He shifted on the floor—and promptly bounced. His rear end gave a springy little recoil, more cushion than dignity, and his tail flicked behind him in a way that very much was not under his command.

“…What?”

His gaze fell to the chrome jar resting by the wall, its polished surface catching the lantern light. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned closer.

The reflection that stared back was not a scholar, nor sage, nor anything remotely human. It was a round-bodied creature patched together like a child’s stuffed toy, with stubby limbs, a single oversized blue eye, and a little horn poking out where his forehead ought to be. His fur looked plush, his mouth too small for eloquence, and his tail twitched like it had far too much personality of its own.

Anaxa raised one paw—paw!—and prodded at his cheek. It squished inward with a springy resilience. He tried the other cheek. Squish.

“…No way.”

He, Anaxagoras is a Chimera.

Determined, he twisted about and caught sight of the offending tail. It wagged innocently, soft and fluffy, before giving a playful flick as though mocking him.

Anaxa forced himself to breathe—if his little plush lungs even counted as breathing anymore. The reflection still blinked back at him: the chubby, one-eyed chimera of Amphoreus, looking like a child’s caricature of the sage he once was. He tried to gather his thoughts, to construct some logical chain of what had just transpired, what he ought to do next.

But logic faltered. Something primal tugged at him instead—an unfamiliar ripple of instinct. His new body trembled, his tiny fur bristling. Not because of the cold. Because of her.

Slowly, cautiously, Anaxa turned his oversized eye upward.

Eirin stood over him. No longer the composed host pouring tea, nor the polite researcher reciting observations. Her gaze was sharp, almost feverish, a smile tugging at her lips that was equal parts fascination and hunger. In the lantern light, he swore he could see the faint puff of her breath, slow and deliberate.

“My, my…” she whispered, voice dripping with sweetness that clung like syrup. “You’ve turned into something so… adorable.”

She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing, her breath warm against his fur.

“So fluffy,” she continued, a little sigh escaping her throat. “I could almost… taste you.”

Anaxa squeaked involuntarily, every stubby limb flailing at once as his tail wagged in panic. Of all the fates he had imagined—being dissected, weaponized, even destroyed—he had not prepared himself for being treated like a rabbit-shaped confection by the brain of the moon herself.

“A-Awoo..?” 

Anaxa puffed up his little chest, his lone eye narrowing as he prepared a sharp retort. He was still Anaxagoras, scholar of reason, not some toy for her amusement. He would not be belittled, no matter the form.

“Stop this at once, Lady Yagokoro—!” Or at least, that’s what he thought he said.

What reached Eirin’s ears, however, was a squeaky, high-pitched:

“Awoo! Awoo!”

The sound bounced off the veranda walls like a puppy begging for scraps. Anaxa froze. His tail betrayed him with a wag. He tried again, louder, desperate to restore some dignity.

“Awoo?? Awoo-woo!”

Eirin’s eyes widened, her smile curling into something dangerous. Then—she giggled. Actually giggled. “Oh heavens,” she murmured, lowering herself to her knees so she could loom closer. “You protest so seriously, and yet… listen to you.” Her fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to scoop him up. “So precious. I can hardly stand it.”

Anaxa’s stubby paws slapped the floor in frustration. His cheeks squished against themselves as he tried to scowl, but to Eirin it only made him look more like an overstuffed plush doll.

From a distance, the scene might have looked wholesome. A kind-hearted, beautiful pharmacist watching over a small, round creature with the fondness of a caretaker. The rabbits in the courtyard would have seen nothing unusual—just their mistress regarding some curious animal that had wandered into her veranda.

But from Anaxa’s view, staring up through his lone wide eye, the truth was unbearable.

He saw it clearly: the gleam hidden beneath her smile, the delicate fingers that drifted ever closer with surgical precision. Not the touch of affection, but of ownership. Not comfort, but the prelude to dissection.

It was like glimpsing the future—his future—if he failed to move now. A fate where he would spend the rest of the night not as a guest, not even as a subject, but as a specimen. He could almost feel the phantom sting of scalpels, the tug of threads stitching fur where flesh had been, the endless parade of “tests” in the name of knowledge.

Eirin’s smile never wavered. To anyone else, it promised warmth. But to Anaxa, it promised pain.

Her hand reached closer, closer, hovering just above his plush head as her breath tickled the air. “Don’t be shy,” she cooed, voice as sweet as syrup. “I’ll take very good care of you…”

His tail twitched, his instincts screaming at him louder than his reason could. He had to move—now.

And he did.

Anaxa himself could not explain what possessed his new body in that instant—whether it was raw instinct, sheer panic, or some primal animal reflex buried deep within his altered form. One second he was frozen beneath Eirin’s looming shadow, the next his small, round body had launched forward with surprising speed.

Behind him rang out the sharp cry of his would-be captor. “Ah—wait! You’ll ruin the test sample!”

He didn’t look back. He didn’t dare.

Down the hallway he bolted, tiny paws slapping against polished wood, his garments scattering behind him like discarded shells. His once dignified kimono and hakama now lay strewn across the floor as he barreled forward—leaving only the bouncy absurdity of his chimera frame on full display.

