Chapter 10 – Blood and Purification

(Read the note at the end of the chapter).

Motohama held Rinko's gaze, and for a second... all the chaos, the pain, the abyssal cold of his existence seemed to fall silent.

But the truce would be brief.

He took a deep breath, his chest burning as if the air were made of blades.

He looked at his palm, where just moments ago the golden coupon had been — now only a spectral residue, a trace of blue energy slowly dissipating like stardust.

Then he found himself admiring the woman's beauty once again.

But as his eyes traced the flawless silhouette before him, something else... emerged.

A pulse...

Subtle, but unmistakable.

A trace of energy he could no longer ignore.

Demonic blood.

It was there, dormant, mixed into her essence, like poison and antidote coexisting in the same stream.

It wasn't as disturbing as the presence of devils at the academy — not by a long shot. It was too diluted in comparison. It didn't make Motohama feel repulsed or want to keep his distance. And it lacked that unpleasant smell.

Motohama frowned. His spiritual perception, sharpened with each reset, could no longer be deceived.

Although Rinko was human... fought like a human...

The power that made her a taimanin came from a superhuman resilience, strengthened precisely by the presence of that cursed blood.

— ...So that's it... — he murmured, almost to himself.

Rinko noticed the subtle change in his expression and immediately straightened her stance.

— Master, is something wrong? — she asked respectfully, her mature and refined voice as sharp as a blade.

He still had a little time before his room was reconnected to the real world again… before he had to suppress his presence once more.

Motohama hesitated for a second… then stepped forward, stopping just inches from her.

Akiyama Rinko remained motionless, her eyes following every movement attentively, calculatedly — like a warrior who never let down her guard… yet was ready to trust.

Motohama raised his hand, palm open, and gently placed it on her exposed shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the partial armor.

— You… know there's demonic blood running through you, don't you? — he said, softly, though without masking the weight of the revelation.

Rinko didn't look away, but her lips pressed together slightly.

Then she took a deep breath.

— Yes… — she admitted, with that solemn, grave, and professional tone, as if carved from stone — As a taimanin, that is the burden I accepted. A necessary power… to fight demons themselves.

She closed her eyes briefly, like reciting a prayer or a code of conduct.

— It's part of me. And I've accepted… to live — or die — with it.

Motohama gave a faint smile, admiring the honor and firmness in her words. But there was something more…

A quiet weight of pain, nearly imperceptible, hidden between those well-rehearsed lines.

He stepped even closer, and the hand resting on her shoulder slid to the center of her chest — not in a lascivious gesture, but like someone seeking the core of her soul.

— It doesn't have to be like that anymore. — he said with a calm firmness.

Rinko's eyes widened slightly — a minimal, but rare reaction for someone so composed.

— W-What do you mean?

Motohama then raised his other hand, and a faint silver particle began to pulse at his fingertips:

The Quincy essence.

— I can… purify that blood inside you. Convert you completely… make you a pure Quincy, free of any demonic trace. — He tilted his head, his voice softer now, yet charged with unshakable conviction — Like I am.

For a moment, the room was utterly silent, broken only by the distant hum of a spinning fan.

Rinko's eyes, always so steady and sure, faltered.

— I… — she began, but her voice briefly failed her.

Motohama didn't interrupt. He simply stood there, patient — offering not a command… but a choice.

Rinko bit her lower lip slightly, her gaze lost for a moment — as if weighing every doctrine, every code she'd lived by… against this unthinkable possibility.

— To abandon my demonic blood… — she murmured, more to herself — No longer a taimanin… but… a Quincy…

She slowly raised her eyes to him, with a vulnerability that seemed out of place in the cold and honorable warrior.

— Why? — she asked, with her characteristic stubbornness, but also with an honest tone, almost… childlike — Why would you offer me that?

Motohama smiled, with a melancholy only someone who had died could carry.

— Because you were the first… to answer my call. My first companion. And I… don't want you to carry this burden alone. Not anymore.

Rinko's face reddened slightly, and she briefly looked away, flustered by the intimacy in his words.

— Master… — she whispered, touching the spot where his hand lay on her chest, as if to retain that warmth.

She closed her eyes… then, with the same honor that always guided her, bowed her head slightly in acceptance.

— If that is your will… then… I accept… but… — she lifted her face again, eyes burning with stubborn light — I promise I will be… your sharpest sword. Your most loyal guardian.

