Wanderers of Sorceria 

Tranquil Snow 10

Kanna takes steps to free Shizuka from the self-imposed burdens she placed on herself throughout her successful career.

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## Changing the Course of Destiny

The sprawling garden of the Suzuki estate stretched endlessly in green, the hum of cicadas a distant, hazy sound against the gentle spray of a marble fountain. Within the shade of a glass-roofed conservatory, Kanna Suzuki and Yuki Kanzaki sat across from each other at a table set with porcelain and crystal. The scents of smoked salmon and beef tenderloin filled the air, the decadent desserts on the tray looking less like food and more like edible sculptures.

Yuki was used to taking photos of luxury, not partaking in it. She only picked at her food, a small, polite act. The rich flavors were a startling change from her recent health-focused diet, but she didn't want to seem ungrateful to Kanna, whose generosity felt as immense as her family's estate.

Kanna, with her hands folded lightly upon the table, was a vision of poise, her dark hair pinned with lacquered ornaments, accentuated by a deep plum kimono. But her usual radiant composure was fragmented. Her gaze drifted, lost somewhere in the sunlight striking the glass above them. She didn't seem to be looking at the world outside, but rather through it.

Yuki sipped her wine, the pale liquid cool against her lips, and finally broke the silence. "You've been thinking about something."

Kanna's lips curled into a faint, knowing curve. "You are perceptive, Yuki. It's a project. A new one I'm considering funding."

"An editorial?" Yuki leaned forward slightly. Kanna was usually so discreet, so this directness was unusual. "What kind of theme?"

Kanna's voice was soft, deliberate. "It's called Saint Beasts Elemental Transformation."

The title alone caught Yuki's interest. She set down her glass with a light clink. "Mystical, primal... sounds fascinating." She paused, a smile touching her lips. "And I'm guessing you'd like me to photograph it?"

Kanna's eyes finally focused on her, and a flicker of something sharp-- amusement, or perhaps calculation-- passed through them. "Naturally. But that is only part of it. The model... I would be recommending Shizuka."

The name hung in the air. Yuki blinked, the smile gone. "Shizuka? That's... ambitious." She tilted her head, a small crease forming in her brow. "Why are you telling me this like I have a say?"

Kanna raised one manicured hand slightly, and a maid materialized, presenting Yuki with a folder. Yuki took it, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach.

She opened the folder, skimming the pages at first, but then she slowed, the sketches pulling her in. Byakko was regal, armored in silver, its ferocity in perfect balance with its elegance. But then she turned the page.

Suzaku. Yuki's breath hitched. A provocative showgirl bikini of feathers and flame, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The next page described Seiryu, with annotations that the costume was meant to be torn from the model's body during the shoot.

Finally, there was Genbu, which featured a body-conscious latex suit, meant to be submerged in "primordial muck."

Yuki's hand stilled. A chill crawled over her skin. She looked up at Kanna, her jaw tight. "You can't be serious. This isn't Shizuka. She would never agree to this."

Kanna did not flinch. She simply steepled her fingers, her gaze unwavering. "Not as she is now, no. But before the world came to worship its supermodel and star... Shizuka Minazuki did not care what anyone thought of her."

The words felt like a cold splash of water. Yuki remembered that girl-- the one who would walk out into the rain without an umbrella, unafraid of mockery or whispers. The one whose fearlessness made her a star in the first place. "That was years ago," Yuki said, her voice strained. "She hasn't been like that for a long time."

"Yes," Kanna said, her tone softening, though her gaze remained sharp. "Because I taught her otherwise. I taught her to guard her image. To give no one else the right to narrate her story but herself."

A heavy silence settled over them. Yuki knew exactly what Kanna meant. She had seen it herself-- every move Shizuka made now was cautious, deliberate, a performance shaped by a subtle, constant fear of misstep. A silent part of her grieved for the carefree girl she had known.

"So this shoot..." Yuki murmured, looking down at the pages again. "You think it could... break her out of that?"

"Not break," Kanna corrected, her voice low and intimate. "Remind. It's an artistic release. A way to give her a chance to glimpse at something she's buried-- the self she was before she needed to hide it from the world. At least, the things she is allowed to show. She needs to remember that some things are worth getting dirty for."

Yuki held her stare, searching for a trace of cruelty or manipulation. She found none, only the deep calculation of an artist with a grand vision.

Kanna leaned back in her chair. "That is why I spoke with you first. You know what she was, and what she has become. I want your help in this. To photograph not simply costumes, but a resurrection of the person beneath the mask."

Yuki let out a slow, shaky breath. She was torn between the protective urge to shield her friend and the recognition of the truth in Kanna's words. Closing the folder, she felt a restless tremor of curiosity. A dangerous temptation.

"If you're asking me to help tear down the cage you helped build for her..." Yuki gave a thin, ironic smile. "Then I suppose I'd better make sure the photos are worth it."

Kanna's lips curved in satisfaction, a faint shimmer of triumph glinting in her eyes.

----

The office of Moon River Talent Agency was quiet that morning, the city's traffic a distant hum against soundproofed glass. Shizuka Minazuki sat gracefully across from her agent, Arisa, the faint aroma of coffee lingering between them. The actress's hair was tied back in a neat bun, her face composed and ready for the long day of filming ahead.

Arisa leaned forward, a sleek black folder resting on the desk. "I know you're scheduled to shoot later today," she said, her tone a mix of brisk and warm. "So I won't take up too much of your time. But there's a project I'd like you to see."

She slid the folder across the desk. A soft rustle of paper filled the silence as Shizuka opened it.

"This is called *Saint Beasts Elemental Transformation*," Arisa continued, her eyes steady. "It's an art project by Hiroyuki Tezuka."

Shizuka's brow lifted at the name: Hiroyuki Tezuka. The name was synonymous with boundary-pushing art.

"Yes," Arisa said, a hint of a smile in her voice. "That Tezuka. High-end, bold, sometimes controversial. He wants you."

Shizuka's eyes lowered back to the document. Her fingers traced the sharp lines of the sketches. Suzaku, with its flamboyant showgirl bikini. Seiryu, meant to be deliberately torn apart. And Genbu, a latex suit to be submerged in "primordial muck." She held her expression still, but her mind was a whirlwind of calculations, weighing the artistic merit against the shocking imagery.

"I should also tell you," Arisa said, leaning back slightly, "your friend Kanna is funding this. She recommended you specifically."

Shizuka glanced up briefly, her expression unreadable, before her eyes returned to the pages.

"Tezuka understands your stature," Arisa continued smoothly, her voice a low murmur. "And he knows you'd bring a different kind of audience to this. He's even willing to tone down the costumes to accommodate your comfort levels."

A flicker of something-- a shadow of discomfort, perhaps-- crossed Shizuka's face. The mention of "comfort" felt like a subtle challenge. It was a word that felt like an accusation, suggesting a lack of commitment. Shizuka's fingers tightened on the folder. To take this project and request concessions would be to admit a vulnerability, a retreat from her own artistic ethos. It would be a stain, a compromise.

Arisa watched her, a quiet triumph growing in her eyes. She knew Shizuka would not be able to resist. The actress was a perfectionist; she had built a career on giving 100%, on total immersion in a role, no matter how demanding, no matter how humiliating the role. To pull back now would feel like a betrayal of her own professional principles. The young agent was used to keeping jobs this uncomfortable out of Shizuka's eyes, but this time putting the folder in front of her was a deliberate action-- a challenge.

Finally, Shizuka closed the folder with a soft snap. Her eyes lifted, sharp and unwavering, meeting Arisa's gaze.

"The accommodations are not necessary," she said, her voice clear and firm. "I can accept the project as it is."

Arisa's lips curved into a satisfied, professional smile. "I knew you would."

She reached for her planner, already turning pages. "We'll structure the shoots around your schedule. I'll arrange a meeting with Tezuka as soon as possible." 

Shizuka nodded in agreement. "I would like to hear his vision directly before signing on."

As Shizuka rose to leave, her composure was absolute. The mask was in place, ready for the next challenge. Arisa, watching her go, allowed herself a private smile. She hadn't just gotten her star to sign on to a project; she had just gotten her to sign on to a battle against herself.

And the game had only just begun.

----

The clock on the wall read past midnight when the door clicked open. Shizuka stepped inside, the city sounds finally fading as she slipped off her shoes with a soft sigh. The air inside carried the faint, comforting aroma of tea, and a warm glow from the living room spilled down the hallway.

Yuki was curled up on the sofa, a plush blanket draped over her legs. The television cast bright, fantastical colors across the room-- ribbons and sparkling attacks and a bright-eyed heroine shouting about friendship and courage. The paused counter on the DVR gave away how many times she had replayed the transformation sequence.

Shizuka set her bag down and walked over, easing herself onto the sofa beside Yuki. The silence between them was familiar, a comfortable quiet that had been their sanctuary for years. For a moment, she simply sat, the animated heroism on the screen a stark contrast to the weight she carried.

Finally, she broke the spell. Her voice was low, deliberate, almost hesitant. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Yuki muted the TV without a word and turned slightly, her dark eyes steady. She didn't have to say that she already knew.

Shizuka's gaze flicked down to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. "I'm... taking a new project. For an artist. Hiroyuki Tezuka."

Yuki's stillness was her only response. Shizuka swallowed, the words feeling heavier than they should have.

"It's called Saint Beasts Elemental Transformation." A soft, almost humorless breath escaped Shizuka's lips. "It's... audacious. The costumes, the concepts... they're completely outside of my brand. There's a showgirl bikini. There's a part where they'll be tearing the clothes off of me. And for one, I'll be submerged in... well, they call it 'primordial muck.' And the costume is designed to cling to me and show everything." 

Yuki's hand, which had been resting on the remote, stilled. The casual way Shizuka described it all couldn't hide the tension that radiated from her. Yuki knew that for Shizuka, the challenge wasn't just physical or professional; it was a deeply personal boundary. She remembered all the careful posing, the deliberate angles, the bodysuits chosen to obscure rather than reveal. The latex costume was a direct violation of that unspoken rule, a stripping away of a carefully maintained defense. Yuki felt a cold knot form in her stomach, feeling a touch of anger, and also protectiveness.

Shizuka's voice was quieter now. "I've always believed that to be a true artist, you have to be willing to do the unexpected. But this... this feels like I'm jumping off a cliff."

Yuki finally broke her silence. "Are you really okay with this?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm. "It's not just a job, is it?"

Shizuka shook her head, her gaze fixed on her hands. "I don't know." A long moment of silence stretched between them, filled only by the low hum of the television. "I've spent so long perfecting an image. One of grace and modesty. But... maybe that isn't all I am, is it?"

Her eyes lifted, searching Yuki's face, her vulnerability laid bare. "This project is a chance to prove to myself that I'm more than just the face I show to the world."

The simple honesty of her words hung in the air. For Yuki, there was no more hesitation. Her heart ached for her best friend's silent struggle, but also swelled with pride at her courage.

"When this happens," Shizuka said, her voice a plea, "I need you to be with me."

Yuki reached out and took Shizuka's hand in her own. Her fingers were cold from the remote, but her grip was sure and warm. "I'll be there," she said, her voice a quiet promise. "Behind the camera. And I'll make sure every photo shows not just the costume, but the truth of who you are."

A faint, genuine smile touched Shizuka's lips. She leaned back against the sofa, the light of the paused magical girl transformation casting soft colors across her face. Neither of them was really watching the screen anymore.

----

## The Saint Beasts Project

The studio smelled of resin, varnish, and something else-- a clean, metallic tang that bespoke creation. Hiroyuki Tezuka's workshop was a studio of organized chaos. Half-finished sculptures leaned against walls, fabric swaths hung like discarded skins, and masks with vacant eyes seemed to watch from every stand.

Shizuka Minazuki stood just inside the door. Her composed posture was a perfect contrast to the surrounding mess, but there was a tautness in her shoulders, an unyielding line. She wasn't just observing the organized chaos; she was bracing for what was to come.

Beside her, Yuki Kanzaki remained silent, her camera hanging ready at her side. She studied Shizuka, a quiet, watchful guardian. She saw the way Shizuka's eyes moved, lingering on a scrap of fiery red feathers, then on the shimmering, razor-sharp claws laid neatly on a workbench.

Arisa, brisk and professional, made the introductions. "Mr. Tezuka. As you know, Shizuka is here to discuss your Saint Beasts project."

Hiroyuki Tezuka, wiry and dressed in paint-smeared black, simply nodded, his eyes fixed on Shizuka. "It is not a project for polite consideration," he said, his voice low. "It is a transformation. And transformation is not polite."

He gestured to an assistant, who unveiled the first mannequin: Byakko.

The sleek white leotard clung like a second skin, the sheer silver tights shimmering faintly. A full tiger mask with menacing fangs concealed the head entirely. "The Dance of Rust," Tezuka intoned. "A perfect predator, pristine. But what is perfect is impermanent. Under the storm, the metal of the claws corrodes. A tiger yields to decay."

Shizuka's gaze was steady on the mask. "This mask will hide my face from view," she said quietly.

"Of course," Tezuka replied with a faint, knowing curve of his lips. "You are no longer yourself. You are the beast."

The assistant moved to reveal the second form: Suzaku, the Vermilion Bird. The showgirl bikini of reds and golds was a sharp, almost jarring contrast to the artistry of the wings fanning out behind it. The phoenix mask leered with its sharp beak.

"The Dance of Ash," Tezuka said. "Fire strips away what is valued. The colors burn to bone. It is the fragility disguised as extravagance."

Shizuka said nothing, but her lips thinned. Her fingers brushed unconsciously against the fabric of her sleeve, as though the thought of it was a physical sensation.

Under the table, Yuki reached out and squeezed her hand, a small, subtle anchor.

The third form, Seiryu, the Azure Dragon, was unrolled next, a brilliant azure blue with trailing ribbons. It was almost regal, serene.

"The Dance of Entanglement," Tezuka said, his eyes gleaming. "The dragon soars free... until nature reclaims it. Silken vines become wood, constricting the body and tearing away the clothes. What remains is no longer flight, but something new-- something remade of living wood."

The assistant presented the second, gnarled form: the Wood Dragon. The sculpted wooden pieces adhered where the fabric had been stripped away, creating suggestive shapes that framed the mannequin's torso. The deep V plunged down, a testament to raw, earthly power.

Shizuka's eyes flickered, then narrowed slightly. She seemed to be holding her breath.

The last mannequin was Genbu, but it was not the image of a Black Tortoise as many would have expected, but instead took cues from the accompanying snake in its popular imagery. The obsidian-black leotard gleamed under the lights. From the back extended an articulated tail, already twitching from a hidden mechanism.