The pursuit was instant. The thunder of soft paws and the clang of mochi mallets followed him, Lunarian rabbits hopping with uncanny discipline as they gave chase. To an onlooker, it would have seemed ridiculous: a fluffy one-eyed beast leading an army of tiny hammer-wielding pursuers through the halls under the silver glow of the moon. But to Anaxa, it was nothing short of life or death.

He burst into the Bamboo Forest of the Lost, where shadows tangled like living things. The familiar tricks of the forest, its illusions and misleading paths, would have doomed any normal creature to exhaustion and capture. But Anaxa had a weapon no rabbit could match—his eye.

Even as he stumbled on four legs, his oversized head nearly throwing him off balance, the lone eye scanned the fog and the trees. He pierced through the lies, cut through the haze of illusions, and carved his way forward using the faint trails of jyaki that betrayed falsehood from reality.

It was ungainly, absurd, and entirely undignified. His tail puffed like a terrified pompom, his cheeks wobbled each time he stumbled, and yet somehow, impossibly, his legs kept him moving.

Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps it was reason.

Or perhaps it was simply the oldest drive of all—survival.

The night seemed to blur past him, every rustle of bamboo or snapping twig amplifying his fear that another squad of hammer-wielding rabbits would appear out of nowhere. At last, though, the chase fell away. The pounding of paws behind him ceased, the thumping hammers faded into the distance, and silence returned to the forest.

Anaxa lay low in a clump of bushes, his green-furred body blending mercifully with the bamboo shadows. For a few eternal moments, he did not move, barely daring to breathe, his lone eye darting from side to side. Then, at last, when the faint sounds of his pursuers truly faded back into the labyrinth, he let out a long, shaky sigh.

Freedom. For now.

When the rabbits had finally given up and returned to Eientei, he crawled out from his hiding spot, his fur dusted with leaves and twigs. His body still felt alien—stubby legs, puffed-out tail, a face rounder than he would ever admit—but at least he was alive.

The main path through the bamboo was too open, too dangerous. So he stuck to the undergrowth, padding along awkwardly on four legs. The darkness weighed heavy, broken only by slivers of moonlight. Each step felt like a battle with his own body—his head wobbling on his small shoulders, his paws clumsy compared to the precision his hands once had.

But still, he pressed forward.

The Human Village… he had to reach it. He had to find Byakuren. She, at least, would listen. Even if his voice was reduced to pitiful “awoos,” his patched eye should be enough to tell her who he was. A small, faint hope sparked in his chest: if anyone could make sense of this, if anyone could reverse what had been done, it was her.

By the time Anaxa finally staggered out of the bamboo forest and saw the tall, familiar wooden gates of the Human Village, it felt like he had been walking for centuries. His stubby little legs ached, his head wobbled like a poorly balanced melon, and his tail was twitching uncontrollably. But at last—civilization.

Relief bubbled in his chest. He could already picture Byakuren’s calm face, her voice of reason, her willingness to help him unravel this nightmare. Yes, all he had to do was walk up, explain himself, and—

“Y-YOUKAI!”

The sudden shriek from the gatekeeper cut his thoughts in half. Anaxa froze, his lone eye going wide.

Before he could even manage an “Awoo” of protest, the gatekeeper was already waving frantically and shouting. In a matter of seconds, villagers poured out—armed with pitchforks, farming tools, and more torches than anyone logically needed.

Anaxa’s jaw would have dropped if his little chimera body had allowed it. Instead, he stumbled back on his stubby legs as the angry mob surged toward him.

“Awoo! Awoo awoooo!” he tried to shout desperately.

But to the villagers, it only sounded like a weird youkai howling in defiance. Pitchforks jabbed the air, torches waved dangerously close to his fur, and someone in the crowd yelled, “It’s trying to curse us!”

And so, for the second time that night, Anaxa found himself fleeing in a panic—this time not from trained moon rabbits with hammers, but from angry farmers with the collective confidence of a self-defense force and the coordination of a stampede.

Anaxa ran until his tiny lungs burned, until the clamor of angry villagers faded into the night behind him. His little paws slapped against the dirt, each step sending a jolt of pain through his stubby legs. He didn’t even know where he was anymore—just that it was dark, cold, and far from anywhere safe.

The night wind brushed against his fur, making him shiver despite the fluff covering his body. It wasn’t the kind of noble endurance he was used to, but something far more pitiful—like a baby animal struggling to run on legs that had barely learned to walk.

Finally, his one eye began to droop, heavy with exhaustion. Every breath felt like a sigh. His body ached, his tail twitched weakly, and even his sharp mind—so used to dissecting logic and reason—had gone hazy.

He stumbled into a patch of grass, circled clumsily a few times, and flopped down like a sack of potatoes. The earth was hard, but right now it might as well have been a bed of clouds.

“…Awoo…” he muttered softly, though whether it was meant as a protest, a curse, or a prayer, even he wasn’t sure.

