Heart Devil [OP Yandere Schizo Ramble LitRPG XD]

One day before Hannya's summoning to Neel.

Hannya and Baku came down from the private courtyard where holy water still clung to the stone and grass from their previous training session. Baku had suggested they go down to the village, offering to show her the cuisines and people living on the mountain. The path into the village ran like a worn ribbon through trees. Mist beaded on her lashes and traced its cool fingers along her small black horns. Baku said nothing beyond three words he liked to toss into the air when he was done teaching. Eat. Breathe. Observe.

His awareness of his new students' secret apprehension led him to keeping the advice simple. He didn't know why the mention of interacting with civilians had taken the wind out of her sails, but the experience was needed and the impressions were required. If she were to take his place… someday, she needed to learn to see the people outside of the knights as more than noise in the trees.

The creed of the Dream Knights was more than felling dream beasts, more so for its leadership.

Hannya followed two steps behind and pretended the world didn't press on her from every side. As they drew closer to civilization, the village roofs began to look like stacked cards. Smoke from kitchen fires drifted into the high fog. Voices carried throughout and increased with every step.

She held her breath longer than necessary. She was a young devil and devils didn't get stage fright. That was for mortals and she was supreme. But she knew the truth under that thought.

She had been a shut-in in another life and crowds still felt like a test she hadn't studied for. These people weren't enemies. They weren't even guests. In her head, they were NPCs and the word made her feel safer, but ironically, the view of those far beneath her stressed her more than the warriors under Baku's command.

Instilling fear in a warrior made worship easier to mold, but civilians were different, control was different. She knew that well and saw its faults, yet she was still blind to the solution. For the undisciplined, Doom was difficult to embrace. And it only took one heretic to undo-

Yummy.

A savory scent drifted past her nose. Her thoughts and eyes slid smoothly to the building Baku was leading her to.

'So this is the place…'

The restaurant sat where the path bent toward the river. Paper lanterns hung in a row above the overhang and lit the mist from within. Through the windows she saw polished tables, bowls breathing out steam, and shoulders leaning together in easy talks. Baku kept walking until the door beads clicked against his sleeves as he passed through. He didn't look back to see if she would hesitate. He knew she wouldn't, she was a child, but a bold one.

Her fingers twitched once at the threshold, fighting over whether to clench or relax. A girl at the nearest table looked up and went still. A man in a river-blue jacket half rose and hastily bowed, then seemed to remember he was indoors and sat again. The owner appeared as if formed from the steam, cloth over one forearm, a smile that tried to be ordinary and failed in the face of horns and black eyes.

"Welcome, Lord. Welcome, lady." Another bow. The cloth held smelled of rice vinegar and pine.

Baku inclined his head with the demeanor of an honored regular. "Whatever's hot." he grunted.

They took a table near a window. Hannya kept her back to the wall. The bead curtain whispered closed behind them. The room was not quiet but the air clearly adjusted around their presence. She felt each gaze and told herself to ignore it for now. She could read a room. She had done worse. She had killed in worse with none the wiser. So she shifted accordingly.

Her shoulders were too high. She lowered them a fraction, tilted her chin to the polite angle, and softened her eyes. [Method Actor] sat up inside her like the second spine and breath she needed. She threaded that into the small muscles of posture and the pauses between thank you and you're welcome. A smile that said dignified, not friendly. Approachable, not accessible. The role settled evenly. Her pulse eased by a notch.

The first course arrived on a tray of dark dreamwood. A bowl of Mist Pepper Stew, red and glossy, landed softly on the table. Slivers of dream beast flank curled in the broth. The scent was spice and damp green cloves of the mountain. On the side sat a hill of cloud rice, a dish of pickled bellwort root, and a thread of finely chopped herbs the color of old jade.

"Signature dish," the owner said. "Hazy Mountain style."

Hannya thanked him with a polite nod. She meant to take a careful taste. The spoon sank and came up with meat and a chopped pepper the size of a tongue. She blew on it, tasted, and set the spoon down very slowly. The heat from the flavor arrived like a formal visitor and sat in the chest, warm and persuasive. Sweetness followed, clean and shy, then a grassy note that might have been the mountain's blessing through chopped leaves. Her eyes wanted to close in ecstasy. She didn't let them, that was a face reserved only for her beloved.

"This is good." she said regally.

The owner looked relieved, then proud. He bowed again and drifted away.

Baku ate like a man solving an old problem he had solved before. Steady, unbarred, and with absolute attention. He did not congratulate the stew. He didn't even offer a single thought about anything, he just ate with purpose. Hannya watched the way the steam ghosted across his face and envied the simplicity.

Even in this world, men didn't need to worry about face, despite their positions of power. She couldn't figure out the priority, Neel's values made no sense!

'Is it really just strength and women?' It had to be more dynamic, it seems she needed more time to dig out the nuisance. She cursed her overwhelming levels of reformed empathy, being woke was a fulltime job.

She held down a pointed snort and continued her meal with a leader's grace.