"The Dance of Primordial Muck," Tezuka intoned. "The serpent is flawless, pristine... until it drowns. There is no hiding in the muck. It clings and reveals everything. Only surrender remains."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the mythic, unapologetic weight of the art. Shizuka turned to speak, but her gaze faltered, her jaw tight. She seemed visibly shaken, as though the weight of the transformation Tezuka envisioned was finally pressing against her.

Yuki squeezed her hand again, a grounding comfort. Shizuka looked at her, her eyes searching.

Tezuka watched them, then resumed speaking, his voice calm, but with an unrelenting edge. "I had no model in mind when I created these. They are not costumes, they are trials. Most models I would choose are already comfortable with this-- their body is merely a canvas. But you..." he fixed her with an unwavering stare. "Your hesitation makes you perfect. Because for you, this is not a costume. It is a journey. A crucible for change."

Shizuka closed her eyes, inhaling slowly. She felt the pull of the challenge, the artistic integrity of the vision, but also the deep, instinctive fear of losing control. For a moment, she seemed as though she might refuse outright. But Yuki's hand held hers, steady, a quiet promise of support.

When she opened her eyes again, the turmoil was gone, replaced by a steely resolve. "Then I will listen to more of your vision, Mr. Tezuka."

Arisa smiled to herself, satisfied. The queen had not been dethroned. She had merely chosen a new battlefield. Tezuka inclined his head. Yuki, still holding Shizuka's hand, felt the tension ebb slightly from her grip.

For now, at least, Shizuka had chosen to sit at the table of transformation.

----

The late afternoon air was cooler than the heavy stillness inside the studio. Shizuka stepped outside first, the heels of her shoes clicking lightly against the stone path. Yuki followed a few steps behind, her hands slipping into her jacket pockets. The muffled voices of Arisa and Tezuka, already buried in schedules and logistics, were a faint backdrop to the quiet.

Shizuka paused at the edge of the garden where a maple tree spread red leaves like a canopy. Her gaze was fixed on the still pond, its mirrored surface trembling faintly with the autumn breeze.

Yuki came to stand beside her, not crowding. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice low.

Shizuka's gaze stayed fixed on the water. "I feel... like a hypocrite."

The word hung in the air. Yuki waited.

Shizuka finally turned to face her. "I'm a national kimono model. I've spent my career building a brand of modesty and grace. And now, I'm agreeing to... *that*." She gestured back toward the studio. "It feels like a lie."

Yuki shook her head without hesitation. "No, it doesn't."

Shizuka blinked, searching her face. "But... how?"

Yuki met her eyes steadily. "Because that's not the reputation the world sees when they look at you, Shizuka. You're seen as a fearless artist. People look at you and see someone who can embody a kimono's elegance one moment, and then get covered in mud in the next. That's not a lie. That's the truth."

Shizuka was silent, her lips parted slightly as though to argue, but no words came.

"Sure, there are people who will always hate you," Yuki continued, her tone more gentle now. "The people who've always said you're degrading yourself... they're not looking at the art. They're just looking for a reason to tear you down. But you don't owe them a thing."

Shizuka's eyes softened, her expression contemplative. She looked back toward the sliding doors, where the faint hum of voices reminded her that inside, Arisa was already negotiating as if her participation were a foregone conclusion.

"It feels like Arisa had this planned from the start," Shizuka murmured.

"She probably did," Yuki said with a small shrug. "But she was right about one thing. You are more than ready for this. And I can see it, even if you can't yet."

Shizuka turned back to the pond. Her reflection wavered in the ripples, two faces overlapping-- the woman of serene elegance and the woman about to step into something raw and visceral.

"I'm still not sure," she admitted, her voice low.

Yuki's shoulders lifted in another quiet shrug. "I don't have the answer for you." She looked at Shizuka with unwavering sincerity. "This isn't about your reputation, Shizuka. That's already secure. This is about whether you believe it's secure. And that's the part only you can work out."

Shizuka exhaled slowly, her breath fogging in the cool air. For a long while she said nothing, her gaze lingering on her trembling reflection.

And Yuki stood beside her in silence, close enough to be an anchor, far enough to let her wrestle with herself.

----

The world outside the suburban Tokyo house had long since quieted into a hush. Shizuka lay sprawled on her bed, a simple camisole clinging softly to her frame, loose shorts brushing against her thighs. The sheets beneath her were cool, the ceiling plain and white.

Her arm rested against her forehead as she stared upward, eyes open but unfocused. Alone. At least to anyone else.

"...Do I even need to do this project?" she asked aloud, her voice barely more than a breath.

The answer came from within, a low rumble like a cavern trembling with ancient weight.

"Your time in the light is yours to choose." Deathclaw's voice resonated through her mind, dark and steady, a truth of stone and storm. "But I do not understand the source of your conflict."

Shizuka shifted slightly, rolling onto her side, hugging the pillow against her chest. "Because if I do it... there's no taking it back. Once it's out there, everyone will see it. They'll never unsee it."

There was a long pause, then Deathclaw's voice returned, patient but cutting.

"What you truly fear is not their sight. You fear them seeing you."

Her brow furrowed, her lips parting in quiet denial. "...That's not true."

"It is." His tone was absolute. "You hide everything about you. Much of what you have done, you keep in shadow. Things you will never allow the light to touch." A pause, then a faint, cold note of observation entered his voice. "Even me."

Shizuka's eyes closed tightly, fingers digging into the pillow. "You know why. No one would understand."

"Of course not." His tone was flat, devoid of human emotion. "My existence is far too fantastical for their world. To them it would be a fable, a delusion. You are wise to protect that secret. But the same fear drives this hesitation, little girl. You fear their judgment. You give more credence to their voices than your own."

Her breath came slower, heavier. She hated when he spoke truths she didn't want to acknowledge.

Deathclaw's voice shifted, the rumble deepening. "Then why not enjoy it? Find pleasure in the spectacle, in the transformation. Why do you dwell upon it as a torment?"

Shizuka scoffed lightly, the sound muffled by the pillow. "That isn't helpful."

"I did not intend for it to be." His response was a cold, alien certainty, not a human retort. "I only wish to see you live without hesitations."

Silence pressed in again, broken only by the faint sounds of nature outside her window. The dragon's voice receded into the depths of her mind, leaving her staring at nothing, caught in the same circle as before. She was no closer to an answer.

Her eyes blinked slowly, heavy with exhaustion but unwilling to close. The question still remained, whispering through the darkness of her room: Did she have the courage to choose the journey, even if the destination was uncertain?

----

The Suzuki estate's tea room was a world apart from the restless city. Its tatami floors muted every footstep, the sliding shoji screens filtered the afternoon light into soft gold, and the faint fragrance of incense lingered over the low lacquered table where Kanna sat, arranging porcelain cups with the ease of long practice.

Shizuka knelt across from her, her posture flawless, but her eyes were distant. She had accepted the tea Kanna poured for her, yet it remained untouched, steam fading into the silence.

She had come to see Kanna, her close friend, her 'sister', in hopes of seeking clarity. Kanna had listened quietly as Shizuka related her recent days, from meeting Hiroyuki Tezuka to considering the necessity of taking on this project. Her agent, Arisa, had already deduced that Shizuka was going to accept regardless, and arrangements were already in place. But that did nothing to quell the lingering doubts in her mind.

Kanna set her own cup down and folded her hands in her lap. She watched her friend for a moment to gather her words.

"When the world looks at you, Shizuka, they see the perfect Yamato Nadeshiko," she began gently. "They see a woman who is graceful and modest. A national treasure."

Shizuka's gaze lowered to the cup before her, but she said nothing.

Kanna let the words hang, then leaned slightly forward, her tone softening. "But that's not what I see. And it's not what Arisa sees. Or even Yuki. We see the real Shizuka. The one we knew before all of this."

Shizuka's lips pressed together faintly, the veneer of composure cracking ever so slightly.

Kanna continued, her voice weaving past the walls Shizuka had built. "Do you remember, back then? You did things for no one but yourself, without caring what anyone else thought. The world thinks of you as a model of modesty. But you and I both know... modesty isn't just about covering yourself. It's about honesty. Purity of spirit. That is who you are."

Shizuka's hands curled lightly against her lap.

"Your grace was always natural," Kanna pressed on. "That is why you became successful, and became a kimono model despite all stacks being against you. But somewhere along the way, you began to shape yourself by what others demanded. Your modesty-- a reflection of your honesty-- hardened into rules. A cage you built for yourself."

The silence between them deepened, broken only by the quiet sound of the teapot settling on the tray. Shizuka's breath was shallow, but she did not look away.

Kanna's gaze sharpened slightly, though her tone remained calm. "This Saint Beasts project... it is not hypocrisy. A hypocrite pretends to be something they're not. But you, Shizuka-- you are being honest with yourself, with your art. This project isn't a betrayal of your modesty. It's a testament to it."

Shizuka blinked, caught off guard.

Kanna smiled faintly, the kind of smile that saw through her. "It takes a truly pure and honest soul to bare itself for art's sake. To be vulnerable, yet unwavering. That is who you are, no matter how many masks the world places on you. Don't worry about what they will say. I know your heart. And your heart is pure."

For a long time, Shizuka did not move. Her eyes lingered on the untouched tea, on the faint swirl of steam.

Her friends had always accepted her. But this was different-- Kanna's words pierced deeper, unraveling the tension at its core. The problem was never her reputation. The problem was that she had mistaken the shell of her reputation for its heart.

At last, she exhaled, shoulders softening. She lifted the cup, and finally drank. The tea was warm, grounding, steady.

When she set it back down, her gaze met Kanna's directly for the first time that afternoon. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

"...You're right."

Kanna inclined her head, serene, but the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes betrayed the victory she had secured.

Shizuka felt something shift-- not a decision made for her career, but one chosen for herself.

----

## Saint Beast Byakko

The studio smelled faintly of paint, resin, and fresh fabric-- an odd mix of sterility and artistry. Shizuka stood before a full-length mirror, clad only in the white leotard and opaque silver tights that formed the base of the Byakko costume. Assistants moved about, carrying trays of armor pieces and polishing metallic claws that gleamed under the overhead lights.

Arisa, poised on a folding chair, tapped idly at her phone, absorbed into her meticulous planning routine. Tezuka was less still, pacing nearby with a sketchbook under his arm, his gaze on Shizuka like a sculptor measuring a block of marble.

"The mask makes the transformation," Tezuka said, his voice a low, deliberate murmur.

At his signal, an assistant approached with it: the full Byakko mask. A white tiger's snout, fangs bared, eyes narrowed in eternal ferocity. Shizuka felt a cold weight of apprehension settling in her stomach.

She took it in both hands. The mask was heavier than it looked, its solid form a contradiction to the light-as-air costume. She raised it slowly, placed it over her face, and lowered it into place.

The world shrank to a dim, fractured tunnel of sight. Her breath echoed back at her in a tight, humid chamber. The first inhale was short, ragged. The second barely reached her lungs. A primal fear, not of the mask but of the confinement, seized her chest. Her hands rose instinctively to tear it off.

"It's alright," an assistant said softly, their fingers gently touching her arm. "You're safe. Just a moment. Breathe slower. Through the nose."

Another voice, a woman's, guided her: "In... and out. You have plenty of air."

Shizuka forced herself still, focusing on the calm rhythm of the voices. Her body trembled, but gradually, the air began to flow again. The panic ebbed, leaving a faint tremor. The mask settled, a heavy new skin.

"There," Tezuka murmured from behind her. "Byakko lives."

Shizuka opened her eyes to the dim, fractured view the mask allowed. She could barely see, but she could feel the assistants moving in, fastening the segmented chest plate over her torso. Metallic gauntlets clasped around her arms, their sculpted claws curling over her hands. The boots followed, heavy and empowering, pulling her posture taller.

Piece by piece, she was swallowed by the white tiger.

When the last strap was tightened, an assistant stepped aside, gesturing toward the mirror. Shizuka turned. Vision tunneled through the mask's eye slits, she saw a figure staring back at her that was no longer her. The gleaming white figure, armored, clawed, faceless but for the snarling tiger visage, looked like something from a fever dream of myth.

She exhaled slowly, the sound muffled by the mask. Her posture, though still graceful, was now charged with a new power. The tail curved behind her, glinting under the lights. She could barely breathe, she could barely see, but for the first time, she felt the exhilarating thrill of the transformation.

And she had to admit, she looked good in it.

----

The studio lights dimmed until only the stage was alive, bathed in a pale, cold glow that made the Byakko costume gleam like new-forged steel. Shizuka stepped into the circle, her breath muffled beneath the snarling mask. The weight of the armor, the claws, the boots-- all of it pressed down on her, but it felt grounding, too, tethering her to this role.

Yuki adjusted her camera, her eyes focused and sharp behind the lens. This wasn't a performance; it was a ritual.

Tezuka gave a subtle nod. A fine mist began to fall.

At first, it was delicate, shimmering under the lights, clinging to Shizuka's pristine white leotard and silver tights. She began her choreography, each movement deliberate and powerful. Her clawed gauntlets slashed through the air in arcs that mimicked the tiger's hunt. The segmented tail swayed with her spins, catching the light like a blade. Yuki's shutter clicked in rhythm, capturing the elegance of the pose, the strength in her legs, the glint of droplets on her armor.

Then the rain thickened.

What followed was more than water. It was a dense, clinging liquid, streaking down the metallic surfaces. At first, Shizuka didn't notice, her focus fixed on her movements. But as the minutes passed, the change became visible. The gleaming gauntlets darkened, flecked with streaks of orange-red. The segmented chest plate, once shining, began to bloom with mottled patches that looked like rust. 

An odd discomfort crept in. The costume she had been given was no longer perfect; it was degrading, marked, flawed. Her body still moved through the choreography, but a quiet voice in her mind recoiled. A hitch in her step, the faintest tilt of her mask, betrayed her struggle. She could feel the perfect facade she had built for the character beginning to crack.

Yuki, behind the lens, saw it all: the hesitation, the flicker of panic. She saw Shizuka's resolve harden, a raw, uncompromising strength. Instead of pulling away from the decay, Shizuka leaned into it. Her claws struck the air harder, her spins grew more forceful, her body carving dominance into the space around her.

The simulated rust spread faster now, blooming over her armor like autumn leaves overtaking summer. What had started as pristine became scarred and weathered, beautiful in its decay. The tiger was no longer an immaculate, untouchable ideal-- it was a mortal beast, fighting against time itself.

Yuki's camera clicked furiously, each frame a chronicle of transformation. She wasn't just capturing an image; she was preserving Shizuka's surrender, her acceptance that beauty could shift and still remain powerful.

By the end, the Byakko costume was unrecognizable from its first gleaming state. It looked ancient and worn, like something unearthed from centuries of slumber. Shizuka stood in the center of it all, shoulders heaving beneath the mask, drenched and heavy, but still standing tall.