And so, beneath the cold moonlight, the chimera who was once Anaxa drifted into uneasy sleep—alone, tired, and still wearing an eyepatch far too serious for a body so round. Tomorrow, he thought dimly, he would sort this out. Tomorrow, he would find someone who could help.

For tonight… he simply surrendered to slumber.

The night had been cold, biting at him in a way that made his little body curl tighter against the ground. For a moment, Anaxa thought bitterly of beggars he had once seen sleeping on the fringes of villages, those without homes or hearths to shield them. He had never imagined he would understand their plight so directly.

And then—warmth.

It came slowly at first, seeping into his fur, until his whole round body was wrapped in it. A softness pressed against his back, hands—gentle, almost motherly—stroking along his head, down his tiny shoulders, kneading comfort into his aching frame. His tail twitched on instinct, wagging in a way he could not control, betraying his enjoyment of the strange luxury.

It was… suspicious. He was alone, wasn’t he? No one had followed him. No one should be here.

The thought cut through his haze of comfort like a knife. His lone eye snapped open.

The first thing he saw was red.

Not flame, not blood—but a pair of crimson eyes gazing down at him with lazy curiosity. He blinked, and the shape of a woman’s chest filled his vision, soft fabric brushing against his cheek. Slowly, his gaze tracked upward: a towering figure with a smile curling at her lips, one hand still resting casually atop his head.

“Well,” the unfamiliar voice chimed, light and airy, “so you are awake.”

Anaxa froze. His instincts screamed at him even before his reason caught up. Whoever this was, it wasn’t safety he had stumbled into.

The sight of her lingered in his mind, pulling scraps of memory from Akyuu’s careful records. A woman with eyes like blood under moonlight, her presence rooted in the fields of endless flowers. A name spoken in fearful tones by villagers, one Anaxa had skimmed in texts and dismissed as exaggerated folklore.

But there was no mistaking her now.

Kazami Yuuka.

The Ultimate Sadistic Creature.

The very title made his fur bristle.

Her crimson gaze locked onto his lone eye, and she smiled—a smile far too wide, far too calm, the kind that promised mischief and danger in equal measure. She kept petting him with steady, almost affectionate strokes, one hand ruffling the top of his head, the other running down his back. To an outside eye, it might have looked serene, like a woman cradling a cherished pet in her lap.

But to Anaxa, sitting trapped in her embrace, every touch was a reminder of how easily she could crush him if she so chose.

“Mm,” Yuuka hummed lightly, as if savoring the feel of his fur beneath her fingertips. “So soft… so strange… yet so very alive.”

Her fingers tapped his side gently, and her smile only deepened.

“I don’t recall letting any new creatures into my garden. Tell me—what exactly are you?”

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Anaxa had learned since arriving in this strange land, it was that he was a trouble magnet of the highest order. Somehow, no matter how cautious he tried to be, curiosity dragged him headfirst into chaos.

Byakuren’s words came back to him in a sharp flash, her tone gentle but weary as she folded her arms: “You must be careful. Your curiosity invites peril the way lantern light invites moths.”

At the time, he had dismissed it with a wry smile. Now, sitting in Kazami Yuuka’s lap like a prize rabbit, he wondered if he should have listened a little more closely.

Not only had his once dignified, stoic human form been reduced to a round melon blob of fur and mismatched features—but somehow, in the span of one night, he had gone from almost being a lab rat in the Bamboo Forest to becoming the unwilling pet of Gensokyo’s most feared flower master. A woman who looked human, almost delicate, yet carried strength on par with Byakuren herself.

It was a scenario so absurd that he almost laughed.

And then Yuuka, without even asking, placed a small wooden bowl in front of him. A doggy bowl. Where in the world had she even gotten one? Worse still, it was already filled—with something that suspiciously resembled pet food, set down with a flourish like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Anaxa stared at the bowl. Then at Yuuka. Then back at the bowl.

“…Awoo?” he tried, which was meant to convey: Surely, you jest.

Yuuka’s smile curved in that terrifyingly sweet way of hers, as though the very idea of protest was more entertaining than offense. “Eat up, little one. You’ll need your strength.”

Anaxa lowered his head toward the bowl, resigned to at least pretend interest for survival’s sake. One sniff, however, nearly undid his composure entirely.

The stench assaulted him instantly—like a stew of leftovers left to rot, mashed together into some grotesque paste and then… reassembled. It wasn’t even cooked properly, merely compressed into lumps that defied all reason. His nose wrinkled, and for the first time since becoming a chimera, he was grateful he didn’t have two eyes to roll in disgust.

This wasn’t food. It was punishment.

Yet Yuuka sat across from him, chin resting lightly on her hand, crimson gaze fixed on him with unblinking amusement. Her pupils, narrow as a cat’s, shimmered faintly as she tilted her head.

“What’s wrong?” she asked sweetly. “You haven’t taken a bite.”