Voices in the room changed shape at the two devils calm. They rounded, then softened, the small tension easing. A boy with a cane basket paused by their table as if blown off course by accident. He peered at her horns and then at her eyes. He was small courage wrapped in a blue shirt.

"Are they heavy?" he asked, gesturing to the small black horns poking from her pink hair.

She felt the raw venom rising in her throat and held it down with every cell her devil body could command. She knew he was a child, but who thinks of questions like that? To see a devil's horns as a burden rather than opulent status? Sacralige. But suddenly, Hannya sensed Baku's gaze boring into her and the holy water promising submission hidden in his sleeve, so she let Method Actor simply widen her smile by a fraction.

"Only when I forget to eat." she said benevolently.

He nodded gravely and drifted back to his mother. The mother mouthed sorry. Hannya lifted her hand in humble reassurance. The mother smiled, surprised at herself. Baku lowered his gaze and continued to eat. A pair of older men argued about cards in a corner and kept sneaking looks in her direction, as if the sight of a young devil and the Fortress Lord at a village table might be a story they would claim later. The room exhaled from the peaceful encounter.

She pretended this was nothing and just ate. Baku's voice from their training ran along the inside of her skull.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

'You don't need to be liked. You don't need to be feared. You need to be understood. Let the mountain understand your stillness and your restraint. Let them build their own story. She obeyed…sort of, and it worked. In that moment, she was starting to understand, there was more than one way to grow a reputation. The tension in her wrists gave way to the rhythm of bowl to spoon, and spoon to mouth. The stew warmed her bones. She began to feel present in a way that did not require force.

A grandmother-like figure shuffled near with a cloth to resettle chopsticks in their holders. She set a little plate of candied chestnut slices at the edge of the table without a word. Hannya looked up and gave a natural, warm smile. The woman nodded in acknowledgment and patted the counter with her fingertips, a single soft press as she tottered away muttering that girls needed sugar if they were to learn patience. Hannya almost laughed out loud and wondered when the last time she had earned that kind of casual affection was. It felt strange, the good kind of strange, [Method Actor] hardly had to help her posture now.

'But do not get used to it,' she told herself. 'Do not get used to being a person among people. It will go bad. It always goes bad.' She knew that, she always knew that. That's why only one person, a person that can beat all odds could be…

The door beads chimed once, a note clear enough to wipe thoughts and steam from the air.

A devil woman entered as if the restaurant were a stage prepared for precisely this cue. Her face was painted white, eye lids and lips the color of red rubies. Two red stars rested on either cheek, Her kimono was the pale blue of the high sky above Hazy Mountain, embroidered with threads that caught lantern light and held it. Two black horns framed an elegant bun, affixed with jewels and decorations. Where she walked, space tidied itself. A few men rose without knowing why. A girl at the far table pressed her hand over her mouth. The owner bowed so quickly the cloth slid from his arm.

Hannya kept eating. She let [Method Actor] re-adjust to the new gravity in the room. Her gaze found the exact polite angle that conveyed welcome to a respected guest without conceding ground. It felt almost like holding a blade steady.

Noh's eyes moved once across the room and found Hannya. She didn't look at Baku at all. She approached. Her fan tapped once against her palm, a sound like a drop of water into a deep well.

"Good evening, you must be Lady Hannya." The voice was velvet on the surface and tempered underneath. "You're quite poised."

It was a compliment rigged as a question. Hannya understood and answered the way a princess would.

"I am grateful to serve a good example." she said.

Noh's mouth curved, not a smile, a subtle measurement.

"That is not grace," she said. "That is a skill, right?"

The room missed a beat. It heard the shape of a call-out even if it did not know the words inside it. Hannya lifted her cup and sipped steam and heat. [Method Actor] held firm, but something in her posture wanted to shift. She told it no.

"A geija can tell the difference," Noh added, calm as a winter pond. "I have a gift for performances. Yours is a borrowed face."

The line landed with absolute precision. The boy with the cane basket peeked again and hid. The grandmother froze with a plate halfway to a couple by the door. Hannya set her cup down and let the porcelain find the table without sound.

Borrowed face? She wanted to laugh but didn't. She had never pretended this was not performance. That was the point. People liked palaces better than caves, even in their devils. Still, something in her, the shut-in who hated being watched, bristled at being read in front of a room that had just begun to enjoy her lofty presence.

"You speak like a woman who sells masks and mistakes them for faces," Hannya said, letting [Method Actor] dial the sweetness up almost to a sickening degree. "But tell me. Is it really talent to sniff out false posture while wearing enough paint to remodel our humble fortress?"

A small breath circled the tables and snuffed itself out a second later. A dangerous, almost-laugh. But Noh's fan didn't move.

"Paint declares intention," Noh said. "Your skill hides fear."

Fear? The word took Hannya in the chest. She felt the heat in her head intensify. The young devil inside her narrowed her eyes. She thought of the other life where she would have avoided a room like this for months, years even. She thought of the morning's drills and the cold fact that she could split a spider queen, horrify seasoned warriors, and still struggle to say hello to a baker. Shame threatened to bloom. She cut it down quickly and snapped back.