The rain slowed. The silence afterward was almost reverent. Through her lens, Yuki caught the final image: Shizuka, head tilted back, claws outstretched, a rust-stained tigress staring down eternity. The journey had begun.

----

The dressing room smelled faintly of metal and chemicals, a sharp tang that clung to Shizuka's skin. She sat on the small padded bench, shoulders hunched as two assistants carefully unclasped the armor pieces from her damp leotard. The chest plate came off first, its once-gleaming surface mottled and streaked with "corrosion." Next were the gauntlets, their tiger claws dulled by blotches of orange. Each piece landed on the table beside her with a heavy clunk.

The tiger mask rested nearby, its fanged snarl catching the fluorescent light, no longer fearsome but oddly melancholy-- like a beast that had fought too long.

Shizuka's lilac hair stuck to her temples, the tightly-wound bun loosened slightly from the mask's removal. Her tights clung to her legs, streaked in the reddish-brown residue of Tezuka's 'corrosive rain'. She glanced down at herself and sighed.

The door creaked open, and Yuki slipped inside, camera bag slung over her shoulder. She carried herself with the energy of someone who'd been running on adrenaline, cheeks flushed from the shoot.

"Tezuka's happy," she announced, voice warm. "He says the pictures turned out beautifully."

Shizuka gave her a look, somewhere between exasperation and disbelief, before glancing down again at the reddish stains streaking her arms and legs.

"At least someone's happy," she muttered. "I'm still not sure if this is supposed to be rust... or some kind of Italian sauce."

The assistants chuckled politely but kept working.

Yuki tilted her head, lips curving into a grin. "Though... now that you mention it, it does look a bit like you lost a fight with a vat of marinara."

Shizuka blinked at her, and for a heartbeat her composure cracked. "...Great. I'll never eat pasta again."

Yuki laughed, the sound echoing bright against the walls. "Let's... maybe not get Italian for a while."

Shizuka shook her head, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The assistants finished removing the last armor piece, excused themselves, and left the two women alone.

Yuki set her camera bag down and leaned against the wall, arms folded. "That was the easy part, you know."

Shizuka's smile faltered. She knew what was coming.

"In a month," Yuki continued softly, "you've got the Suzaku shoot."

The words hung heavy in the air, and Shizuka swallowed hard. Her fingers twisted together in her lap. "...The bikini."

Yuki didn't flinch at her unease. She walked forward and crouched so she could look Shizuka in the eye. "Yeah. The bikini. But it's going to be okay. You don't have to walk into it blind."

Shizuka raised a doubtful eyebrow. "And how exactly do I prepare for something like that?"

Yuki grinned, her photographer's confidence shining through. "Practice. We can use our home studio. No feathers, no fire, no audience. Just you, me, and the camera. First step? You put on a regular bikini. No showgirl glitter, no phoenix mask. Just the simple kind you'd wear to the beach."

Shizuka tilted her head. "And then what? Pretend I'm strutting on a runway?"

"Not strut," Yuki corrected, eyes glinting mischievously. "More like prance. You know-- like a peacock, showing off her feathers."

Shizuka groaned, rolling her eyes, but the joke hit home. A laugh bubbled out of her, reluctant but real.

"Stop being silly," she said.

"I may be silly," Yuki agreed with a grin, "and right here with you. We'll get through Suzaku together."

Shizuka looked down at her stained leotard again, then back up at Yuki. For the first time since removing the tiger mask, she let herself smile fully.

----

## Putting on a Bikini For the Very First Time

The home studio had been tidied up for the occasion-- lights adjusted, a neutral backdrop stretched tight, camera equipment waiting in the corner. But on the table in the center of the room lay the true cause of Shizuka's unease: a neat spread of bikinis in all shapes, sizes, and colors, most of them far too revealing for her liking.

Shizuka planted her hands on her hips, staring down at them like they were weapons pointed straight at her dignity. "I don't want to wear those."

Across the room, Yuki gasped dramatically, putting a hand to her chest as if she'd been wounded. "Hey! I bought these for you. And don't even try to tell me you'd have picked anything if I'd dragged you into the store. We both know we'd have left empty-handed."

Shizuka gave her a flat look, then exhaled in resignation. Her shoulders slumped. "Fine. Which one do you want me to put on?"

Yuki's pout melted into a grin. Mischief flickered in her eyes as she leaned over the table, scanning the collection like a wolf choosing its prey.

There was the emerald bandeau set with high-cut bottoms. A crimson halter bikini tied with strings that looked almost fragile. A sleek black two-piece with strappy cutouts across the hips. And, at the far end, a tiny lilac number that barely qualified as clothing-- a triangle top with whisper-thin straps and matching bottoms that looked more like ribbons than fabric.

Yuki tapped the lilac bikini with a finger. "This one."

Shizuka's brow arched. "Of course you would." She picked it up gingerly, holding the little bundle of fabric between two fingers. With a sigh that sounded like surrender, she walked toward the changing screen. "I can't begin to understand how this stays on."

Yuki waited, chewing her lip and bouncing her heel against the floor. She had picked it to tease, to make Shizuka squirm, but she hadn't fully thought through what it might feel like to actually see her in it.

When Shizuka stepped out a moment later, Yuki's heart skipped a beat.

The bikini was even smaller than Yuki remembered. The soft lilac fabric contrasted against Shizuka's skin, the thin straps curving across her shoulders and hips in the most precarious way possible. It was, as Yuki had predicted, barely there, and looked as if would fall off at any moment.

"How do I look?" Shizuka asked, voice calm, but her hands hovered uncertainly at her sides.

For a beat, Yuki couldn't speak. First, because she was stunned Shizuka had actually put it on. Second, because she couldn't ignore how incredibly bold-- how daring-- it made her look. And third, because Yuki's chest had tightened, her pulse skipping as her brain betrayed her with one thought:

[She's *hot*. She's so stupidly, *ridiculously hot*.]

Shizuka tilted her head, noticing the silence. "Did I... do something wrong?"

Yuki jolted back into herself, eyes widening. "No! No, nothing wrong! You look--" She cut herself off, fumbling with her camera bag.

Shizuka narrowed her eyes slightly. "...You're blushing more than I am."

Yuki coughed into her hand, looking anywhere but directly at her best friend. "It's-- nothing. Nothing at all!"

But inside, her thoughts were spiraling. [Stupid sexy best friend. How am I supposed to focus like this?]

She forced herself to raise her camera, pretending to adjust the lens while her heartbeat pounded in her ears. This wasn't just a test for Shizuka, she realized-- it was going to be a test for her, too. Because the more she looked, the harder it was to keep her role professional.

Secretly, she admitted to herself: maybe this practice session wasn't just for Shizuka's sake. Maybe she needed it just as much.

The lights hummed softly, the neutral backdrop catching every shadow and gleam of skin. Yuki steadied her camera, hiding behind it as though it were a shield.

"Okay," she said, her voice a touch higher than usual. "Let's, um... start simple. Hands on your hips. Just... stand tall."

Shizuka did as asked, posture straight and commanding. The lilac bikini glinted under the lights, its fragility a stark contrast to her steady gaze. The curve of her collarbone, the strong line of her legs, the way her hair spilled over her shoulders-- it all made Yuki's throat dry.

The shutter snapped. Yuki swallowed. [She looks like a goddess. A ridiculously underdressed goddess. Focus, Yuki.]

"Good, good," she said quickly, darting behind her lens. "Now, maybe... tilt your head. Look over your shoulder. Like... like you're just catching someone staring at you."

Shizuka obeyed, her eyes flicking toward the camera with a languid, natural grace. The tiny motion made the pose smolder without her even trying.

Yuki's chest tightened. She almost missed the shot because her finger hesitated on the shutter. 

"Perfect," Yuki breathed, then realized she'd said it out loud. She cleared her throat. "I mean-- yes, that's... that's working."

Shizuka glared at her, but didn't comment. She simply shifted again, crossing one leg over the other in a stance that was half bashful, half alluring.

Every frame made Yuki's pulse pound faster.

"Okay," she stammered, lowering the camera for a second to collect herself. "Let's... try sitting. On the stool. One leg bent, the other... loose. Relaxed."

Shizuka sat as instructed, her movements elegant even in such a revealing outfit. She rested one hand along her thigh, the other brushing hair from her face. The pose accentuated everything Yuki was trying *not* to notice.

Her camera clicked automatically, almost too fast. Her own hands trembled slightly.

Shizuka tilted her head. "You're very fidgety today."

Yuki froze. "Am I? No... I'm fine. Totally fine."

The corner of Shizuka's lips curled, just enough to be noticeable. She shifted again, leaning back on her arms, her torso arching in a way that was both casual and devastating.

Yuki's brain screamed. [Don't stare. Don't drool. Don't let her see you...]

Her composure cracked anyway.

"Yuki," Shizuka said evenly, "your ears are red."

Yuki nearly dropped the camera. "It's-- hot in here! These lights, you know, they... uh, make it warm." She fumbled to adjust a setting that didn't need adjusting.

Meanwhile, Shizuka just looked at her calmly, as though testing her. The faintest trace of amusement glimmered in her eyes, but she didn't call her out further. She simply returned to posing, each shift in her body somehow more dangerous than the last.

For the rest of the shoot, Yuki clung to her professionalism like a lifeline. She gave directions, adjusted angles, snapped photo after photo-- but every moment was its own private battle.

Because Shizuka, her best friend, her partner in everything, was just so *distressingly hot*.

By the time Yuki lowered the camera and declared the session over, her hands were shaking.

Shizuka stood, reaching for a robe, and glanced at her with a small, unreadable smile. "You worked hard."

Yuki exhaled, forcing a laugh. "So did you. You, um... you were amazing."

As Shizuka slipped behind the screen to change back, Yuki sank into the stool and buried her hot face in her hands.

----

The TV glowed softly in the dim room, filling the living room with the pastel colors and bright music of a magical girl transformation sequence. Yuki sat curled on the couch, chin resting on her knees, hugging a pillow tight to her chest. She wasn't really paying attention to the show, though-- her mind kept wandering back to earlier, to shutter clicks, flushed cheeks, and the sight of Shizuka in that impossibly small bikini.

She groaned into the pillow, trying to block out the memory. [Focus on sparkly wands and justice speeches, Yuki. Not... that.]

The sound of light footsteps approached. Shizuka appeared in the doorway, dressed down in a plain T-shirt and jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders. She carried a small plate with a neat slice of strawberry shortcake balanced on it.

"Here," she said simply, setting it down on the coffee table in front of Yuki. "You looked like you needed this."

Yuki peeked up over the pillow. "You're a lifesaver," she mumbled, though she didn't move for the plate just yet.

Shizuka sat down beside her, leaning back comfortably against the couch. For a moment she just watched the animated girls twirl and pose on screen, her expression unreadable. Then she turned her head toward Yuki.

"...You okay?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," Yuki said automatically. Then, after a pause, she sighed. "I mean, not really. I wasn't... actually prepared to see you in that tiny bikini."

Shizuka blinked, then gave a little shrug. "Maybe we should've started with one of the less daring ones," she admitted. "It was a bit much, even for me. And you can't break down like you did earlier-- not when the real shoot comes."

Yuki winced. "I know. I know." She rubbed at her face. "Honestly, these practice sessions are just as much for me as they are for you. Maybe more."

There was no judgment in Shizuka's gaze-- only calm, steady understanding. She reached out and nudged the plate a little closer to Yuki, as though to insist.

Finally Yuki picked it up and dug in, savoring the soft sponge and sweet cream. She let the flavor linger, a small comfort melting through the tension she'd been holding all day.

"Thanks," she said softly.

Shizuka just gave a quiet nod, turning her eyes back to the TV.

Yuki took another bite of cake and exhaled. She was glad Shizuka understood. The tension that had coiled in her all day began to unravel. She looked at the woman beside her-- the one who could face the world with quiet grace and still bring her strawberry shortcake when she knew she was struggling. The one she would stand with, no matter what.

----

## Saint Beast Suzaku

The fitting room was alive with the rustle of feathers and the faint scent of adhesive. A month had passed since the Byakko shoot, a month Shizuka had spent preparing herself in body and mind, but now, standing before the mirror with assistants fussing over her, she felt her preparation crumbling.

The Suzaku costume was a spectacle of reds and golds, a showgirl bikini base that reminded her a little too much of the lilac fabric Yuki had convinced her to model. Only this time, the material was a blazing gradient of fiery hues, sequined patterns glinting like embers. Tiny ribbons and dangling beads swayed with every breath, making the costume feel alive, a constant, fragile movement.

The bikini bottom was tied at the sides with strings that looked delicate and insecure, though an assistant reassured her, "It's glued in place. It's not going anywhere." But the casualness of the statement did nothing to quell Shizuka's feeling of total exposure.

Then came the wings: large, flamboyant, and layered feathers were secured to a harness on her back, their weight tugging at her shoulders. When she raised her arms, the wings unfurled in a brilliant arc, each feather catching the light. When she lowered them, they folded neatly around her form like a living mantle. A cascade of tail plumes, shimmering with gold and crimson, fanned out at her rear, reminiscent of a peacock's display. Boots sculpted into sharp talons encased her legs, their glossy finish gleaming with a predatory edge.

On a table, the final piece waited: the phoenix mask. Its sharp beak and flame-like contours looked less like a prop and more like the face of a mythic creature.

Shizuka stood in front of the mirror while the assistants stepped back. She studied her reflection, a sight both magnificent and utterly exposed. Her fingers trailed down the fragile line of the bikini top, then the beaded accents swaying like tiny sparks.

Her scowl was almost imperceptible. [Was this art, or was it a form of exquisite professional cruelty?] And yet... she couldn't entirely deny the power of the image in the mirror. Suzaku, the firebird, was meant to be bold, radiant, and impossible to ignore. And she was certainly all of that.

"Mask, please," one of the assistants said softly, lifting the headpiece.

Shizuka held still as it was lowered onto her face, the world dimming through its glass-lens eye slits. The snug fit muffled her breath for a moment before she adjusted.

She released a long sigh, a silent acceptance of the trial ahead. The assistants exchanged quick smiles but said nothing as they made final adjustments. Shizuka knew what came next: the doors would open, she would walk into the main studio, and Yuki-- professional, composed, dependable Yuki-- would be waiting there with her camera.

She squared her shoulders, spreading her arms to test the wings. They unfurled with a dramatic sweep, the hiss of feathers against the air a quiet sound of protest. Her last thought was for Yuki: she knew her friend was probably going to faint standing up the moment she saw the full Suzaku look. Shizuka looked at her reflection one last time, a wry smile on her lips. She wasn't sure if she was ready, but she was going to do it anyway.