Anaxa froze under that gaze. His tail twitched nervously, and his round body tensed like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Yuuka’s smile widened, the kind of smile that could brighten a garden or precede a massacre—there was no telling which. “It’s delicious, you know,” she continued airily. “Made of the finest thing I could imagine for a little youkai like you…”

She leaned closer, her lips brushing against the rim of the word like it was a secret meant only for him.

“Human meat.”

Anaxa’s lone eye bulged. His entire round frame stiffened, a tiny squeak escaping his throat that betrayed the scream in his mind.

“A-awoOoo??!!”

To Yuuka, it was just a cute little howl. To him, it was the sound of a scholar’s dignity crumbling to dust.

That single statement—human meat, served in a doggy bowl—was more than enough for Anaxa’s survival instincts to kick in. With a sharp squeak, he spun on his stubby legs and bolted toward the nearest door.

He leapt once. His little paws slapped uselessly against the wood. He leapt again, higher this time, but the handle loomed just out of reach, taunting him like a prize dangled before a child. His tail wiggled with the effort, his one eye squinting in sheer desperation.

fwump.

He was lifted off the ground, legs flailing wildly, caught by the scruff of his neck. Yuuka held him effortlessly, dangling him in the air like a misbehaving kitten. Her crimson gaze looked him over with a sigh that was equal parts weary and amused.

“What am I going to do with you?” she murmured.

Anaxa squirmed furiously, paws paddling at the air, his lone eye blazing with outrage. “Awoo! Awooo!” (Put me down this instant, you fiend!)

Yuuka tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she studied the little green blob wriggling in her grasp. For a brief, terrible moment, Anaxa imagined her tossing him into the bowl, seasoning him with salt, and calling it a night.

But instead, his stomach betrayed him.

Grumble.

The sound was embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. Anaxa froze in mortification, his face heating beneath his fur.

Yuuka blinked once. Then her lips curled into a slow, devilish smile. Without warning, she pressed her face against his round belly and blew a loud raspberry.

“Bfffthhbt!”

Anaxa squeaked like a squeaky toy, his whole body jerking as Yuuka made obnoxious baby sounds. “Oooooh, such a stubborn little one,” she cooed, rubbing her cheek against his fur while blowing another raspberry on his stomach. “So fussy! So hard to please!”

“A-Awoo?!?!” (Unhand me, you demon!!)

Yuuka, apparently having decided on her role as caretaker, shifted him into the crook of one arm. Anaxa dangled there helplessly, cradled like an overgrown plush toy, while her other hand oh-so-casually scooped up the slab of meat from the doggy bowl.

She lifted it high, eyes gleaming.

“Vrooom… here comes the airplane~” she sang, waving the meat in little circles through the air as though she were feeding a fussy toddler.

Anaxa’s lone eye went wide. He turned his head away sharply, nose scrunching, paws stiff in protest. “AWOO! AWOO!” (Don’t you dare! That is human meat!!)

But Yuuka only leaned closer, her voice syrupy and merciless.

“Open wide for mama.”

The flower master wagged the dripping morsel right in front of his face, moving it side to side, left to right, tracing little loop-de-loops. The rich smell made his stomach knot, though whether from hunger or terror, he wasn’t sure.

Anaxa squirmed with all his might, but her grip was unbreakable. He tried to bury his face against her arm, turning away like a child refusing their vegetables. His tail twitched furiously in outrage.

Yuuka gave a playful sigh. “Oh, so difficult… Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

And before Anaxa could react—

THWOP!

The meat was shoved directly into his mouth.

His eye bulged, jaw frozen open in shock as the world itself seemed to grind to a halt. Somewhere, he swore he heard violins screeching. The air grew heavy, the colors drained, and every heartbeat sounded like a war drum echoing in the void.

Even Yuuka’s triumphant cheer seemed to stretch in surreal slow motion “Yaaaaaay~! He ate it~~!”

Her voice echoed like a distorted record, her smile glowing like a saintly halo, while Anaxa sat paralyzed, the chunk of forbidden meat wedged between his teeth.

For a moment, he truly tried to reason with himself.

Yes, he was deranged. Yes, he had done questionable things in the name of truth and knowledge. And yes, sacrifices were required — the law of equivalent exchange demanded it. But never once had that meant this.

Teaching had never put “consume suspicious meat from a dog bowl while being cradled like an infant” on the curriculum.

And so, like any rational man of learning pushed too far, Anaxa made his decision.

PFFTTHHH!

Without the faintest shred of ceremony, he spat the whole meat straight into Yuuka’s face.

It was a clean, unhesitating launch — propelled with the force of a ballistic experiment. Tiny scraps clung to her cheek, one particularly insulting shred hanging from her eyelashes like a grotesque teardrop.

Yuuka froze mid–“bweeeeh~ baby happy airplane noises~.” The silence was absolute, as though the entire room, had been vacuum-sealed in shock.

Her wide, sadistic grin remained plastered in place, but her eyes twitched — just barely.

The world blurred for Anaxa. One moment he was smugly remarking on the inferior culinary standards of Gensokyo, the next—

SLAM!

He didn’t even have time to blink before he found himself flattened against the tatami, the weight of Yuuka’s sandal pinning his squishy chimera body like he was no more than a decorative rug.