Motohama nodded, and the power within him began to flow through his fingers, enveloping Rinko's body in a pure, glowing mist that slowly sank into her skin, her flesh… reaching the innermost fibers of her soul.

Rinko gasped, feeling the intense energy coursing through her cells, burning, purifying, rewriting… forcing a black vapor to exit her body… her soul…

And gradually, the demonic trace vanished.

In its place, a pale blue glow began to emanate from her body — the mark of a newly awakened Quincy.

When the process ended, Rinko remained kneeling for a moment, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.

Then, slowly, she looked up — her irises now tinged with a faint silvery-blue, the symbol of her new lineage.

Name: Akiyama Rinko

Race: Human (Quincy)

Bond: Master Kusanagi Motohama

Sacred Gear: None

Rank: D

Class: Novice (Not yet registered/invited)

Unique Ability: "The V" — The Void

Description: A former taimanin, reborn and summoned by her master Kusanagi Motohama. Extremely loyal and grateful to Motohama not only due to their master-servant bond, but also for giving her the opportunity to live a new life, free from any trace of demonic blood.

A discreet, almost shy smile formed on her lips.

— I… feel… — she touched her chest, surprised by the lightness — Free…

Motohama extended a hand to help her up, and Rinko accepted, with that same blend of dignified rigidity and feminine grace.

When she stood, she looked at him with solemn reverence… but also something more.

An alliance.

— Thank you, Master. — she bowed slightly — From now on… we fight side by side.

Motohama smiled, and for the first time, after so many deaths and resets, he felt the warmth of something new:

A bond.

A companion.

An ally.

— Yes… Rinko. Now… we are two.

Morning.

Motohama's room is bathed in the golden rays of sunlight streaming through the half-open curtain, casting soft beams over the messy bed.

He wakes up slowly, stretching… but suddenly, he feels something different… warm… soft… and dangerously cozy beside him.

— "Hmmm… wha…?" — he murmurs, rubbing his eyes, still groggy.

He turns lazily… and then… time seems to freeze.

There, lying next to him… is Rinko.

Completely naked.

Her flawless pale skin glows softly in the morning light, like porcelain warmed by the sun. The sheet is carelessly draped over her body, covering only what's strictly necessary — a partially exposed hip, a flat and toned stomach, and one long, shapely leg escaping the fabric as if on purpose, stretched out in a casually seductive pose.

Her perfectly shaped breasts are merely hinted at beneath the sheet, which clings to her in a way so suggestive it's as if gravity itself conspired to reveal the spectacle.

Her long black hair spills across the pillow like a cascade of silk, and her serene face wears a peaceful, almost angelic expression… or perhaps more aptly… demonic, for the devastating effect it had.

The contrast between her innocent composure and sculpted body was simply fatal.

Motohama's eyes go wide, his brain desperately trying to process the divine sight without crashing.

— "A... perverted dream…" — he thinks, heart racing, a goofy smile spreading… until a jolt in his lower back makes him wince.

He frowns.

— "Wait… pain? I… I don't feel pain in dreams…".

And then, like a bolt of lightning:

— "THIS… IS… NOT… A… DREAM!!!".

Motohama launches from the bed like a clumsy ninja, grabbing the nearest pillow to cover himself as he stumbles and…

—"AAAAH!!! — he yells as his pinky toe smashes brutally into the dresser corner.

The "Great Quincy" writhes on the floor, clutching his foot, torn between searing pain and sheer terror.

Rinko, serene as a sleep goddess, opens her eyes slowly, not looking the least surprised or embarrassed.

With a calm that borders on cruel, she sits up. The sheet glides down her body, revealing even more of her flawless skin: the delicate line of her collarbone, the perfect curve of her waist, the subtle yet irresistible swell of her breasts, still barely covered by the fabric and divine grace.

She holds the sheet with one arm, covering only the essential, like a scene rehearsed from an erotic art film… but it isn't: to Rinko, it's just Monday.

— Good morning, Master Motohama. Did you sleep well? — she asks with a serene, polite… and dangerously sweet voice.

— M-More or less… the bed's a bit small for two… I mean… THAT'S NOT THE POINT! R-R-RINKO?! W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED… NAKED?! — he explodes, his soul leaving his body as he desperately tries to keep his eyes on her face.

But it was impossible.

That smooth skin… that exposed leg… the soft slope of her belly…

— Focus, Motohama… focus! Eyes on the mission! — he thinks, struggling.