----

The studio doors opened with a low creak, and Shizuka stepped through in the full Suzaku regalia. The fiery bikini caught the light immediately, sequins glittering like sparks about to ignite, the wings rustling with every motion. Her talon-shaped boots clicked against the polished floor, and the phoenix mask hid everything save her steady, determined stride.

And just as Shizuka expected, Yuki froze.

For a moment, Yuki's camera hung loose in her hands, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating like she'd been struck dumb. She snapped her jaw shut, inhaled sharply, and very deliberately raised her camera to her face as if she hadn't just forgotten how to breathe.

"...You look great," Yuki said, her voice much too level, too practiced. Shizuka caught the slight tremor in it, though.

[Professional. Calm. In control. Just barely.]

Shizuka smirked under the mask.

The assistants ushered her to the first set, where a neutral background and steady lighting allowed the fiery colors of the costume to dominate. Yuki directed softly, each word carefully measured to keep herself focused on the work, not the barely there outfit.

"Raise your wings... good. Tilt your head. Perfect."

Shizuka moved with deliberate grace, extending her arms so the feathered wings stretched wide, then curling them inward to mimic the embrace of flame. Beads and ribbons shimmered with each pose. The phoenix mask gave her a faceless mystique, her body and movement the only voice Suzaku had.

The pristine shots went smoothly, like the controlled beginning of Byakko. Shizuka could almost pretend this wasn't so different-- just another costume, another role, another story told through her body.

Soon enough came the transition: the Dance of Ash, as Tezuka put it. [Because he isn't just satisfied at gawking at my body,] Shizuka thought glumly.

The assistants led her to the closed-off section of the studio, where smoke machines already hissed faint trails of mist. The backdrop was alive with an illusion of flame-- fiery oranges and reds lit by hidden projectors, flickering like a burning horizon. The industrial fans lined the edges, their metal frames ominous.

Beside them, bins of fine grey powder waited, already scooped into trays for dispersal. It was meant to be ash, but the colored powder was deemed safer for the skin and easier to clean-up. Of course, it was no less clingy.

Shizuka's wings twitched. She glanced at Yuki, who gave her a steady nod. Camera lifted, eyes sharp. Ready.

The first switch flipped. Fans roared to life, buffeting her wings and tail plumes. The smoke thickened, rising in whorls around her body.

"Begin!" someone called.

The trays of powder were tipped into the airflow. Grey particles billowed, swirling like storm clouds caught in firelight. Within moments, it clung to her skin, to the sequined bikini, to the feathers.

Shizuka moved.

Her arms arched outward, wings sweeping through the ash. She turned, each motion deliberate, the showgirl phoenix now dancing in a funeral pyre. Beads and ribbons flickered once more, then dulled beneath the powder. The fiery oranges and reds of her costume faded, smothered under the ash until even Suzaku's flames seemed extinguished.

Yuki's camera never faltered. She tracked each turn, each dramatic spread of wings, capturing the transformation as Suzaku  collapsed into smoldering ruin.

By the end, Shizuka was almost unrecognizable. The once-vivid showgirl bikini was gray, the feathers heavy with ash, her talons dulled. A second layer of powder drifted across her bare skin, accentuating every line of her body, but leeching away the warmth. She stood still, chest rising and falling beneath the mask, her breath damp and hot within it.

The set went quiet as the fans powered down. The smoke drifted off in pale curls. Yuki slowly lowered her camera.

"...We got it," she said at last. Her voice was quiet, reverent, like she had just witnessed something sacred.

Shizuka shifted, wings rustling under the powder. Her only thought was how badly she needed a shower-- no, two showers. Maybe three.

"Good," she muttered, voice muffled under the mask. "Because I can't even tell if I'm Suzaku or a chimney sweep."

That finally broke Yuki's composure. A laugh slipped out, bright and uncontrollable. She shook her head and pressed her camera to her chest, grinning.

Shizuka sighed, ash falling from her wings in soft clouds. [Yes... definitely three showers.]

----

Shizuka sat in the dressing room with thick towels draped over her shoulders and lap, her skin still dusted with stubborn streaks of grey ash powder. The floor was littered with faint trails of powder where it had fallen from her wings and tail plumes, which the assistants were carefully dismantling. Each plume was laid aside, dulled and lifeless compared to how they shimmered earlier. The phoenix mask rested on the table nearby, its once-fiery sheen muted to a flat gray.

Her face, at least, had been wiped clean from any stray particles that got into the mask, and her hair was twisted into a loose bun-- but strands still clung with ash that refused to leave. She looked half-pristine, half-ruined.

The door creaked open, and Yuki stepped in. She stopped just inside the doorway, tilted her head, and smirked.

"You look like you jumped in a volcano," Yuki said. "And then hardened into a living fossil."

Shizuka rolled her eyes, though the corner of her lips tugged up. "That was the idea, wasn't it? The smoldering ruins of Suzaku." She exhaled slowly. "I just hope it was worth it."

Yuki crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "It was. The pictures came out great. Tezuka's over the moon-- he said you've got the best sportsmanship of anyone he's ever worked with."

Shizuka arched a brow. "Sportsmanship. I wonder if that means he's laughing at me behind my back... or worse."

"Neither," Yuki replied firmly. Then she softened, smiling. "You looked good out there. You look good even now, covered in ash. Honestly? You'd probably look good in a garbage bag."

That earned a small shake of the head from Shizuka, though she didn't fight the faint blush on her cheeks.

The assistants tugged gently at the tied strings of the showgirl bikini, carefully peeling it away from her skin. The glue made every removal sting just a little. Shizuka grimaced, then glanced toward Yuki. "So... want to stay and watch them hose me down and scrub me like some sort of wild animal?"

"Sounds to me like you're getting a spa day after all," Yuki said, grinning playfully.

Shizuka snorted. "Hardly. My body needs to be back in pristine condition. I've got filming tomorrow, and the studio doesn't want their star actress looking like she spent the night in a charcoal pit. And when it's time for Seiryu..." She paused, her voice dropping a little. "...I'll need it to be perfect."

Yuki nodded. "Then I'll look forward to it."

Shizuka glanced back at her, a flicker of resolve behind her tired smile. For now, she would let the ash be scrubbed away. Tomorrow, she would return to the light of the cameras again. And beyond that, Seiryu awaited.

----

## Time Limits

The Suzuki mansion's elegant corridors and polished floors carried not only the steps of the household staff, but the quiet weight of secrets, too. Tonight, it felt heavier than usual as the maid guided Shizuka to the secluded wing where Shion, Kanna's information broker husband, kept his personal office.

The door opened, revealing a room that looked more like a hidden nerve center than a study. Three glowing monitors filled one side of the desk with shifting lines of data. A smaller table with neatly set chairs suggested meals were meant to be taken here, though no plates or cups could be seen. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with file folders and worn spines that told of decades of collected information not meant for the world of light. Shizuka wondered for a moment where Shion got these tomes that were surely older than he was, but decided that she didn't need to know the answer.

Shion sat at the desk, posture straight, glasses catching the dim light. He immediately pushed them up his nose as his sharp gaze moved from the screen to her. "Shizuka. Please, sit."

She obeyed, though with a sigh, already dreading the purpose of this visit.

The maid quietly excused herself, closing the door with a soft click. Only then did Shion fold his hands atop the desk.

"I've received some... deliveries," he began, his tone measured. "From our mutual acquaintance. About the shadow project we are expected to complete within the next ten years."

Shizuka's jaw tightened. She nodded faintly. And then, from within, came the low, resonant murmur of Deathclaw's voice, echoing across her consciousness:

"Ten years. That is the span allowed to you in the world of light. Use it well."

Shizuka lowered her eyes. Ten years. An actual limit-- an expiration date on her life as the world knew her. She drew in a quiet breath before answering. "Arisa has mentioned this before. She told me I should start taking... time off. For 'health reasons.' To build a story, a... narrative for the public. Something that will explain why I eventually disappear from the scene."

Shion gave a small, approving nod. "That is wise. If we begin slowly, the transition will seem natural. A gradual reduction in appearances. A scheduled absence here and there. Eventually, it will give you the cover you need to leave modeling and acting altogether." His glasses flashed as he tilted his head slightly. "And it will give you the privacy required when that time comes."

"I don't like it," Shizuka admitted, her voice low, shoulders tense. "But I know it must be done. I... owe it. To them... to *her*."

Shion's gaze softened slightly, though it lost none of its gravity. "It will take time to analyze the contents of what we've received. But part of the preparation involves vetting members of the household staff. Some of the maids will need to be selected carefully. They will be responsible for maintaining your body during the project."

Shizuka frowned slightly, then glanced toward the shelves stacked with classified secrets. "Have you decided who?"

"I'll begin with Haruka," Shion replied. "She is loyal and experienced. And she already shoulders much of the mansion's trust. Kanna trusts her unconditionally. If anyone can be brought into this circle safely, it is her."

Shizuka nodded. Relief flickered in her expression. "Yes. Haruka would be the right choice."

For a moment, silence hung between them, filled only by the faint hum of the monitors.

Then Shion leaned back slightly, his voice lower, touched with something almost regretful. "Until then, Shizuka, I suggest you use your time in the light as best you can. I am sorry it has to be given limits, but this is the path we must follow."

Shizuka looked down at her hands resting in her lap. She felt Deathclaw's presence stir faintly within her, the ancient weight of his existence reminding her of why she had agreed to this burden in the first place.

"It's all right," she said finally, lifting her chin. "I understand. This is the deal I made. I accepted it the moment I chose this path." She took a quiet breath, steady but resolute. "All I can do now is make the most of the time I have left, no matter how difficult it is."

Shion studied her for a long moment, then gave a rare, approving smile. "Then we are in agreement. Ten years, Shizuka. Make them count."

The weight of both worlds pressed against her shoulders-- but she stood ready to bear it.

----

The quiet of her bedroom wrapped around Shizuka like a comfortable blanket. This was the rare silence she craved-- no cameras, no costumes, no assistants. Just her simple camisole and shorts, her bed, and the steady rhythm of her own breath.

On the dresser, she set the pieces of her ritual: a lavender candle, its wick unburnt but waiting. Next to it, her 'maintenance tool', a discreet, practical vibrator she took care of in order to take care of herself. This wasn't about indulgence; it was about discipline. A way to care for her body, keep her balance, and remind herself she was still flesh and blood, not merely an image.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, fingers brushing the matchbox when the familiar rumble stirred inside her.

"So," Deathclaw's voice rolled through her head, sharp with arrogance. "This is what you concern yourself with? Frivolous flames and trinkets. Preparing to prance about in scraps of cloth while the sands of your time run thin."

Shizuka exhaled through her nose, eyes narrowing. "You always pick the worst times."

"The worst times are when truth is heard most clearly," Deathclaw replied. "Tell me, little girl. Why waste thought on showing off your body when you know how little time remains to you?"

Her hand tightened around the matchbox. "The next shoot isn't even like that. The Seiryu costume-- it's flesh-tone underwear. I'll be covered."

A rumble like a laugh shook through her mind. "Covered? Your words betray you. You already see yourself as standing bare. Your own shame admits it."

Shizuka grimaced, looking away from the candle. She hated when he twisted her thoughts so neatly. "Why are you so interested in what I'm doing in the world of light? You've never cared before."

"I have always cared," Deathclaw said, his voice lowering into something almost intimate, though still edged with cold observation. "Your flesh endures well enough, but your mind wavers. And if it breaks, so too will the vessel I reside in. I am simply investing in your mental wellness."

Shizuka groaned and flopped back onto the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Insufferable. Just... leave me alone. I have something to do."

"Proceed, little girl," Deathclaw said, his tone rich with amusement. "I will enjoy the echoes."

And with that, his presence sank deeper into her consciousness, leaving her staring up at the ceiling. A long sigh escaped her lips, part frustration, part reluctant acknowledgment.

[He's not wrong,] she thought, alone in the quiet room. [I do need to prepare... not just my body, but my mind.]

Her eyes drifted back to the candle. With steady hands, she struck the match. The flame caught, a soft lavender scent blooming into the air. She watched the wick flicker for a moment, then pulled down her shorts. She then picked up her vibrator, and closed her eyes, letting go of the anxieties of the past and the uncertainty of the future.

----

## Saint Beast Seiryu

Another month slipped by, and once again Shizuka found herself in Tezuka's studio, standing before the tall mirrors of the fitting room. A familiar routine by now-- assistants circling her like quiet bees, measuring, pinning, adjusting-- but today, her nerves ran sharper than usual.

For modesty during the process, she wore only flesh-colored, seamless underwear that blended against her skin. The costumers, eager to use the time efficiently, decided to test-fit the Wood Dragon look first before the main Azure Dragon Seiryu costume.

The Wood Dragon ensemble was quick-- boots and gauntlets sculpted to resemble twisted, gnarled bark, their surface painted with subtle mossy hues that almost looked alive under the lights. A heavy wooden dragon mask followed, its surface ridged like tree roots, its eye sockets shadowed deep. The rest of the costume, they explained, would later be glued directly onto her body: stylized "vines" that would leave her torso exposed save for a plunging, jagged V-shaped pattern.

Shizuka, standing still as they adjusted the mask strap, studied her reflection with a thin frown. "Provocative," she murmured. She didn't say the rest-- that Tezuka's imagination seemed a little too fascinated with how much skin he could get away with leaving bare. She held her tongue.

The assistants removed the Wood Dragon pieces swiftly, leaving her once again in her modest nude base layer. Then came the main event: Seiryu the Azure Dragon.

The base was a striking long-sleeved leotard dyed in shifting shades of deep blue, stitched with subtle scales that shimmered under the fluorescent bulbs. Under it, they layered sheer black tights, the translucence adding a smoky contrast to the luminous azure. Boots with clawlike toes encased her feet and calves, and matching gauntlets curled over her hands, each fingertip extended into sharpened talons.

Down her arms, assistants fastened long silk ribbons, tied just enough to hold, but left trailing. When she moved, they whispered against her skin, already hinting at the flowing motions she would perform later. A split tail-cape was fastened at her hips, sweeping down the back in two long panels that swayed with her smallest shift of stance. Last came a soft, loose scarf draped around her neck, its ends feather-light, made to whip and flutter under the studio fans.

Finally, the mask was ready for the finishing touch. When they lowered it into place, the transformation was complete. A fierce dragon's visage-- horned, sharp-jawed, its scales etched in glinting blues. Shizuka stared at herself in the mirror and felt her breath catch. Unlike Byakko's stately armor or Suzaku's brazen showgirl fire, Seiryu carried a sense of mystery, of ancient nobility veiled by flowing airs. She could admit she looked powerful.