“Bad doggy,” she sang sweetly, almost like a lullaby.

Then came the sting.

A duster—where on earth did she even get a duster?—came down squarely on his little rear. His tail puffed like a startled cat as his whole body convulsed from the impact.

“Bad doggy needs discipline~,” Yuuka crooned with the delight of someone watering her roses.

THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!

Each smack jolted him like a lightning strike, making his tiny legs flail uncontrollably. He twitched, squeaked, even let out an involuntary little “awoo!” that only seemed to encourage her more.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, through the haze of humiliation, Anaxa had time to contemplate his life choices

Anaxa whimpered pathetically, his little body twitching from the lingering sting of Yuuka’s “discipline.” His tail curled tight against his side like a frightened rabbit’s, and he felt his fur stand on end as the flower master scooped him back up with one hand.

Her crimson eyes studied him with the curiosity of a child about to pull apart a bug’s wings.

“…This eyepatch,” she murmured, her grip tightening around his scruff until he swore he could feel his fur pulling straight out of his skin. “It reminds me of someone.”

Anaxa froze.

Her smile widened, slow and sharp.

“Yes… there was that obnoxious little scholar at the temple,” Yuuka said, voice soft as honey but sharp as thorns. “The one who once dared to pluck my flowers for… experiments.”

Her crimson pupils narrowed as she leaned closer, nose almost brushing against his fur.

“Tell me… little one. Are you… related to him?”

Her fingers tightened again, and the pressure shot a cold bolt of dread down Anaxa’s tiny spine. It was Byakuren’s hug of death all over again—except instead of warm motherly suffocation, this felt like being one careless twitch away from being smeared across the tatami like green jam.

Inside his mind, panic rang like bells.

With the kind of desperation only found in men on the brink of annihilation, Anaxa went limp in her hands, letting out the weakest, most pitiful whine he could muster, followed by a submissive little “awoo…”

His one eye darted upward to gauge her reaction, and for once, the mighty scholar of Amphoreus… committed fully to the humiliating role of “obedient pet.”

Anything to avoid becoming Yuuka’s next flower fertilizer.

The air within Myouren Temple was still—so still that even without the monks’ sutras, one could feel the quiet weight pressing against the walls. The main guest room, usually reserved for moments of solemn meditation, now carried something different: a tension like incense smoke that clung to the tatami mats.

Ichirin moved carefully down the corridor, the faint clink of porcelain on her tray betraying her steady hands. A pot of steaming tea, delicate cups, and a small dish of rice crackers rested upon it. She paused before the sliding door, tapped politely, and waited.

“Come in,” came Byakuren’s calm voice, faint yet firm through the paper panels.

Sliding the shoji aside, Ichirin entered, bowing low as the subtle atmosphere of the room enveloped her. A group of women sat arranged in formal court-like fashion upon the tatami, each carrying an aura that spoke of power, divinity, or sheer presence. They faced one another across the low table, expressions measured, silence pressing heavier than words.

Ichirin kept her eyes downcast, careful not to linger too long on any one figure. She moved with practiced grace, kneeling before each guest to place their cup and offering of crackers. A faint curl of steam rose between them, mingling in the air like veiled intentions.

Though no words were spoken as she worked, Ichirin could feel the weight of their gazes—the gathering of beings whose names alone could unsettle mortals. She bowed once more after completing her task and quietly retreated, leaving the women to their unspoken calculations and the quiet simmer of tea.

Byakuren sat quietly at the end of the table, hands folded neatly upon her lap, her serene smile more an act of spiritual discipline than actual calm. Surrounded by the most powerful—and arguably most eccentric—women in Gensokyo, she could not help but feel out of place.

What in the Buddha’s name am I doing here?

She had been told this was an urgent gathering, but as Eirin cleared her throat, the “urgency” began to feel suspiciously whimsical.

“The meeting of the Forever Seventeen Years Old-Maiden Alliance,” Eirin declared, voice sharp and ceremonial.

In perfect, disturbingly synchronized chorus, the others repeated, “Forever Seventeen Years Old Maiden Alliance!”

The air trembled with enthusiasm.

Byakuren’s smile twitched. She tried not to make eye contact with anyone—especially the one sitting two cushions down who had already started fanning herself dramatically.

Eirin adjusted her glasses, visibly proud of herself as she continued, “Ladies, as you all know, our shared goal is the pursuit of eternal youth and timeless beauty—preserving our divine radiance and maidenly charm beyond the laws of time itself.”

The others clapped lightly, almost as if applauding herself.

“Indeed, maintaining divinity starts with appearance.”

“Oh, I love where this is going. Continue, Doctor.”

Byakuren wanted to vanish into her robe.

Eirin, thoroughly encouraged by the reception, continued with confidence. “Today, I am pleased to announce that I have made progress in synthesizing an elixir related to the mythical Fountain of Youth—a solution that, when completed, could grant eternal vitality to anyone who bathes in it. Youthful skin, eternal grace, and possibly…” she paused with a sly grin, “...reversal of minor aging signs.”

