/jp/ - Otaku Culture

(1/3)
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Guarding Youkai Mountain, somehow, was easier than the HSE. The place is tight and small, yet every day there are multiple problems: rowdy customers in need of a pounding behind the building; crowded hours making my overwatch a nightmare and messing up big time my acute sense of smell—but nothing beats the bureaucracy. It's fun to play shogi with kappa and dirt-kappa—yamawaro is a stupid name for a race, anyway—but when they give you orders? Ah, if cutting them in half wouldn't be shameful to Tenma-sama's honor…

Mumbling, I carry the heavy box of 'too-worn-out-to-use' Miko uniforms—which should've been thrown away weeks ago, but someone forgot it; the manager caught wind of it, and it fell on me, the closest poor devil at the time, to carry it to the cremator in the underground. For some reason, they simply can't be repurposed, and—gah, how can a bunch of clothes be so heavy?! I'm a tengu, for Buddha's sake!

I release the box with a sigh of relief, sitting on top of it to catch my breath, taking the shield and sword out of my back and leaving the first on the ground before fishing a small grinding stone from my skirt and, gently: sharpen my sword's edge. With the rhythmical movements, my mind calms, my lungs stop burning, and my legs feel strong as ever!

I smile, fixing my tokin, getting up, and revising some katas with the sword—yep, sharp as ever—

—so sharp I accidentally cut a chunk out of the box half my size. I 'tsc…'ed and got close to inspect the damage, but that was cataloged as a mistake the moment the smell reached my nostrils. You see, there are some very specific rules in the HSE, but one stands out like a sore thumb for me: if you're an—adult—female descendant of an animal, like a white wolf, you simply do NOT smell the incense during work. That's why we use masks when 'escorting' bad customers out of the fake Hakurei Shrine.

And my very acute sense of smell just got assailed by the residual scent of the incense and sex itself; such a scent accumulated and fermented inside the box for Buddha knows how long.

I took a few steps back, breathed heavily, and rushed to find a water source in the hope of removing this from my body—the rising heat swept through my entire body, and I swear I was able to hear the influx of new chemicals coursing my blood. Wide-eyed, I reached a toilet and saw my contorted face in the mirror, a shameful, guttural feeling like being hit by a danmaku laser taking over me: red skin, ears perked up and trembling as I had just left my mother, blind and deaf, legs quivering, tail bushy and bopping slowly, not even following my harrowing cardiac rhythm…

Panicking, I opened the tap and threw cold water on my face, but all I got was to feel chilled and hot at the same time; my clothes were drenched and the burning inside grew and grew.

Gasping, I looked at my reflection again, groaning with the realization: somehow—beyond me—the absolutely disgusting smell concentrated inside that box sent my body into momentary heat.

I moaned, holding the sides of the sink as if to save my life, crossed legs shivering. I'm gonna kill that kappa, oh, I will—

—No! I have to keep Tenma-sama's honor intact! Working under a sage is a great honor for a tengu, and Yukari-sama's continued investment in Youkai Mountain depends solely on the work of people like me.

I can't kill the yamawaro… But she can help me.

Breathing in and out deeply, ignoring the need in between my legs, six whole weeks of mating cycle hitting me like a gut punch, I get a towel and dry myself the best I can; hunting the yamawaro with the precision only a white wolf have—despite the heat. I come from behind her, my hand on her shoulder feeling like I'm feverish; "Manager-san… There's been a problem."

Yamashiro turns and looks at my hand before looking at my state, her eyes demanding elaboration. Passing workers stare at us, and, beet-red with embarrassment, I glance around—the manager notices, "Follow me."

She leads us into an empty room, and I don't wait a second before letting it out. "Uh, the box of old miko uniforms—there was a problem with the packaging and, I… Smelled the scent directly—and now I'm in… ugh…"

"You're in heat?" Even redder, I nod, hoping to Buddha that this conversation never leaves this room. "And you cannot work like… that… ugh, work accidents—" I nod again—she doesn't miss a beat. "What's your sexual preference?"

"H-Huh?!" I stare at her with doe-eyes, but the yamawaro doesn't even flinch. The silence stretches for a moment, and, struggling, I let out: "… I like men."

"Count your lucky stars, then—I'll bring your Miko uniform and number. You're getting the basic package, which including your employee discount should be around 12,500 yen. You have a week to pay me up—get yourself together; I’ll be back in 10 minutes." And, without any more words, the kappa left, leaving me dumbstruck behind.

Package? Discount? Miko outfit…

If I was red before, I'm positively dying of embarrassment.