One of the assistants stepped up with a note of caution. "Miss Shizuka-- the leotard and tights have pre-tear seams built into them. You'll need to watch your movements carefully until the cameras are rolling. We don't want the fabric ripping too soon."

Shizuka turned her head toward her reflection again, the azure mask's eyes staring back with their cold brilliance. She brushed her fingers across the smooth blue fabric of her sleeve, already aware of how fragile it felt beneath its beauty.

"They really are going to destroy this," she said softly, almost to herself.

"That's the point," the assistant replied.

Shizuka closed her eyes, letting out a long, steadying breath. It was the point-- the erosion, the breaking-down, the inevitable loss. Another step in the journey Tezuka was forcing her through.

When her eyes opened, the fierce dragon mask still stared back.

"All right," Shizuka said, squaring her shoulders. "Let's go to the studio."

She stepped forward, azure ribbons brushing the air behind her, ready to become Seiryu.

----

The studio lights dimmed to a cool sapphire glow, and the backdrop shimmered with projected waves and drifting clouds. When Shizuka stepped onto the set in full costume, even Yuki—who had seen her in every stage of this journey—felt her breath catch.

The azure leotard clung to her frame like liquid silk, the sheer tights balancing between strength and delicacy. Ribbons and a tail cape shifted with her every subtle step, and the mask lent her an aura of unearthly nobility. She was a guardian spirit come to life, her presence regal and untouchable.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Shizuka murmured through the mask, her voice low enough only Yuki could hear. "The Azure Dragon isn't staying around."

Yuki steadied her camera and gave her a small smile. "Then we'll take our time. Every second."

The first half of the shoot began in earnest. Shizuka moved with serene grace, her arms sweeping like waves, the ribbons trailing like extensions of her spirit. When she spun, the tail cape fanned wide, capturing the studio lights in deep ripples of blue. Every gesture seemed to stretch into infinity, her presence at once ethereal and commanding.

Yuki captured her every movement: the silk ribbons crossing through frames, the dramatic silhouette of mask and horns, the poise of clawed hands paused mid-strike. The azure costume in its pristine state would be remembered in these images forever.

But the shoot was only half over. The Dance of Entanglement awaited.

A brief break was called, and assistants arrived with green, silken vines. They wrapped the vines around Shizuka's ankles and wrists, then around her torso and chest, arranging them in a suggestive pattern. The knots were not extremely tight, but just enough for what was to come.

When the cue was given, the stage shifted. Hidden rigs stirred to life, and the vines began to move. At first, they brushed lightly against her arms, their silken movements blending seamlessly with her own. She wove among them, dancing with grace, as though she was the master of their flow.

But soon the rhythm changed. The vines tightened, resisting her reach. Each time she extended her arms, they pulled harder, turning her flowing motions into a tense, restrained struggle. The azure leotard and tights-- delicate, prepared for this moment-- gave way under the pressure. Threads snapped at their hidden seams, fabric parting in jagged lines as the vines tugged at her shoulders, her waist, her thighs. The pristine blue shimmer tore into fragments.

Shizuka moved with deliberate intensity, her performance a dance of both struggle and surrender. Her body twisted against the entanglement until, with a sudden, orchestrated pull, the costume gave way. The leotard and tights peeled back in pieces, falling away into shreds that fluttered to the ground like molted scales.

Beneath, her flesh-toned undergarments preserved her modesty, but the vulnerability was unmistakable. Shizuka was stripped of her armor, her composure laid bare. The vines wound around her torso, crossing in sharp lines that framed her chest in an exposed, suggestive outline.

And there she stood, bound by the flora, breath heavy beneath the dragon mask. For the first time, her entire being had surrendered to the art, not for the sake of the camera or the spectacle alone, but for the inescapable truth of the performance.

Yuki lowered the camera for just a moment, her chest tightening. Shizuka had never looked more vulnerable, or more beautiful.

When the sequence completed the vines slackened and Shizuka no longer needed to resist the pull. Assistants worked to free her from the tangled remains of the costume, fragments of the leotard still clinging to her, torn threads hanging like cobwebs. She walked off the set with quiet dignity, her breathing steady, her eyes fixed on nothing as the mask was lifted from her head.

----

Back in the dressing room, the remains of Seiryu the Azure Dragon were peeled away. The assistants worked quickly, their hands efficient as they brought out the Wood Dragon pieces. The boots and gauntlets returned, heavy and grounding after the gossamer ribbons. The dragon mask, coarse and bark-like, waited on its stand. The V-shaped wood paneling was prepared, strips carefully arranged to be glued onto Shizuka's body in a deep plunge across her chest.

Shizuka stood perfectly still as the adhesive was brushed against her skin, the cool touch a jolt against the warmth of her body. Her gaze drifted toward the phoenix mask on a nearby shelf, its colors now dulled by time and ash, a silent testament to the journey. She said nothing, her silence weighing heavier than any costume.

It was then that Yuki entered, camera still slung over her shoulder, her presence soft but grounding. "You did a good job out there," she said gently, leaning against the vanity.

Shizuka didn't answer. Her eyes lowered, watching the assistants press the first panel of the wooden V against her chest. She seemed lost, her thoughts a hundred miles away.

Yuki's smile faded, her eyes narrowing in empathy. She knew what this silence meant: Shizuka had crossed a line, one that could not be undone.

"It wasn't for nothing," Yuki said at last, her voice steady and warm. "When people see those pictures, they won't think you were violated. They'll see Seiryu, the Azure Dragon, caught in the will of nature. The masks tell half the story, but your body language told the other half."

That drew Shizuka's gaze. Her dark eyes lingered on Yuki, searching, questioning. "But in a way... *I* was being transformed. I don't think I can go back to being the 'graceful and modest' Shizuka they all think I am."

The assistants pressed another wooden strip into place, the V-shape beginning to form across her chest. Yuki didn't look away. "Everyone sees you as a living symbol of grace. But that's not all you are."

Shizuka's lips pressed together faintly.

"You're an artist," Yuki continued, stepping closer. "And with every step of this project, you've been opening a door you closed years ago. Seiryu wasn't the end of that journey. It was just the threshold. Tezuka still has one more transformation for you: Genbu."

Shizuka exhaled through her nose, her composure cracking into something more vulnerable. "Genbu..." She let the word hang in the air. "That's when I'll be really seen, isn't it? For who I am."

Yuki's eyes softened. She placed her hand gently on Shizuka's arm, her touch a silent anchor. "Yes," she said softly. "But you won't walk that path alone."

Shizuka's shoulders eased. The weight didn't vanish, but it shifted.

The assistants pressed the final wood pieces into place. The Azure Dragon was gone; the Wood Dragon was here.

----

The studio was quieter for the Wood Dragon. The assistants had dimmed the lights to something more earthen, replacing the bright azure tones of Seiryu's first act with a forest palette: dark greens, muted browns, and shafts of pale illumination, as if the whole stage were set within an ancient grove.

Shizuka stepped forward, her body weighted by the gnarled wood panels glued against her skin. Unlike the flowing ribbons and azure leotard from before, there was no sense of glide or freedom. The wood restrained her, its rough edges pressing into her sides, the mask's carved expression fierce and immovable. Beneath the panels, her skin showed, modestly covered by the flesh-toned undergarments the camera would later erase. She felt both armored and exposed, her body transformed into something alien.

Yuki adjusted her lens. "Slower this time," she said gently. "Less flight, more... roots."

Shizuka nodded faintly. [Roots. Yes, that was what it felt like-- anchored, bound, unable to rise.] Her movements became slower, deliberate, as though she were a dragon once flown across the heavens, now turned into wood and earth. She twisted, her arms crossing, her shoulders bending forward, a creature trying to recall its former grace while weighed down by the inevitability of transformation. Moss-like powder was dusted across her panels, sticking to her skin as she bent and arched.

Her heart pounded, not from the effort, but from what she knew was coming. The design documents for Genbu were still fresh in her mind: the latex, glossy and unrelenting. It would mold to her like a second skin, outlining every contour without mercy, with no undergarments. She had tried with Yuki, in the privacy of their home studio, to shed the final barrier of fabric, but she couldn't. Her body had refused, her composure cracking. Now, that path led directly to Genbu, a precipice she was about to be pushed from.

"Good, Shizuka," Yuki's voice cut softly across the silence of the set. "Let the stillness linger." The shutter clicked, rapid and controlled.

Shizuka’s body moved, bending as instructed, caught between wooden rigidity and vulnerable skin. But inside, her mind spiraled. How could she stand before a camera with nothing but latex sealing every detail of her? How could she surrender that last scrap of privacy?

When the final series of photos were taken, the assistants moved forward again, carefully brushing moss away and checking the glued panels for damage. Yuki lowered her camera, studying her best friend. "You did a good job," she said warmly.

Shizuka didn't lift her head. The mask remained on, obscuring her face, her voice muted. "I was only going through the motions."

Yuki let a breath out, not disappointed, but thoughtful. She leaned on the tripod, a small smile forming. "Then the motions were exactly right. The Wood Dragon is supposed to feel heavy, restricted, lost in itself. That's what you gave me."

Shizuka finally moved her head, though she didn't take off the mask. Silence lingered.

Yuki softened her tone. "You don't have to say anything now. But when you're ready, I'll listen. Whatever it is."

Back in the dressing room, the assistants busied themselves with peeling away the first of the glued panels. The sound of the adhesive separating filled the room. Shizuka closed her eyes beneath the dragon mask, wishing for a moment she could be like the creature she portrayed-- silent, bound, unreadable. But unlike the Wood Dragon, she had one more transformation ahead, and it terrified her.

----

## Wisdom and Experience

The rain was light when Shizuka arrived at Kanna's mansion, fine droplets clinging to her umbrella like a curtain of glass beads. The main house itself stood timeless and refined, a quiet blend of old elegance and modern strength, much like its owner.

A maid led her down the familiar halls to Kanna's private den. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and old paper, walls lined with books and artifacts that spoke of Kanna's long, eclectic history. Shizuka always felt small here, though not in a bad way-- rather, as if she had entered a place where masks could finally be set down.

Kanna was seated on a low sofa, dressed in her favorite plum kimono, a glass of brandy in hand, her long hair falling over one shoulder. She looked at Shizuka with those sharp, discerning eyes that always seemed to see past words.

"Shizuka," Kanna said softly, gesturing for her to sit. "You look like a woman burdened."

Shizuka managed a smile, slipping off her coat and settling across from her. "I suppose I am."

The two women sat in the quiet, the rain faint against the windows.

"The project," Shizuka began, "pushed me further than I thought I could go. Suzaku left me exposed, and Seiryu... tore me apart. And now Genbu will expose me to the world."

Kanna swirled the amber in her glass. "Expose you? Or reveal you?"

Shizuka looked down. "I don't feel pure of heart or honest anymore."

Kanna tilted her head. "Genbu's costume is made out of latex, a second skin," she recalled reading from the design document. "It's not actual nudity, but you believe it feels the same."

"It does," Shizuka whispered.

"That feeling is why you are pure," the heiress said, leaning forward. "You're honest with yourself, even in confusion. That's purity, Shizuka."

Shizuka's lips parted, ready to argue, but the words faltered. Instead, she dropped her gaze, whispering: "I will no longer be the Yamato Nadeshiko people think of me as."

Kanna's laugh was quiet, almost kind. "My dear, you shed the classical idea of a Yamato Nadeshiko long ago. The old mold demanded a dutiful, demure woman, but you reinterpreted it. Your devotion has always been to your art, your craft. You became the modern Yamato Nadeshiko-- uncompromising, dedicated, embodying grace not by restraint, but by mastery. Modesty was never your sole defining trait. What you carried instead was discipline, integrity, and artistry. That is Yamato Nadeshiko as much as any kimono-clad silhouette."

She sipped her drink, her eyes never leaving Shizuka. "Illusions are cages. You're at the height of your career, beholden to no one. This is your chance to seize your destiny with your own hands. You've denied a part of yourself-- a part that aches to be freed. That is why you must do this Genbu shoot. Not for Tezuka. Not for me. But for you."

Kanna leaned closer, her gaze unyielding. "Nobody can force you through that door. It only matters if you walk through it freely. Otherwise, it is meaningless."

Shizuka stared at her, the rain hammering harder against the window. She didn't quite understand all of it, but some part of her recognized the truth beneath Kanna's words, felt it stirring inside.

Finally, she whispered, "Then I'll do it. Not because it's my job. But because I have to. For myself."

Kanna's satisfied smile was small. "That's the Shizuka I know."

----

When Shizuka stepped out of Kanna's mansion, the rain had thickened into a steady curtain. Her umbrella, already damp from the walk in, glistened under the mansion's lamps. Kenji, the uniformed chauffeur, held the limousine door open for her, bowing with impeccable composure despite being soaked himself. She knew he was used to it.

She slid inside, the leather interior smelling faintly of cedar polish, the quiet hum of the car insulating her from the storm. As the limousine pulled away, Shizuka turned to the window, her reflection rippling faintly as rivulets of rain carved silver lines down the pane. 

Her gaze fell to the umbrella in her lap, a small, ordinary thing despite her world of costumes, masks, and artistry. She stared at it for a long time, remembering a time when she never used one. As a younger girl, she would step outside and let herself be drenched, spinning as water streamed down her hair and face. It had been messy, impractical, even childish, but it had also been freeing. [Pure.]

She couldn't recall the last time she had let herself be soaked by the sky. She couldn't remember why she had even started carrying umbrellas in the first place-- to stay neat for photoshoots? To avoid colds? Or simply because she felt she had to behave as others expected her to? The graceful, unflappable Shizuka, always poised, never disheveled.

The rain tapped harder, blurring the lights of Tokyo's suburbs as the limousine slipped into her quiet neighborhood. The car came to a stop in front of her house. Kenji quickly stepped out and opened the door.

Shizuka climbed out, her umbrella still in hand, but did not open it. The rain struck her immediately, cold but soft, trickling down her shoulders and dampening her hair. She breathed in deeply, and it smelled of earth and clean air.

"Miss Shizuka," Kenji asked cautiously, "are you all right?"

She turned her face to him, droplets streaking down her cheeks. "I'm fine. I just... want to soak in the rain for a bit."

Kenji hesitated, then nodded respectfully. "As you wish." He lingered by the car for a moment before retreating to the driver's seat. The limousine's taillights soon melted into the wet street, leaving her alone.

Shizuka stood there before her house, umbrella dangling at her side, rain drumming against her body. Slowly, she lifted her arms, head tilting back, eyes closing as she welcomed the sky's cool embrace.

She didn't care what Kenji thought. She didn't care what Yuki might ask. She didn't care about appearances or excuses.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn't thinking of what others expected her to be. She was simply herself.