That was all it took.

Yukari’s fan snapped open with delight. “Sister Yagokoro, my dear genius, you’re about to become the most beloved woman in Gensokyo!”

The others nodded in agreement, their “seventeen-year-old” dignity hanging by a thread.

“However…”

That single word alone froze even Yukari mid-sip of tea. The tension returned like a cold draft.

“There has been,” Eirin continued with a dramatic pause, “a… setback.”

The word setback carried weight. Kanako straightened, Yuyuko leaned forward curiously, and Yukari’s fan lowered by a fraction. Even Byakuren’s earlier embarrassment gave way to cautious attention.

Eirin adjusted her glasses again—glinting like the reflection of a scalpel—before her gaze drifted, almost deliberately, toward Byakuren.

“The process of refining the elixir requires a divine catalyst,” she said smoothly. “And for that, I need something rather… unique. A certain golden substance that defies mortal chemistry—Anaxagoras-san blood.”

Byakuren nearly choked on her tea.

“P—Pardon?” she stammered, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “You’re not suggesting using his blood for—”

“For the advancement of medical and metaphysical science,” Eirin interrupted pleasantly, as if discussing the weather. “Do not misunderstand, Sister Hijiri. I am a professional.”

“Professional or not,” Byakuren shot back, hands trembling slightly, “you’re speaking of a person’s blood, not a laboratory reagent!”

Yukari chuckled, fanning herself lazily. “Oh, come now, Sister. You make it sound so sinister. He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

“That is not the point!”

Eirin, ignoring the brewing moral storm, continued in her usual poised tone, “Besides, he agreed. Voluntarily. In exchange for several pharmaceutical products exclusive to the Moon—a fair trade, I’d say. Even scholars must eat… or in his case, experiment.”

Byakuren’s lips parted in disbelief. “He what?! He agreed to that?!”

“Naturally. He found the concept of creating a new hybrid species—between god and youkai—fascinating.”

The others murmured approvingly. Yuyuko tilted her head, smiling dreamily. “A hybrid being… how poetic.”

“Or a hilarious disaster. Either way, I approve.”

Byakuren could only stare, her serenity breaking at the edges. Somewhere, somehow, she knew this would end in chaos.

Eirin took another delicate sip of tea before continuing, tone as cool as moonlight.
“Now, before anyone grows concerned—” she began, glancing at Byakuren, who was visibly already concerned—“I assure you, we only require about half of the blood in his body.”

The room went silent.

“Half,” Byakuren repeated, her voice a fragile whisper on the verge of breaking.

Eirin nodded, perfectly composed. “Of course. And before you fret, I’ll ensure he doesn’t die. In fact…” She adjusted her glasses, eyes gleaming behind the reflection. “I’m not entirely certain he can die.”

Byakuren’s mouth fell open. “Th—that is not reassuring!”

But her outburst was quickly drowned out by the delighted murmurs of the others.

Kanako leaned forward, impressed. “Half a body’s worth of divine ichor? Fascinating. Truly, only the Lunarian genius could manage something so daring.”

 “And she’ll even keep him alive for the sequel~ how efficient!”

“It’s like having a self-replenishing sacred resource. Very sustainable. We could almost call him a… renewable faith battery.”

Byakuren’s composure cracked completely. “‘Renewable—’?! You’re talking about him like he’s some kind of blood bank!”

Eirin, still smiling faintly, waved a hand dismissively. “Please, Sister Hijiri. Don’t be melodramatic. He offered himself for science. And you of all people should appreciate noble self-sacrifice.”

Byakuren pressed her palms together, whispering as if to keep herself from yelling. “There are limits to noble sacrifice.”

Before she could gather herself, Yuyuko raised her fan and sang out, “All in favor of approving Sister Yagokoro's continuation of research, say ‘aye!’”

“Aye,” Kanako chimed in.

“Aye,” Yukari echoed sweetly.

Eirin inclined her head modestly, “I’ll abstain, out of humility.”

Byakuren blinked. “You what—”

“The motion passes by majority vote,” Yuyuko declared, almost clapping her hands like a child announcing dessert.

Byakuren slumped slightly, disbelief and moral exhaustion washing over her. “You can’t possibly be serious…”

“Ah, before we celebrate prematurely, there is one slight complication.”

The table quieted again.

She folded her hands, her expression a perfect imitation of professional calm. “Last night, during our post-experiment discussion, an… incident occurred.”

“What sort of incident?”

Eirin smiled—too smoothly. “The subject in question, Anaxagoras-san, has… temporarily removed himself from the premises.”

“Removed himself?” Yukari arched a brow. “You mean escaped?”

Eirin coughed into her hand. “That would be one interpretation, yes. He appeared to experience an unexpected physiological reaction—a rare but not entirely harmful outcome of the procedure.”

The word escaped seemed to reverberate through the council chamber, heavier than any ritual chant. For an instant, nobody moved. Even the great hall, decorated with divine symbols and offerings, fell utterly still. Then came a sharp gasp—followed by Yuyuko’s shriek, the kind of sound that could shatter glass and make ghosts cover their ears.