Rinko raises her eyebrows slightly, as if the question was truly odd.

— I possess no appropriate clothing aside from my Taimanin uniform. Sleeping in it would be uncomfortable and unsuitable for rest." — she replies, tilting her head as if saying, "Isn't it obvious?

Then she adds, with that calmly lethal tone:

— Besides… you requested that I stay close to ensure your safety.

Motohama's eyes widen even more, his memory racing.

— I… I just said you could get 'comfortable'! — he stammers, realizing he just poured gasoline on a fire.

— And I did. — Rinko replies, sincerely, literally… like an AI unable to interpret slang.

Motohama freezes. The silence in the room is so thick it could be cut with a sword.

Inside, he screams:

— WHY, GOD?! WHY IS SHE LIKE THIS?!

— B-But… the bed?! Couldn't you have… I don't know… slept on the couch?! — he pleads, grasping for some logic.

— The couch has an inadequate angle for efficient orthopedic rest. Furthermore, a bodyguard should remain as close as possible to their charge. — Rinko replies, tilting her head slightly, like someone explaining a cake recipe.

Motohama even considers:

— That… kind of makes sense…? NO, IT DOESN'T!!!

— B-But… naked?! — he shouts, as the internal struggle reaches epic levels: on one side, honor and self-control; on the other, the purely sensual and very naked Rinko, less than a meter away.

— As I said, I only possess my Taimanin uniform. Was there an objection to sleeping nude under these circumstances? — Rinko asks with the naturalness of someone commenting on the weather.

— OBJECTION?! OF COURSE THERE IS!!" — Motohama explodes, clutching the pillow like a sacred shield.

— I understand… Should I acquire… 'sleepwear'? — Rinko asks now with a slightly curious expression — "Master, if it is your preference, I can obtain a… 'pajama'."

— Y-Yes… let's get pajamas… urgently… — says Motohama, nearly breathless, sweating like he'd run a marathon.

— Very well… I will procure… a pajama. — Rinko pauses… glances to the side… and for the first time, a faint and irresistible blush appears on her flawless cheeks — ...Although… I did find it comfortable… this way.

Silence.

Motohama has an internal meltdown. He turns pale… then red… then begins sweating cold, holding the pillow even tighter to his body.

— "NOT NOW, BODY!!! HOLD THE LINE!" — he screams internally, desperately trying to suppress the obvious "biological reaction" threatening to take control.

— R-Rinko… if you sleep like that… with me… it'll be hard… I… I won't be able to resist! — he confesses, a mix of sincerity and despair.

Rinko blinks calmly… and after a few seconds of processing, her eyes widen slightly as a subtle blush colors her face.

— Ah… oh… you're referring to… carnal desires?

Motohama nods frantically, on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

— Y-YES!!!

— I see. I apologize. I had not considered that possibility. — she says, rising with her usual lethal grace, the sheet still wrapped around her like an improvised kimono.

Every movement of hers is a silent performance: the swaying hips, the smooth, well-defined back, the long legs… everything in that scene seemed deliberately crafted to test the limits of masculine resistance.

— I shall procure appropriate clothing… Excuse me. I will prepare breakfast.

Motohama remains there, alone, staring into nothingness, still hugging the pillow.

— Did that… really happen? — he wonders, already saving the memory in the mental folder of "Moments That Will Stay With Me Until I Die."

Suddenly, Rinko returns, peeking her head through the door:

— Master… should I also acquire… slippers? — she asks with the seriousness of someone asking about mission equipment.

— Yes… Rinko… slippers are… a great idea… — Motohama replies with a weak, resigned smile.

— Understood. — Rinko nods, satisfied.

But before leaving, she turns:

— Master… is it… always like this… in the morning?

— What? — asks Motohama, exhausted.

She discreetly gestures… to the "tent."

Motohama's eyes shoot wide open and he screams in pure desperation:

— THAT'S NOT SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT RIGHT NOW!!!

Rinko merely nods, as if having just learned something new, and leaves the room with a calm air, leaving Motohama utterly defeated, still hiding the "situation."

But he hears her voice one last time, almost a whisper:

— Master… if you wished… I would not mind… engaging in carnal acts with you.

Motohama's eyes bulge, the pillow trembling in his hands, his mind freezing in that moment as if time had completely stopped.

— "I… I'm going to die like this… my heart won't take it…"