"Forgive me," she said, and let the apology coat the blade of the next sentence. "I did not realize the mountain had a designated bitch to teach its manners. It's unfortunate said bitch has the personality of an old shoe, tired and loose."

The words, oddly, had weight. It slid across the floor and bumped everyone's ankles. Chairs whispered as people shifted. The owner found a place near a pillar and made himself small. The grandmother set down her plate and pressed her mouth flat, as if to hide a smile and a scold at once.

Hannya grinned and elbowed her reliable backer in the rib. "Am I right gramps?"

Baku tasted stew and watched the window. He did not turn his head. He kept his face neutral as he lifted a slice of flank, let the broth fall from it, and chewed with slow care. The boy with the cane basket glanced at Baku and decided the devil with the bald head and distant eyes was either deaf or deliberately above all this. The truth ran closer to a ritual he had learned long ago. Don't cough when two women decide the shape of a room. Finish your bowl. The world can wait.

"Warm out today…" He muttered.

'TRAITOR!' Hannya knew abandonment when she saw it. Her backer had decided to play the fool.

Noh ignored Baku and inclined her head.

"A princess who curses," she said. "How novel."

"A geisha who sniffs," Hannya parried. "How useless."

Noh's eyes warmed a half shade, which was the same as a smile with someone like her. "It's Geija, child. And useful to you, if you wished to be more than a girl who thinks the villagers are mere potted plants to be watered."

The word struck so close to the bone that Hannya's fingers tightened on her spoon. 'NPC' was a term she would use, but the idea fit its shape. She didn't remember saying it out loud, because she hadn't. [Method Actor] didn't help with that. Skills couldn't deflect a truth arrow, especially in the face of one that could see through it so plainly. The room didn't understand the words but understood the way a secret had just been nicked.

Baku narrowed his vision towards the window, out into the open air. He drank broth and let the tea wash it down as he tried to recall the name of the larger clouds outside. Cumbalnimbus? Calumous? Cumulonimbus? The last one was probably right.

Hannya stood and crossed her arms. "Empty term," she said. "But I like the sound of your fan when it closes. Do it again."

Snap!

Noh snapped the fan shut, her face going stern. The sound was crisp. Several men flinched as if a blade had just been sheathed at their throats.

"Better," Hannya said with a wave. "You may go."

"Or," Noh said, "you may dismiss your skill and greet these people as yourself. Your elegance is solid. You do not need to mimic grace you have never seen."

Hannya let her smile burn a little. "Your advice is noted. If I ever feel the urge to play servant in silk rooms, I will fetch you to teach me how to pour tea."

Noh's lashes lowered. "Pouring tea is an art you'd fail at before the first bow. Your hips tell the truth. Your eyes lie. The villagers read hips, not eyes."

A farmer laughed once, then stifled it behind his hand. Hannya shifted her weight, a small correction, and hated that the woman had made her do it. She knew Noh was right. She also knew she owed this room nothing and owed herself a smooth exit.

"Baku." she said without turning.

"Hm?" he said around a mouthful.

"I am going outside."

"Eat first," he said. "Then go."

Hannya slid back down and took another large spoon of stew, enough to finish and too much to be called polite. The heat was brighter now that anger had carved an extra path through her chest. She set the spoon down and placed two coins at the edge of the table with a precision that belonged to a different kind of violence.

Noh took a half step back. She didn't clear the way, her fan hung like a question at her side. Hannya rose and the restaurant stood with her. The grandmother clucked once, the way old birds do when vultures circle. The boy with the cane basket held his breath and watched.

Hannya leaned in just enough to make the words private and still let the room overhear.

"Lets take this outside powder bag." she said. "I hope that paint is ready to taste some dirt."

Noh's lips touched the shape of another non-smile. "I prefer to taste victory."

Hannya snorted, completely forgetting her perfect, womanly image, all she wanted to do was to crush this two star that dared question her prestige. The bead curtain rattled as the pink haired goblin stomped through it. The lanterns hummed. The path outside caught the last light. Behind her she heard the exact moment Noh turned, the thrum of silk and the balance of a heel, and then the quiet decision Baku made not to rise. He lifted his bowl, tipped it to catch the last of the broth, and set it down with a soft click that sounded like the end of a prayer.

The villagers looked to him to bless or condemn. He considered the empty bowl. He reached for the candied chestnut plate and slid it close.

"Good stew, as usual." he said to the owner, as if nothing at all were happening.

The owner bowed. Relief and worry crossing his face in a strange dance.

By the time Baku chose a chestnut slice between finger and thumb, the bead curtain chimed again. Noh stepped through it after Hannya, and the restaurant let out the breath it had been hoarding since the encounter. The grandmother whispered that girls will be girls with a shake of the head.

The boy with the cane basket hurried to the window and stood on his toes, hoping to see the first motion of something he would tell his grandchildren, which was that once upon a time the mountain had two beauties, and one of them taught the other where the two stood, and both of them could cut a tree in half with different kinds of steel.