“What do you mean our path to eternal youth is delayed?!” Yuyuko demanded, rising half out of her seat and fanning herself furiously. “You’re telling me one little scholar just walked away with the key to everlasting beauty?”

Her fury looked ridiculous and imperial at once, as though someone had stolen her favorite dessert right out of her hands.

Eirin, in contrast, only chuckled, low and velvety, like an apothecary who had seen this a thousand times before. She adjusted her glasses and smiled faintly, her voice carrying a dangerous calm.

“It’s nothing more than a hiccup, Sister Saigyouji. Once he’s retrieved, I will take the liberty of draining the rest of his golden blood. Thoroughly, of course. Then we may all take a restorative bath in its warmth, and no such ‘delays’ will trouble us again.”

The glint of her smile froze Byakuren where she sat. It was as if Eirin were describing not a crime, but a medical procedure.

Yukari applauded lightly with the tip of her fan, her expression unreadable. “You see? Efficiency. That’s what this alliance needs.”

Kanako hummed in approval, her arms folded. “Effective. A little grisly, perhaps—but what is youth without sacrifice?”

Yuyuko slammed her fan to the floor like a gavel. “Then it’s settled! We brand Anakusagorashuu a fugitive! Wanted, captured, delivered—intact if possible, but I won’t be too picky.”

Byakuren leapt to her feet, horrified. “What nonsense is this? He’s no criminal! This is cruelty!”

But Yuyuko only leaned lazily against her armrest, already bored with the debate. “Oh, hush. Let’s put it to a vote.”

“Aye,” Yukari chimed smoothly.

“Aye,” Kanako said, her voice like the final stone of a shrine being set in place.

“Aye,” Eirin added, eyes glittering, “with pleasure.”

Every gaze turned to Byakuren, the lone dissenter. Her hands were trembling as she clasped them before her chest. “You people… you’ve all gone mad.”

“Motion carried!” Yuyuko announced triumphantly, sweeping her fan in a wide arc. “By majority decree of the Forever Seventeen Years Old Maiden Alliance, the fugitive Anaxa-san shall be hunted down, so that we may all remain youthful and radiant until the end of days!”

Eirin bowed with the composure of a physician announcing her next appointment. “The moon rabbits will begin the search immediately.”

The meeting grew steadily more absurd the longer it dragged on. Once the vote was sealed, the atmosphere lightened—as though the women had just agreed on where to have lunch instead of conspiring to bleed a man dry. The room rang with cheerful applause, folding fans fluttered like the wings of butterflies, and smiles spread among faces that should have known better.

“No more tiresome facades!” Kanako declared with a satisfied grin. “No more pretending to be matronly figures or respectable deities when all we want is smooth skin!”

“Yes, yes!” Yuyuko agreed with dangerous enthusiasm, her fan snapping open again. “Why, if I could have cheeks as plump as mochi once more, I’d gladly trade half of Youmu’s vaults. Or better yet—” She leaned forward, eyes shining with inspiration. “We can simply drink the blood fresh! Straight from the source! Oh, what a lovely flavor youth must have.”

Eirin, expression unchanging, merely took a note on her parchment. “Noted. Though boiling it into a proper decoction might yield a more stable effect.”

“Oh no, no,” Yuyuko corrected, wagging her fan. “Stew. Golden-blood stew. With mushrooms. It’ll be divine.”

Byakuren’s knuckles whitened against her lap. Was this really happening? She glanced at Yukari, hoping for a sliver of reason, but the gap youkai was already on her feet, beaming like a girl about to open her birthday presents.

“Ran! Chen!” Yukari sang sweetly, tearing reality open beside her with the sweep of her fan. Out popped a flustered fox and a blinking cat, both stumbling onto the tatami floor. “My darlings, your mistress has a very special errand for you. A treasure hunt! Somewhere in the Bamboo Forest of the Lost, our little golden fountain is wandering. Find him. Bring him back.”

Ran bowed, sighing with the resignation of someone used to impossible orders. Chen simply tilted her head, chirping, “Treasure hunt? Yay!” before bounding off without waiting for instructions.

The council cooed in delight at Yukari’s initiative, their minds already racing ahead to the silken glow of eternal beauty. And then Yuyuko started humming what sounded suspiciously like a recipe.

That was the final straw.

Namusan!

Byakuren slammed her hands together in prayer so hard the sound cracked through the chamber like a temple bell. Everyone jumped, the gathered divinities blinking as if reminded, for the first time, that someone else was in the room.

“Enough!” Byakuren’s voice carried, strong and resonant, her posture immaculate as though she were addressing a full sermon. “I have listened patiently as you speak of him like some livestock, some ingredient to be simmered for your vanity. But let me remind you: Anaxa is my disciple. He is a living being, not a blood bank, not a stew pot, and certainly not your fountain of youth!”

Her words reverberated through the room, noble and righteous—except that her cheeks were burning red from sheer embarrassment, and the force of her clap still stung her palms.