----

## Saint Beast Genbu

The fitting room was unnervingly quiet. The assistants moved with a solemn efficiency, their hands gloved, their words few. This was the final Saint Beast, and everyone understood the weight of the moment.

The latex leotard gleamed dully on the table, slick and black, a shadow waiting to swallow her whole. Its seamless curves looked simple, but Shizuka knew better; it was designed to reveal through concealment, clinging to every line of her body and denying her the padding she had relied on before. It was a paradox-- both armor and inescapable exposure.

She stepped carefully into the sheer emerald-green tights, then the leotard-- cold at first touch, then suctioning tightly to her frame, molding itself to her as if it were alive. Her breath caught when the assistants zipped it up, sealing her inside. She could feel everything: the curve of her hips, the outline of her chest, the taut pull across her stomach. It was her, but distilled, sharpened, inescapable.

Black gloves and small booties followed. Then the snake’s tail-- a segmented, articulated piece mounted to a discreet harness beneath the leotard. She felt the weight tug behind her, a reminder that she was now a creature halfway between human and serpent.

The mask was last. They laid it before her first: a viper's snarl, fangs bared, its lacquered surface catching the light. This one did not have open eyeholes; instead, there were darkened lenses and an air attachment. It was a vessel, one meant for the descent into the pool of muck that would claim her body and reveal something beyond. 

Shizuka stared at it for a long moment, remembering Kanna's words about cages and freedom. This was the door she had to walk through.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling inside the latex, then gave a small nod.

The assistants lowered the mask over her head. Darkness enclosed her, save for the dim clarity through the tinted lenses. The interior pressed close to her face until the latch clicked at the back. She inhaled; the air was filtered, metallic, clinical.

Through the built-in receiver, a voice crackled to life.

"Shizuka?"

The voice belonged to Yuki, her tone both warm and grounding.

"Yes," Shizuka answered, her voice echoing slightly inside the mask.

"Can you hear me clearly?"

"...Yes."

"Good. Then don't worry. I'll be your eyes out there. I'll guide you through everything."

Shizuka's lips trembled into the faintest of smiles, unseen behind the viper's snarl. The assistants made final checks, smoothing the latex and adjusting the tail. The transformation had begun not on the set, but here, in the dressing room, with every sealed seam and every breath inside the mask. She was Genbu, coiled and waiting.

----

The studio was hushed when Shizuka emerged from the dressing room. Every sound-- the soft tread of her boots on the floor, the subtle hiss of the air hose connected to her mask-- felt amplified. She could sense every eye on her, though only Yuki stood close, camera at the ready.

For a heartbeat, Yuki simply looked at her. The sleek, midnight-black leotard clung to Shizuka like a second skin, catching faint highlights from the overhead lights. The emerald sheen of her tights shimmered faintly against the shadowy costume, the segmented tail swaying with her steps. The viper mask, with its hollow fangs and fixed snarl, gave her an inhuman edge.

Finally, Yuki's voice came through the receiver: calm, steady, yet carrying a warmth that only Shizuka could detect.
"...You look incredible. Sleek and dangerous. Like Genbu walked out of the earth itself."

Shizuka inclined her head. She knew Yuki was being professional, but she also knew that tone-- Yuki was impressed, maybe even awed. That gave her the strength to move forward.

The first stage began. Yuki guided her poses: standing tall, tail curled around her leg like a serpent; crouching low, her body arched like a predator ready to strike; arms extended, ribbons of movement implied even in stillness. Despite the mask obscuring her face, Shizuka found herself slipping into the creature's essence. The weight of the tail, the sheen of the leotard, the restriction of her breath behind the mask-- they all merged into her performance. She carried herself with the precision of a serpent, every gesture controlled, deliberate.

The photos came quick and clean: Shizuka moved; Yuki captured. They worked as one, even the mask and tail no longer a hindrance, but part of the story. For a fleeting while, Shizuka forgot about the second half of the shoot-- the dread that had been gnawing at her for months.

But then Yuki lowered the camera. Through the mask's transceiver, her voice cut gently into Shizuka's awareness:
"That's perfect. You've given me the Azure Dragon's grace and the viper's wisdom. Now... it's time."

Shizuka's gaze turned to the pool.

It wasn't a pool in the comforting sense. It was a metal tub-- square, industrial, four feet deep at its lowest depth with a descending staircase on one side. Inside, black slime glistened under the studio lights: thick, wet, viscous. It looked like tar, like the earth's first breath. Shizuka knew that it was a harmless, water-based compound, but that didn't change what it represented. Once she stepped in, everything would change.

Her breath echoed inside the mask.

She walked slowly to the edge, each step weighted. She stopped at the rim, staring down into the swirling blackness. The surface rippled faintly, waiting for her. The assistants had gone silent. The only sound was the low hum of the lights above and the faint click of Yuki adjusting her lens.

This was it; if she stepped in, the leotard would darken, cling tighter, and reveal every contour of her body. She was still fully clothed, yet the wet slime would make her utterly exposed. The Yamato Nadeshiko mask she wore would finally fall. No one would see her as modest Shizuka anymore. But then Kanna's voice came back to her-- the words spoken weeks ago on that rain-drenched day:

"Nobody can force you through that door. It only matters if you walk through it freely."

Shizuka's chest tightened. She thought of the years she had spent holding herself back, protecting an image. She thought of the rain outside her house, the way it had washed over her when she finally let herself be free.

[Maybe it was time.]

The receiver crackled softly. Yuki's voice was gentle, as if she could feel Shizuka's heartbeat even through the mask.
"Are you ready?"

Shizuka lowered her head, then lifted it again, nodding slowly.

"On your mark," Yuki said. "Always your mark."

She took a long inhale, the air hose attached to the mask making an audible sound. Her entire body trembled, not with fear, but with anticipation.

Then she stepped forward.

Her boot plunged into the muck with a wet, sucking sound. Cold slime crept instantly up her ankle, swallowing her foot. Then her other foot followed, sinking deeper into the blackness. The pool quivered around her, clinging, greedy.

[This was the point of no return.]

Shizuka, the woman who once danced in the rain and the woman who built a cage to contain herself, finally opened the door and walked through.

The world was dark, heavy, and cold as Shizuka lowered herself fully into the black slime, the lens of the eye hole completely covered. The air hose hummed softly at the back of her mask, keeping her breath steady even as the weight of the muck pressed against her chest, her arms, her legs. For one moment, there was nothing but silence, the kind of silence that could only exist beneath the surface of something primordial.

Then she rose.

Her head broke the surface first, the viper mask glistening, thick trails of tar-like muck cascading from its fangs. Her body followed, her black latex leotard now gleaming wet, plastered to her like a second skin. The emerald tights beneath had darkened, their sheen dulled, replaced with the depth of something more elemental. Shizuka lifted her hand slowly from the pool, fingers spread, slime stretching in long strands before snapping back into the water. It clung to her wrist, dripping, pulling at her with each subtle motion.

Inside the mask, she could feel the leotard's grip change. Where once it was smooth and dry, it now sucked tightly to her contours, outlining her in a way she had dreaded-- and yet, she still couldn't see it. She could only imagine what everyone in the closed set studio was seeing.

Her heart raced.

Yuki's voice came through the transceiver, a steady rock, calm and directive. "Good. Hold that. Now-- reach forward, slowly. Let the muck take you."

Shizuka obeyed. Her hand extended, her body following in a languid arc, the sticky blackness dragging at her every move. She felt less like she was performing a dance, and more like she was surrendering herself to something larger, something ancient.

"Beautiful," Yuki said softly. "Now let it pull you down again."

Shizuka bent her knees, sinking until the slime rose over her chest, her shoulders, almost to the mask. The tail strapped to her harness writhed against the surface as if it were alive, half-submerged, half-struggling. She could feel it tugging against her balance, as though Genbu itself was being consumed by the very muck it was born from.

Her arms stretched outward, her body arching back. She imagined she was dissolving, her human form yielding, breaking down to nothing so that something new could rise from her place.

"Now slow... let your arms fall," Yuki instructed.

The slime resisted, clinging greedily to her arms as she lowered them, strands pulling like black sinew from her fingertips until they snapped away. Shizuka's body moved with growing heaviness, every gesture weighted, ritualistic. She was no longer performing for the camera-- she was embodying the myth.

"Perfect," Yuki murmured into her ear. "This isn't the end. Genbu is surrendering, but surrendering to be reborn."

The words settled into Shizuka like a pulse.

[It was not the end. It was a beginning.]

She closed her eyes behind the mask, feeling the slime crawl over her chest, her thighs, the tight embrace of the latex sealing every curve and hollow of her body. For years she had feared this moment, convinced that it would mark the death of who she was supposed to be. But as she moved, slow and deliberate, guided by Yuki's voice, she realized what Kanna had told her was true.

She wasn't ending anything.

She was birthing something new.

The black muck coated her body, shimmering under the studio lights as Yuki clicked the shutter, each photograph capturing not scandal or shame, but the birth of a myth-- the Genbu, eternal and unyielding, rising from the primeval sludge of creation.

And beneath the mask, Shizuka finally let go of the last remnants of her cage.

For long minutes, Shizuka let herself move as if weighed down, every motion dragged by the muck's pull, every gesture swallowed in resistance. Her body was surrendering, yielding-- until Yuki's voice cut through the transceiver, sharper now, a cue.

"Now... rise."

Shizuka froze. Her breath caught against the mask. Then she planted her feet at the bottom of the pool and pushed upward.

The slime resisted, clinging to her waist, her thighs, her arms, but she rose with a newfound strength. The muck broke away in long, wet strands, snapping as she forced herself through it. The viper mask emerged first, glistening like obsidian, the fang-lined snout glimmering under the studio lights. Then came her shoulders, her torso, every curve of her body now outlined in liquid black latex. The leotard had transformed into a skin of its own, glimmering, primal, alive.

Yuki's camera clicked furiously, the sound cutting like thunder in the silent set.

Shizuka lifted her arms high, muck dripping in heavy trails from her fingers, and let them fall back in a sweeping arc. Droplets sprayed outward like the scattering of creation itself, raining down onto the pool, the stage, even her own body. She moved with abandon now-- no hesitation, no modest restraint. Every gesture was deliberate, fierce, serpentine. The tail strapped to her harness whipped against the muck, accentuating her motion as though Genbu itself lashed at the void.

"Good... keep going! Show me rebirth, show me freedom!" Yuki's voice urged.

Shizuka turned, twisted, bent her body in shapes she never would have dared before. She dragged her hands across her thighs, pulling slime upward as though shaping a new form out of the muck itself. She arched her back, letting the viscous trails stretch and snap across her torso, making her body look half-born, half-submerged in some primordial chaos. She flung her head back, and the muck cascaded from the mask like a dark crown.

Each motion grew stronger, bolder, until her body felt no longer weighed down by the slime, but fueled by it. The resistance became power, the mess became majesty.

The climax struck with one final gesture. Shizuka flung both arms outward, tearing free from the slime's last clinging hold, and stood tall in the center of the pool, her chest heaving, her body encased in a gleaming, second-skin black sheen. Muck dripped from her fingertips, her hips, her thighs, but she didn't care.

The camera shutter clicked one final time, sealing the moment in eternity.

----

The dressing room smelled of disinfectant and damp fabric, the floor streaked with footprints and smears of black slime. Shizuka sat in front of the mirror, a plain white bathrobe draped around her shoulders. She could still feel the Genbu leotard clinging wetly to her skin, the muck refusing to let go as easily as she wished.

The Genbu mask rested on a pedestal nearby, its fanged mouth open as if it, too, was catching its breath. Shizuka smirked faintly at the thought, then tugged at her bathrobe, loosening it just enough to see her reflection.

There it was-- the latex leotard, slick and shining, but altered now by the muck. The substance had left ripples, streaks, and faint ridges clinging against her contours, distorting the pristine smoothness into something rougher, more textured. She traced a line with her fingertip, marveling at how it made her seem both vulnerable and untouchable at once. It was not scandalous; it was alive.

Her reflection stared back, unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

The door opened softly. "Shizuka?"

Yuki stepped inside, her camera bag still slung at her hip. Her eyes flicked from the pedestal to the slime-streaked floor, then finally to Shizuka, sitting in her half-opened robe. "Are you... okay?"

Shizuka didn't answer right away. She kept her eyes on her reflection, her chest rising and falling. Then she turned slowly toward Yuki, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

"I'll be okay," she said, a small sparkle in her eyes. "Want to give me a hug?"

Yuki’s face paled, and she stepped back so quickly her camera strap jangled. "No! No way-- I am not touching you!" She waved her hands frantically. "You're still covered in... in that!"

Shizuka laughed, warm and unrestrained. The tension melted away, and the air between them felt light again.

She leaned back in her chair, still smiling. "Thank you, Yuki. For helping me."

Yuki shook her head. "Don't give me too much credit. You did the heavy lifting yourself." She tilted her head. "Well... maybe with a little nudging from Kanna and Arisa."

Shizuka chuckled softly, nodding. "Yes. Them too." Her gaze drifted back to the mirror. "I wonder what doors this Saint Beasts project will open now."

Yuki slung her camera onto the table and crossed her arms. "A lot of doors. And the best part? You don't have to open them alone."

Shizuka met her eyes through the mirror and felt a deep sense of readiness in what she saw.

----

## The Conclusion of the Saint Beast Project

The conference room was dim, lit mostly by the massive monitor mounted on the wall. One by one, the photographs cycled through, each frame holding its breath in silence before dissolving into the next.

Byakko-- Shizuka, pristine and dignified, the steel gauntlets catching the simulated rain until the first stains of rust appeared.

Suzaku-- her body caught mid-spin in firelight, the feathers unraveling into ash.

Seiryu-- entangled in silk vines, her azure garb surrendering piece by piece to nature's pull.

Genbu-- rising from the muck, latex slick against her skin, the snake tail coiled in eternal rebirth.

Tezuka sat forward in his chair, glasses reflecting the glow of the screen. His voice was steady, almost reverent. "This... this is exactly what I envisioned. Transformation captured not as a gimmick, but as inevitability. Byakko rusts, because even the strongest steel surrenders to time. Suzaku burns, because brilliance is always fleeting. Seiryu entangles, because life itself strangles and remakes us. And Genbu--" he paused, his eyes narrowing in thought, "Genbu is the surrender to origin. The muck of creation. Shizuka, you became the very boundary between ending and becoming."

Across the table, Arisa scribbled furiously in her notebook. Every word, every gesture, every interpretation mattered to her. "These statements," she mused, "we can integrate them into the press release, the interviews... it elevates the whole project."

Shizuka, however, sat in silence. Her hands folded neatly on her lap, her gaze fixed on the shifting images. She had expected someone-- Tezuka, Yuki, even Arisa-- to bring up the obvious: the outlines on her chest, the bareness the latex had revealed. The moment she had dreaded and then embraced in the Genbu shoot. But no one mentioned it. Not once.

