"Easy, Captain." Fang Zuo spread his hands. "I did call you back."
"Liar!" Sakura's chest heaved. "What trick is this?!"
"Perhaps continue indoors?" Fang Zuo lowered his feet from the desk, gesturing politely. "Your squad is watching."
Sakura glanced through the glass—
—every agent in the bullpen gaping.
"Tch." She stormed inside, slamming the door.
THUD.
The grimoire hit the desk.
Fang Zuo flipped it open.
The first page: a pentagram. Below—
—streaked with damp patches, still glistening.
Faint smears of crimson lipstick.
Thorough work…
He glanced up at Sakura's swollen lips.
Her icy facade cracked—a flush crept up her neck.
"Y-You said saliva! I rubbed it… over and over… useless!"
"Councilwoman Shiraishi protects you now—"
"—but an onmyōji has other ways…"
"Spare the theatrics, Captain." Fang Zuo tapped the page. "Saliva was the catalyst. But to bypass the sealing curse? Requires ritual. Surely an onmyōji knows this?"
He arched a brow. "I called you back. You ran."
Sakura hesitated.
Sealing curse? She'd sensed no such wards.
Yet… a fraud wouldn't fabricate this excuse.
"Come." Fang Zuo's tone brooked no refusal.
She stepped closer, wary.
"Still moist?" Fang Zuo tilted his head toward the page.
Sakura nodded stiffly.
"Lean."
She bent, assuming he meant to show her symbols.
Instead—
—his index and middle fingers extended to her lips.
"Nani?!"
"More saliva. Now."
"Pervert! Don't think I'll—"
"—want this solved or not?" Fang Zuo's gaze locked onto the grimoire. "Can you unravel the ward?"
Silence.
Then—
A flash of pink. Wet heat traced his fingertips.
Sakura's tongue flicked cautiously—
—a kitten lapping milk.
Her plush lips glistened, a strand of damp hair clinging to them.
Unintentionally… sensual.
Fang Zuo paused.
Just meant for her to spit… such dedication?
He smeared her saliva onto the grimoire in an esoteric sigil.
A minor illusion ward—he could've shattered it with a snap—
—but conserving qi was paramount now.
"Enough?" Sakura's whisper was ragged, one hand braced on the desk, the other hovering near her thigh holster.
Fang Zuo withdrew his fingers. Drew the final curve.
A quick hand-seal.
"Jiē kāi fú yìn. By celestial decree!"
Black light pulsed.
Wriggling script bloomed across the parchment.
"Sugoi…" Sakura breathed. Relief warred with shock. He delivered…
Her eyes lingered on his focused profile.
Who is this man?
No useless bureaucrat could wield a seal that resonated with kongō power…
"What script is this?"
"Arabic." Fang Zuo shoved the book toward her. "You do employ translators?"
"Of course." Sakura snatched it, pages whispering as ancient glyphs revealed themselves.
"Report to your desk now, Tono!" She slammed the grimoire shut, tucking it under her arm.
"If I find one unfinished requisition form—"
Her hand lifted her skirt hem—
—sliding the gun snug into its thigh sheath.
She pivoted toward the door.
Cold dismissal after service…
"Matte, Captain."
Fang Zuo rounded the desk.
Sakura froze as he approached.
An invisible pressure—primordial, commanding—filled the space.
She backed toward the wall involuntarily. "What… now?"
*Thud.*
His palm hit the plaster beside her head. Trapping her.
"The color?" His grin was a knife's edge.
"Y-You—"
"Tokyo's elite onmyōji…" His gaze dipped deliberately. "…honorless?"
"L-lilac!" The word burst out, scalding her cheeks. She shoved him aside and fled.
"Oi—!" Fang Zuo called after her retreating back.
She whirled at the door. "What?!"
"Purple's my favorite."
"BAKAYARŌ!" Her knuckles whitened on the doorframe. She vanished.
"One more thing!" Fang Zuo followed her into the bullpen.
Sakura turned slowly, face glacial. "Speak."
"I examined Shigeru's corpse before returning…" Fang Zuo wiggled his right fingers in the air. "…without washing these. Oops."
Her face drained of color.
A choked gag escaped her. She doubled over against the wall.
Fang Zuo strolled past, patting her heaving back.
"Lie." His whisper feathered her ear. "Scrubbed them raw… though I did scratch my foot later. That's truth."
He sauntered toward his desk, ignoring her strangled curses.
**
At his cubicle, Fang Zuo frowned.
That grimoire… beneath the Arabic…
A whisper of Zhongyuan's forbidden arts. Illusion? Or—
"Tono-kun?"
He looked up.
A girl drowning in a thick-framed glasses. Half her face obscured.
Baggy plaid shirt swallowed her frame.
Sannomiya Tsubaki—Records Clerk.
"A girl is asking for you upstairs. Says she's Councilwoman Shiraishi's daughter."
"Miss Sannomiya," Fang Zuo rose smoothly. "That sweater brings out your eyes."
"T-Tono-kun! Please don't say such things!" Crimson flooded her face. She shoved her glasses up, retreating behind a file folder.
Fang Zuo took the elevator to Reception.
The JK girl perched stiffly on a chair, knees pressed tight.
Her white bubble socks spilled over chunky black loafers.
Tear tracks glistened on her cheeks.
"Onīsan!" She leaped up, clutching his sleeve. "Mama collapsed! Before she passed out… she told me to find you!"
"She's… she's in a coma!"