Yuyuko pouted. “But stew…”

“No stew!” Byakuren shot back, pointing as though scolding a mischievous temple acolyte. “Nor soup, nor broth, nor stock!”

Kanako folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you’d protect him even against us? Against gods and sages?”

Byakuren straightened her back until her shoulders ached, and her hands folded firmly in prayer once more. “If need be, I shall. Even if the whole of heaven itself conspires to drain him, I will fight for his right to live unmolested. I will not stand by and let him be carved apart for the sake of your vanity.”

For a moment, her conviction filled the room like incense smoke—weighty, undeniable, even admirable. Then Yukari tilted her head and smirked behind her fan.

The room’s mood, already teetering on the edge of mockery, toppled clean over the moment Yuyuko reclined against her cushion and sang in a lilting voice,  “Well. Isn’t that cute?”

“Excuse me?”

“Honestly, Sister Hijiri, are you just trying to keep all that golden blood for yourself? You selfish thing.”

The words dropped into the gathering like a spark into dry tinder. Byakuren’s eyes flew open wide, her lips parting in shock. “Wh–what? No! Absolutely not! I—”

But she got no further, because Yukari burst out laughing. Not her usual soft, calculating giggle, but a full, unrestrained laugh, folding her fan against her lips as tears of mirth threatened to prick the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, now this makes sense!” Yukari managed between chuckles. “The pious monk, desperate to keep her youthful sheen, afraid of the wrinkles of mortality. I should have guessed. Why, you’re the one who clings hardest to the idea of living forever. Isn’t that why you tossed away humanity and embraced youkaihood in the first place? To avoid looking like a dried persimmon?”

“Dried persimmon!” Yuyuko echoed gleefully, clapping her hands. “Perfect description!”

Byakuren’s face went crimson. “That is—completely untrue! I—I seek enlightenment, not vanity!”

Kanako leaned forward with a knowing smirk, her arms folded across her chest. “Oh, come now. Acting saintly while secretly terrified of looking old? That’s not enlightenment, that’s hypocrisy. No wonder you’re fighting so hard to keep us away from him—if anyone needs his blood, it’s you.”

Even Eirin, normally so poised, allowed herself a sly smile as she adjusted her glasses. “Perhaps we should reconsider distribution then. A slightly larger portion for the one most in need?”

Byakuren sputtered, her composure unraveling faster than an apprentice’s first sutra scroll. “I–I am not in need! My skin is perfectly fine, I assure you!”

“Mm,” Yuyuko said, squinting with mock seriousness. “I do see a faint crease forming near your eyes. Is that a wrinkle? Or perhaps two?”

Byakuren instinctively touched her face in horror, then yanked her hand back, realizing too late that she had just confirmed their teasing.

“Oh dear,” Yukari sighed dramatically, fanning herself with exaggerated pity. “Our poor saint, fighting so valiantly to protect her disciple’s blood. And all this time, it was vanity that drove her. What a tragic revelation.”

The other women tittered and whispered, their laughter rippling like cruel little bells. Each jab made Byakuren’s protests shriller, less dignified.

“I am not vain! I am not afraid of age! I—stop laughing, all of you! I would never hoard Anaxa’s blood for myself!”

Her voice cracked on the last words, echoing pathetically in the chamber. The harder she denied it, the less convincing she sounded. Yukari leaned back, satisfied, her smile sharper than any blade. Yuyuko was practically rolling on the tatami with laughter.

“Uu.. how cruel.”

By the end of it, Byakuren sat stiff-backed, hands trembling in her lap, cheeks burning like embers. Surrounded on all sides by divine ridicule, she looked less like the wise, serene monk she strove to be and more like a schoolteacher whose entire class had caught her blushing at a love letter.

And no matter how she insisted, the image was sealed: Hijiri Byakuren, the vain, wrinkly saint, secretly thirsting after her disciple’s golden blood to stave off the horrors of becoming… prunelike.

The laughter rolled on like a cruel tide. Yuyuko had taken to fanning herself dramatically, sighing, “Poor wrinkly Byakuren, clinging to her students like a desperate old widow,” while Kanako muttered something about “student fetish” under her breath, which sent the group into another fit of giggles. Even Eirin, who had begun the whole dreadful alliance, allowed herself a smirk and a dainty sip of tea, as if savoring the moment.

And then there came a faint knock on the door.

Ran, who had been dutifully silent until now, finally moved. The nine-tailed shikigami knelt gracefully beside her master, her golden eyes unreadable as she leaned close to Yukari’s ear. She whispered something low, steady, and precise.

Yukari’s fan stopped mid-flutter.

Her expression, until now nothing but smug delight, faltered. For a moment, she looked as though someone had stolen the ground out from beneath her feet. Her eyes widened, her lips parted—and then she laughed, but not with mirth. It was a short, sharp bark of disbelief.

“Impossible…” she murmured. Then, louder, her voice ringing through the room with uncharacteristic urgency:

“His aura—” she snapped her fan shut with a violent clap, startling everyone out of their fun. “—has completely vanished from this land?”