It was as if her body hadn't been on display at all. As if her exposure had only ever been the character's, not her own. It was natural, a part of the art, folded seamlessly into Tezuka's grand vision.

Her heart ached with relief.

Next to her, Yuki leaned forward slightly, her eyes never leaving the monitor. But under the table, her hand reached out, found Shizuka's, and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze.

Shizuka turned, startled, and met her photographer's quiet smile. The gesture spoke what words could not: "You were never alone in this. And it was never what you feared."

Tezuka's voice filled the room again. "What you two captured together goes beyond costumes or choreography. It is sacrifice-- the giving up of form. It is transformation-- the acceptance of change. And it is elemental, in the truest sense. Fire, wood, metal, water, earth. Shizuka, Yuki... you carried those themes and wove them into something the camera alone could never achieve. This is art reborn."

Arisa nodded, still scribbling. "Brilliantly put."

But Shizuka barely heard the exchange. She let her eyes drift back to the photographs: Byakko, Suzaku, Seiryu, Genbu. The masks, the movements, the destruction and renewal.

She now saw herself not as a model baring too much, nor as the Yamato Nadeshiko who had strayed from her pedestal. She saw herself as Tezuka said: an artist, caught forever in the act of transformation.

----

## Saint Beasts in the Public Eye

The gallery buzzed with a low, constant hum of voices, like the sound of an ocean rolling against the shore. Spotlights tracked down the walls, illuminating the framed photographs that lined them in careful sequence: Byakko, Suzaku, Seiryu, Genbu.

Shizuka and Yuki slipped in quietly through the side entrance, both dressed in the kind of plain clothes that would never catch the eye-- denim, muted jackets, sneakers. There was no elaborate makeup, nor hair stylists to give them a fabulous look. It was just two women in the crowd, blending in with everyone else attending the same open showing of the latest Tezuka art exhibit.

For Shizuka, the anonymity was a comfort. She kept her head slightly bowed, her hands folded around the strap of her shoulder bag, though every so often she caught someone glancing at her and tilting their head as if she looked familiar. She breathed steadily and reminded herself she was here not as the subject, but as the observer.

The first wall featured Byakko. Guests leaned close, pointing at the way rust streaked her gauntlets and shoulders.

"Look at how the steel corrodes," one man said softly. "It's like time itself eroding strength."

"Her eyes," his companion added. "That look-- half defiance, half inevitability. That's what draws you in."

Suzaku followed, flames in motion, the costume unraveling into ash. A group of young art students lingered there, animated.
"She looks like she's burning up from the inside."

"No, more like she chooses to flame out. See how her arms are open? That's surrender, not destruction."

"It makes you feel like... maybe brilliance has to hurt."

Shizuka's chest tightened at their words. None of the old fears-- none of the whispers about impropriety, about exposure-- were here. They didn't see a woman compromising her modesty; they saw meaning. They saw fire.

The Seiryu wall split into two halves: the Azure Dragon Dance of Entanglement, and the Wood Dragon aftermath. Shizuka stopped here longer than she meant to, caught by her own image. The leotard and tights torn away, the vines clutching at her chest in deliberate shapes. She remembered the knot in her stomach, the fear that this was the moment she'd cross an invisible line she could never retreat from.

A woman nearby spoke, her voice filled with awe. "This one-- look. The costume isn't being torn apart, it's shedding."

Another nodded. "Like a chrysalis. Like the dragon's old skin."

And then the Wood Dragon: the panels of bark and moss, her movements slowed into a strange, quiet introspection. "It's heavy," someone murmured. "But beautiful. You can feel the weight of transformation."

Finally, Genbu. The gallery had arranged a large print of her emerging from the black muck, the latex clinging like a second skin, the segmented tail trailing behind her. Spotlights deepened the gleam across her frame.

Shizuka felt her throat close. She expected nervous laughter from the crowd, whispers of scandal. Instead...

"It's like the world's first breath," said an older man, almost reverently.

Another chimed in, "She isn't posing. She's submerged. You can't fake that kind of surrender."

Shizuka stood frozen, her eyes wet. All the months of fear, of telling herself she was betraying her Yamato Nadeshiko image, of thinking the audience would sneer or misunderstand-- none of it was real.

Kanna had been right. The cage had been hers alone. The people already saw her not as something fragile to be judged, but as something fearless. An artist willing to give herself wholly to a vision.

They passed into the final room. There, under glass in illuminated fiberglass cases, stood the costumes themselves, preserved exactly as Shizuka had left them:

Byakko's gauntlets, still mottled with orange rust.

Suzaku's feathers, coated in ash and preserved, their edges fragile as if a breeze might scatter them.

Seiryu's Wood Dragon form, intact and regal, its gnarled panels solid-- but next to it, the Azure Dragon was incomplete, with the azure leotard and black tights absent, missing forever from the case, leaving only the mask, boots, and gauntlets. A sample of the silken vines entwined around the mannequin. The absence itself spoke louder than the intact costume beside it.

Genbu's slicked-over primordial leotard, with the lasting vestiges of the imprints against Shizuka's body was on display even on the featureless mannequin.

Guests crowded close, peering through the glass. "It's haunting," one whispered. "It's like you can see where the performer left part of herself behind."

Another nodded. "Yes. The missing costume is part of the art. She shed it. It can't be preserved."

Shizuka's hand trembled at her side. Yuki, wordless, reached out and held it again. Shizuka smiled openly. No nerves, no hesitation, no burden... just freedom. In the murmur of strangers, she finally heard the truth she had fought against: they had never wanted her to remain the Yamato Nadeshiko. They had already accepted her as something more.

----

## Review: The Alchemy of Flesh and Element – Hiroyuki Tezuka's *Saint Beasts Elemental Transformation*
by Kiyoshi Aramaki, for *Eclipse: Journal of Avant-Garde Aesthetics*

The vaulted white halls of the Shining Star Fine Art Museum have hosted many experimental installations over the last decade, but few exhibitions have stirred as much curiosity-- or apprehension-- as Hiroyuki Tezuka's *Saint Beasts Elemental Transformation.* This four-part series, realized in collaboration with actress-model Shizuka Minazuki and photographer Yuki Kanzaki, is less a collection of images than it is a ritual of artistic dissolution.

Tezuka has always trafficked in liminality: his past works straddled the boundary between sacred and profane, fashion and grotesque, myth and contemporary body politics. *Saint Beasts* is no exception. Drawing on the classical East Asian guardians-- the Vermilion Bird, the Azure Dragon, the White Tiger, and the Black Tortoise-- Tezuka frames transformation not as an aesthetic gimmick but as a philosophical meditation on sacrifice, rebirth, and the vulnerability of embodiment.

It is Minazuki who bears this sacrifice.

That her face is obscured behind animal masks in all four shoots only intensifies her presence. Her anonymity paradoxically heightens the viewer's awareness of the body-- the sheer grace of her poses, the elasticity of her movements, and the vulnerability of form when stripped of conventional glamour. In the final *Genbu* sequence, Minazuki submits herself to immersion in a viscous black slime-- what Tezuka calls the "primordial muck." The latex garment, bereft of protective padding, reveals more than it conceals; the outlines are stark, tactile, even unsettling. Yet, instead of tipping into the voyeuristic, the images refuse such easy consumption. They assert: here is not a starlet sacrificing her dignity, but an artist relinquishing control to achieve rebirth.

The irony, of course, is that Minazuki is a household name. Japan's eternal Yamato Nadeshiko, long admired for her poise and restraint, she had every reason to avoid such radical vulnerability. Yet her participation, and her clear surrender to Tezuka's vision, transforms this exhibit into something more: an act of courage. Her dedication to her craft-- to art, not merely celebrity-- is undeniable. In many ways, Minazuki is no longer simply performing *as* the Saint Beasts. She *is* the transformation.

Yuki Kanzaki's photography is worth its own praise. Her lens avoids melodrama, opting instead for clarity and restraint. She lets the latex glisten, the slime congeal, the feathers flare, and the skin breathe. The photographs do not embellish; they testify. In the *Byakko* series especially, Kanzaki frames the stark white musculature of Minazuki's form against steel-gray backdrops, turning still images into frozen moments of kinetic violence.

Tezuka's hand is unmistakable: myth refracted through modern materials, allegory folded into the living body. Where others might see indulgence or shock, Tezuka insists upon honesty. The beasts are not costumes, they are not roles-- they are states of being.

The critics will debate whether *Saint Beasts* succeeds as fine art or veers into spectacle. But one thing is clear: this is not a project that could have existed without Shizuka Minazuki's devotion to the act of transformation. Masked, submerged, reduced to outline and silhouette, she paradoxically becomes more present than ever.

The exhibition closes with a simple wall text, authored by Tezuka himself:

"Art is not what we preserve of ourselves. Art is what we surrender of ourselves."

Shizuka Minazuki has surrendered-- and in doing so, has claimed a new artistic freedom.

----

## Opinion: The Collapse of Shizuka Minazuki - From Yamato Nadeshiko to Latex Spectacle
by Haruhiko Tsutsumi, Senior Columnist, *Cultural Fidelity Quarterly*

It is with a heavy heart-- and mounting exasperation-- that I must once again report on the decline of Shizuka Minazuki, once hailed as a model of refinement, poise, and the timeless virtues of Yamato Nadeshiko femininity. Once upon a time, she embodied quiet dignity: the serene smile, the demure grace, the subtle restraint befitting her station as a cultural darling. Today, she has reduced herself to latex leotards, "primordial muck," and grotesque animal masks.

The much-hyped *Saint Beasts Elemental Transformation* exhibit, directed by Hiroyuki Tezuka, is being celebrated in avant-garde circles as "fearless" and "transformative." What it truly is, however, is another tired instance of shock-for-shock's sake: an endless stripping down, both literal and metaphorical, dressed up in pseudo-philosophical jargon.

Let us examine:

* The *Suzaku* sequence is not art, but cabaret. Minazuki struts in crimson feathers and sequined showgirl trappings, her body more exposed than clothed, an image fit for a casino poster rather than a serious gallery. The spectacle of feathers does nothing but cheapen her.

* The *Seiryu* series-- her Azure Dragon costume deliberately torn away on set-- is a contrivance so blatant it borders on parody. What Tezuka calls "transformation," any thinking observer can recognize as vulgar disrobing staged for cameras.

* And most shamefully, the *Genbu* "Dance of Primordial Muck." Here, Minazuki willingly submerged herself in tar-like black slime, clad in a latex bodysuit so tight it leaves no room for modesty. Tezuka insists this was about "rebirth," but what the audience sees is an actress writhing in muck, her form on display in a way more befitting soft-core exploitation than serious art.

And yet, despite these repeated debasements, the public refuses to acknowledge what is obvious: Minazuki is squandering the very cultural capital that made her beloved in the first place. She is no longer the paragon of refined womanhood, but a performer pandering to the lowest common denominator under the guise of "artistic exploration."

For years I have warned readers that Minazuki's trajectory was one of erosion, not evolution. Every time she dipped into another shallow project, I sounded the alarm. Yet the narrative never sticks. Why? Because audiences are too enamored with her surface image-- her careful interviews, her polite diction, her *mask* of Yamato Nadeshiko-- to admit what is in plain sight: she has abandoned those values wholesale.

Hiroyuki Tezuka, for his part, is a provocateur who hides behind mythological references and intellectualized nonsense to disguise what is little more than fetishistic spectacle. His "vision" is not art but exploitation, and Minazuki-- willing or not-- has become his most visible accomplice.

Some call her "fearless." I call her reckless. Some call her "dedicated." I call her misguided. The tragedy is not only the collapse of Shizuka Minazuki's image, but that so few have the courage to say aloud what should be self-evident: Japan's once most promising icon of grace has become little more than a showpiece for latex and slime.

And the nation applauds.



** Editor's Note **

The editorial team has received an unprecedented volume of correspondence-- from artists, patrons, and readers alike-- regarding Haruhiko Tsutsumi's Opinion piece on the "Saint Beasts" exhibit. Cultural Fidelity Quarterly is committed to fostering open and honest discourse on the state of the arts and culture. We believe in the importance of critical analysis and encourage our contributors to challenge prevailing artistic narratives. While the views expressed in this column are those of the author alone, we welcome all perspectives, and we will continue to provide a platform for a wide range of opinions on matters of cultural importance. We thank our readership for their impassioned engagement.

----

## A Fan's Perspective

Erika's room in the Suzuki mansion was modest compared to the lavish quarters she cleaned and maintained each day, but it was hers. After changing out of her crisp maid uniform and into her soft pajamas, she sank down onto her neatly-made bed with a sigh. Her nightly ritual awaited her-- one she never missed, no matter how late her duties kept her up.

She flipped open her laptop, the familiar whirr soothing her, and navigated to her bookmarked site: the largest fan page dedicated to Shizuka Minazuki. Every night, she let herself step out of the role of Suzuki family maid and into the safe cocoon of being simply a fan.

Tonight, though, the page was alive in a way Erika had never seen before. A huge banner thread dominated the front page: *Saint Beasts Elemental Transformation Exhibit!!* Dozens of replies poured in every minute, threads branching like wild ivy. Erika scrolled, her eyes wide, heart quickening as she read.

The general impression was overwhelmingly positive. Fans praised Shizuka for her daring, for her transformation into not just as a model, but as an artist. Some commenters marveled at how she carried the weight of mythological archetypes-- dragon, phoenix, serpent, tiger-- yet never lost her humanity beneath the mask. Others wrote heartfelt messages about how inspiring her courage was, how she reminded them that beauty could be fearless.

Erika's lips curled into a smile, and then into a giggle when she spotted a set of clearly illicit photos. They were snapped hastily during the exhibit, some with the bold red *No Camera* signs still visible in the background. The Suzaku shots stunned her most-- the crimson feathers, the boldness of Shizuka's stance, the proud and unapologetic silhouette in the extravagant bikini. But then she scrolled to the Genbu images and froze.

There was Shizuka, slick with black muck, the latex clinging to every curve, her form not obscured, but revealed in ways Erika had never thought possible for her idol. It wasn't vulgar-- it was powerful and fearless. Erika's cheeks grew hot as she realized she wasn't just admiring the artistry... she was admiring Shizuka's body.

She leaned back against the headboard, staring at the photos. She tried, just for a moment, to imagine herself in those costumes, in those poses. The thought made her laugh out loud. She could barely walk around the mansion without tugging at the hem of her short maid skirt whenever she passed a window. The idea of baring herself in front of the world, like that, was unthinkable.

And yet... Shizuka had done it. Shizuka, the model Erika had admired since her teen years, had stood tall and fearless, transforming something as simple as a body into art that silenced doubt.

