Chapter Text
It started, as these things often did, with a Yokai alert at sunrise.
The old temple buzzed with urgency as the alarm pierced the courtyard. Chizu abandoned her cup of tea mid-sip, Kitsune jumped down from the rooftop where she’d been napping, and Gen grabbed his weapon without a word.
“Downtown Neo Edo,” Chizu said quickly, scanning the alert. “Level three Yokai threat. Multiple civilian sightings.”
“Leo?” Kitsune asked.
Usagi frowned at his comm, already heading for the gate. “Not answering.”
He didn’t wait for the others—he didn’t have to. They were already following him.
By the time they reached the scene, it was chaos. A massive, smoke-spewing Yokai—something like a lion with antlers and fangs that glowed—was smashing through a row of market stalls. Lesser spirits skittered around its feet, shrieking and lunging at anyone who dared come close.
Gen charged first, letting out a sharp roar as he swung his hammer. Chizu dove into the fray with elegant precision. Kitsune vanished with a flick of her cloak, already behind the enemy before it knew she’d moved.
Usagi’s swords sang through the air, slashing through spirit and smoke alike. But he was watching—searching—for Leo.
And then, finally, Leo dropped from the rooftop.
He landed hard, stumbling slightly, and righted himself with a forced smile. “Miss me?”
“You’re late!” Usagi shouted, even as he blocked a strike meant for Leo’s head.
“Still made it, didn’t I?”
But his movements were off. Slower. He fought like someone underwater, every swing a second too slow, every blink just a beat too long. His footing was shaky. His hands trembled.
And his face—his face was pale, jaw tight, a fine sheen of sweat gathering at his brow.
They took the Yokai down, eventually, sealing it into a charm and dispersing the spirits. The civilians were safe. The threat was neutralized.
But the tension only rose.
As soon as the danger passed, Usagi turned on Leo with a hard glare. “You can’t keep doing this, Leo!”
Leo blinked, swaying just slightly. “Doing what?”
“Showing up late. Sluggish. Distracted. We rely on you for mystics, for leadership, and you nearly got yourself hurt!”
“I was there,” Leo said, sharp now. “I fought. Same as you.”
“Not when it mattered.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”
“You looked like you were about to faint out there. If you can’t handle your responsibilities, don’t show up at all!”
That hit harder than any blow in the fight. Leo’s face shut down.
“Got it,” he said coldly.
And without another word, he turned and walked away.
Chizu opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Kitsune looked uncertain. Gen glanced at Usagi, waiting.
But Usagi didn’t say anything.
So they followed their leader.
And Leo was left behind, walking into the shadowed alley alone.
He didn’t run.
He didn’t have the strength.
He ducked into a side street and leaned against a wall, breathing hard. His stomach cramped viciously. His legs were weak. And then—he looked down.
The stain was unmistakable.
Blood. Deep, dark red, smeared down the inner seam of his shorts. Soaking through his thigh.
“No no no—” he muttered, and quickly yanked off his hoodie, tying it tightly around his waist to cover the stain. “Not here. Not now.”
His vision swam. His head felt hot. The cramps were worse than usual.
He didn’t have time to go back to the inn.
He needed a pharmacy.
Now.
He staggered down the block, hiding in alleys, dodging open streets until neon letters blinked to life in his periphery: NEO PHARMACY.
He shoved the door open, nearly knocking over a display stand. The clerk looked up with raised eyebrows.
“Pads are aisle three,” she said, not unkindly.
Leo nodded, unable to speak.
He grabbed the thickest, most absorbent pads they had—overnight, long, double-winged, ultra secure. He didn’t care what the packaging looked like or how many he had to carry. He just needed something to stop the bleeding.
He paid with shaking hands and bolted out the door, ducking into side streets until he reached the temple.
No one saw him.
He slipped into his room, locked the door, and collapsed to his knees.
The pharmacy bag hit the floor.
He pulled off his shorts and boxers slowly, careful not to make a mess. The blood had soaked through everything—fabric sticky and dark, cold against his skin. His thighs were stained. His inner legs ached from tension.
He wrapped the ruined clothes in a plastic bag, tied it tight, and shoved it into the trash. Then he cleaned himself with damp cloths from the sink, pressing against tender, cramping muscles with a wince.
Then the pad—thick, wide, awkward in his hands. He unfolded one, peeled back the adhesive, and pressed it into a fresh pair of boxers. It felt foreign. Heavy. Like armor he didn’t want but needed.
He pulled the boxers on, slowly, wincing as they settled. Then came a long T-shirt, down to mid-thigh. His hoodie stayed tied around his waist—just in case. Always just in case.
He sat on the edge of the bed, heart pounding in his ears.
Then, a knock.
“Hey, Leo?” Kitsune’s voice was light, but tentative. “We’re watching that awful samurai movie again. You coming?”
Chizu added, “We saved you a spot.”
A pause.
Even Usagi’s voice came, quiet this time. “Come out if you want.”
Leo stared at the wall.
His fingers clenched in the fabric of his hoodie.
“I’m good,” he called, voice hoarse. “Just tired. Gonna crash early.”
“Okay,” Kitsune said softly. “Feel better.”
Their footsteps faded down the hall.
Leo didn’t move for a long time.
Then he curled up on his side and closed his eyes.
The pads crinkled faintly when he shifted.
The blood-soaked bag sat in the trash like a secret.
He didn’t cry.
But his chest ached with the weight of trying to be invisible.