Erika closed her laptop slowly, hugging it to her chest. The images lingered in her mind-- Suzaku in flames, Genbu reborn in muck. She thought of her own life, her own careful steps, her avoidance of risk. She wondered if she could ever find that kind of courage, not in latex and feathers, but in her own way.

The room settled into silence, and Erika set aside her laptop and laid back against her pillows, her thoughts filled with Shizuka. What would she do next? What door would she open? And would Erika, in her own quiet world, ever dare to take even a single step through her own?

With that question humming in her mind, Erika turned off the light.

----

## A Serious Confession

The cicadas outside buzzed faintly in the warm Tokyo evening, but inside their quiet suburban home, the only sound was the cheerful opening theme of a magical girl anime coming from the television. Yuki was curled up on the couch, remote in hand, eyes sparkling as they usually did when her DVR queued up another episode of the latest show.

Shizuka drifted in, her expression softer than usual, and sat down beside her. For a moment, she just watched Yuki's eager face, then drew in a slow breath.

"Yuki," she said at last.

Yuki blinked and turned, pausing the DVR instantly. The sudden silence seemed heavy in the room. "What is it? You look... serious."

Shizuka nodded faintly, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "I need to make a kind of... confession."

Yuki straightened, eyes narrowing slightly in concern. "Confession?"

Shizuka's voice was measured, careful. "You and I share a lot of secrets. More than anyone else. But... there are still some things you don't know about me. Things I never told you."

Yuki stayed quiet, giving her space.

Shizuka hesitated, then asked softly, "Do you remember once asking me why I always buy lavender candles? And I never explained?"

Yuki's brow furrowed, then she nodded. "Yes. I remember."

Shizuka inhaled deeply, then let it out in one breath. "I have a private ritual... in my bedroom. And I use the candle for that."

Yuki tilted her head, not quite following.

Shizuka's cheeks warmed, but she forced the words out. "And I have... certain 'maintenance tools' in my nightstand. Things I haven't shown anyone."

There was a long pause. Yuki blinked, and then comprehension dawned. She reached out gently and took Shizuka's hand, her voice quiet and calm. "I see. Well. I have a... ritual, too."

Shizuka stiffened, her eyes going wide. "You-- what?"

Yuki gave an embarrassed little smile. "Yes. I do things... privately, also in my bedroom. But I don't use candles." She glanced aside and added almost sheepishly, "I have a paperweight. A special paperweight."

Shizuka froze, then let out an incredulous laugh. "A paperweight?"

Yuki's cheeks colored, but she nodded earnestly. "Yes. It has a very unique shape. Don't ask."

They stared at each other for a moment before both breaking into helpless laughter.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this anymore," Shizuka said, covering her face with her hand.

"Agreed," Yuki said, grinning. "But... I'm glad that wasn't anything *serious*."

Shizuka lowered her hand and stared at her. "Excuse me? That *was* serious."

Yuki blinked, then raised a finger in protest. "Serious is for... serious issues! You know-- injuries, scandals, broken contracts!"

"This is a serious issue!" Shizuka insisted, half laughing, half scandalized.

Yuki crossed her arms, pretending to pout. "No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is!"

They kept volleying back and forth, their tones more playful with each round, until Shizuka finally slumped against Yuki's shoulder, laughing helplessly. Yuki, equally amused, unpaused her show and let the cheery magical girl theme fill the room again.

And for both of them, the weight of the confession had already turned into something warm and safe, just another secret between best friends.

----

## A Subtle Shift in Priorities

The Moon River Talent Agency was unusually quiet that morning, sunlight streaming across its polished lobby floors. Shizuka made her way up to the third floor, her umbrella neatly folded and shoes tapping softly against the hallway tiles.

Arisa's office door was half-open, the sound of a keyboard clicking inside. When Shizuka knocked, Arisa glanced up with a sly smile.

"Well, well," Arisa said, leaning forward on her elbows, chin resting on interlaced fingers. "To what do I owe the pleasure of an unexpected visit? You've got filming this afternoon, don't you?"

Shizuka closed the door behind her and smoothed her skirt before sitting across from Arisa's wide desk. "I do. But I had some time. And there's something I wanted to... amend. Or at least clarify."

Arisa arched an eyebrow, intrigued, but hardly shocked. She leaned back in her leather chair and gave a small, knowing chuckle. "I was wondering when you'd walk in here with that expression. I've been expecting this conversation ever since Saint Beasts wrapped."

"You've been expecting it?"

The young agent tilted her head. "Naturally. Call it professional instinct." She motioned with her hand. "So. What's on your mind?"

Shizuka folded her hands on her lap and looked down at them before speaking. "My contracts. All of them have the 'no nudity' clause. Along with... other restrictions I asked for."

"Ah yes," Arisa said smoothly, opening a drawer and pulling out one of Shizuka's standard contracts as if she kept it there for moments like this. "The famous 'no nudity' clause. And the equally famous 'no singing' clause."

Shizuka looked up sharply. "That one's not changing."

"Pity," the young agent said, smirking. "You'd sell out Tokyo Dome in an instant."

Shizuka ignored the jab, her voice turning serious again. "Anyway... about the 'no nudity' clause. I'm not prepared to remove it entirely, but I do think..." She paused, searching for the words. "I think I can be more flexible about it."

Arisa raised a brow, but said nothing, letting the silence encourage Shizuka to continue.

"I've learned, through the Saint Beasts project, that most of my anxieties... they were in my head. I thought I carried the whole weight of being graceful and modest, and if I stepped an inch away from that, I'd betray who I was." Her lips pressed together, then softened. "But I see now that isn't true. I am still graceful and modest. That's part of who I am. But it doesn't have to be the only part of me. I don't need to keep myself locked into that role when I want to explore as an artist."

Arisa's eyes sharpened with interest. "So what you're telling me, Shizuka, is that you'd like me to amend the clause to make it more... discretionary?"

Shizuka nodded firmly. "Yes. I want the choice. Not an absolute rule. We can decide this on a case-by-case basis when it is appropriate."

Arisa tapped the edge of her contract binder with her fingernail, considering. "That can be arranged, though not retroactively. Your current contracts are ironclad. We can't alter them midstream. But going forward?" She closed the binder with a snap. "I'll keep it in mind when we negotiate. And I'll make sure the language gives you the power of final say."

Relief passed across Shizuka's face. She bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, Arisa."

Arisa waved a hand, smiling wryly. "It's my job to anticipate your needs before you give voice to them."

Shizuka tilted her head. "Because you're my agent?"

"Because I'm an esper," Arisa replied without missing a beat, her grin widening.

----

## A Little Wiser

The mountain inn was quiet, tucked into a fold of cedar and pine, its wooden beams carrying the faint scent of smoke and age. At the very back, past a winding stone path and a bamboo gate, lay the inn's private onsen-- one which Kanna and Shizuka decided was their favorite, filled with memories and meaning for their friendship. Steam rose in soft curls into the crisp mountain air, carrying with it the mineral warmth of the water.

Shizuka sat shoulder-deep in the spring, her damp hair tied loosely back, eyes half-closed as she exhaled the stress of weeks gone by. Beside her, Kanna reclined more casually, her arms stretched along the smooth stones at the pool's edge. 

Outside the gate, the attending maid assigned to Kanna for this trip, Erika, stood watch, like the perfect maid-- silent, still, waiting if she was needed. But both women knew that was a facade, and Erika was prone to clumsy accidents in her enthusiasm, particularly her barely-disguised admiration toward Shizuka's career. The ride up to the inn made it clear that Erika was having trouble keeping her fangirl tendencies to herself, much to Kanna's amusement.

For a long while, the only sound was the bubbling of water and the occasional sigh of wind through the trees. Then Shizuka opened her eyes and turned slightly toward Kanna.

"...Thank you," she said quietly.

Kanna tilted her head, amused. "For what?"

"For believing in me. For knowing me better than I knew myself," Shizuka replied, her words almost swallowed by the steam.

Kanna chuckled softly, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. "Shizuka, we're like sisters. What kind of sister would I be if I didn't notice these things?"

Shizuka laughed gently, her voice warm and unguarded. "True enough. I'm just glad I have such good friends in my life."

They let silence wash over them again, the kind of silence only possible between people completely at ease with each other. 

"Tell me," Kanna asked, "have you given any thought to the next project I placed in front of you?"

Shizuka leaned back, letting her shoulders slip under the water for a moment before rising again. "Not yet. I haven't had the time to look it over properly." She smiled faintly. "I'm certain you know what you're doing. I'll just have to trust your judgment."

Kanna laughed, the sound low and melodic. "You never change, Shizuka."

Shizuka tilted her head, correcting softly, "I have changed. Perhaps just a little. Maybe... a little more wise."

"You've always been wise," Kanna said with mock seriousness. "So even a little wiser is a very large step."

They shared another stretch of silence, broken only by a bird calling somewhere high in the trees. Shizuka then glanced toward the gate.

"Kanna, don't even think about summoning Erika. She'll only rush in and trip right into the spring."

Kanna burst out laughing, unable to deny the image. "You're probably right. For Erika's sake, I won't. Unless... you'd like to do it?"

Shizuka smirked, shaking her head. "That's not nice."

"But true," Kanna countered, her tone sly. "You know, Erika would probably like to join us. She's a huge fan of your work. It would be something for her to see her idol naked. I can already see her face swell into a ripe tomato."

Shizuka sighed, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her amusement. "We can't play that kind of prank on her." She rose slowly from the water, the steam curling around her form as she picked up her towel waiting by the spring's edge. "I'll ask her directly."

Kanna chuckled quietly to herself as she watched Shizuka step toward the gate. "Yes," she whispered, almost to herself. "She's back to normal."





===========================================================================

This story is written with heavy AI assistance.

I was initially thinking of leaving Shizuka's career to proceed as-is how I left it in the previous Tranquil Snow, but it always occurred to me in the back of my mind that Shizuka was hamstringing her own career with some of her choices-- particularly how strignent she was being with upholding her modest image. Granted, she is genuinely modest, but her being so concerned about her image was something she wasn't doing at the start of her career. So I traced it back to the point where Kanna 'corrected' this line of thinking, and her eventual realization that, while it was sound advice at the time, Shizuka was taking it to another level of extreme. And her inability to pose nude with Yuki was always something I wondered should even be 'fixed'. 

It's not as if Shizuka is going to drastically change her career and start nude modeling or anything, but I did write for her filming of 'Vampire Princess Luka 3' that she was floating the idea of digitally adding nipples to her covered breasts simply because, from an artistic standpoint, it looked wrong. So I came to the conclusion that Shizuka's attitude HAD changed by then, therefore I decided I needed to work out a way for Shizuka to get to the point where she might be okay with full frontal nudity, while at the same time not being allowed to do it at first. This meant that Shizuka would need a 'stepping stone' to get there, so I decided that Shizuka would first need to be okay with an 'outline' or 'suggestion' of her nipples, coming through with the latex leotard on the Genbu costume (and not the Seiryu costume where she actually would've been fully naked at one point, hence why she was wearing flesh-colored underwear for her modesty. Not to mention she can't do a 'suggestion' of full frontal nudity if she did full frontal nudity at all at this stage, hence why I didn't go with that).

That's not to say that Hiroyuki Tezuka, the avant-garde artist, didn't actually have an ulterior motive to how he designed the costumes as Shizuka suspected, of course. But, as Yuki's thoughts reveal, it's perfectly 'normal' and she sees sutff like that all the time, so in a way Shizuka was blowing things out of proportion. Because Yuki understands Shizuka better than most people she doesn't make fun of her over it, or even directly address it.

But to be clear, the underlying conflict is really how Shizuka sees herself versus how the rest of the world sees her. The world already sees Shizuka as a fearless artist who doesn't care what anyone thinks about her roles, that she does whatever she wants and dedicates herself fully to her roles, no matter how lowbrow that role is. Shizuka herself, on the other hand, saw herself in a rigid state she had to maintain while simultaneously taking lowbrow roles, so she felt like she was a hypocrite because she didn't really embrace what her fans and critics were saying about her (this ironically stems from her not caring what other people thought, so she decided in her own mind what 'everyone' was thinking about her). The turning point for the way she was thinking was her realization that she was using an umbrella in the rain when she was previously established as enjoying getting soaking wet in the rain, something which she hadn't done in the story for a very long time.

Originally the Suzaku costume was a leotard and tights like all the others, but somewhere along the line I felt that one of them needed to be different and the difference broken up. And on a whim on an unrelated thread of image doodles I had the Moonlight Prism girls dressed as showgirls (this didn't lead to anything, so don't expect anything like this to happen in their story). So I thought about it a bit more and figured that Suzaku was a good candidate to have a showgirl motif, more specifically a bikini showgirl outfit to differentiate it from her role in "Illusion in Neon". So not only does Shizuka finally put on a bikini, she's dressed like a showgirl, so she gets to squirm a little more. And of course, that revisits Yuki's whole 'stupid sexy best friend' dilemma which I hadn't been able to use since I used it a long time ago in The Fashion Model story, with the addition of the lame, yet humorous 'Oh no, she's HOT!' expression (although you do have to keep in mind that Shizuka isn't well-endowed, so this is Yuki's tastes talking here).

The sex toy conversation is something I've had in mind for a while. The setup is seemingly building up to the 'world of light' and 'world of shadow' conversation, but the truth is, Yuki already knows (remember, both Yuki and Seira were rescued by Shizuka in Deathclaw mode early in the story), so Shizuka doesn't need to 'confess' that. But the reality is I just wanted to establish that Shizuka was still doing it, and Yuki was also doing it, too. You can make your own guess at what Yuki's 'paperweight' is.

The story also serves as a 'check in' for what many of the other side characters are doing or are at at this point in Shizuka's life. Deathclaw has been absent for a long time because he just wasn't relevant to Shizuka's career, for instance. Erika, who hasn't been in the story for a while, is still a maid. Haruka and Kenji are also still working at the Suzuki household. And of course, Shion is being himself, except he's kicking off a long-term storyline where Shizuka inevitably finds the other end of the deal she made with Deathclaw, but all things considered, Shizuka still got to do it during the best years of her life, so it's not all bad. I couldn't find a way to fit in Ziel or Luna, but I have my own thoughts, like Luna is an Indiana Jones type going on archeology trips, so she's occasionally not even in Japan. And Ziel is a stay-at-home dad raising Sora, and because of his expensive mercenary fees he's loaded and set for life, albeit a frugal life.

The timing for this story, I think, coincides with filming "The Shogun's Bodyguard" in the timeline. While I have not dwelt upon it much, I feel like most of the story beats for filming this in particular are the same as in The Fashion Model, except Masato hasn't actually been featured in the story proper.



~ Razorclaw X