Nine Summers of Divine Punishment

Wakako watched as Miki wept silently, unable to speak, and didn’t press for answers.

Instead, she gently brushed aside the strands of hair clinging to Miki’s tear-streaked face and softly said, “It’s alright.”

A faint look of confusion filled Miki’s eyes, as if she couldn’t quite understand. How could it be all right? Was it truly fine to feel like a coward, to run away from her fears?

“Whatever it is, it’s alright,” Wakako said, as if she could see right through to Miki’s heart.

Wakako then embraced her, Miki’s head resting on her shoulder as her hand softly patted the Saint’s back. “I may not understand what’s troubling you, but whatever it is… it’s unnecessary.”

Miki paused for a moment, finally closing her eyes before saying:

“Take me to the mountains.”

***

There were no mountains within Jinxin Port, but the wolves Miki had previously summoned seemed to sense something, silently slipping back into the city. They lay obediently against the wall, carrying the two westward.

Summer hadn’t yet reached its peak, and the night breeze brought a pleasant coolness.

Wakako’s shortened hair swayed in the wind. Her long hair, cultivated over many years, had been burned halfway in the fire, now barely reaching her shoulders. No longer able to tie it in a high braid as before, she could only loosely pin it back.

Others might have lamented the loss, but she didn’t mind – it would grow back eventually.

The wolves stopped halfway up the mountain, letting them dismount. Even from this vantage point, the view was breathtaking.

Miki’s long hair cascaded like a waterfall onto the green grass, reflecting the moonlight in a silvery glow.

They sat in silence for a while, Wakako patiently waiting, enjoying the scenery until Miki was ready to speak.

Finally, she heard Miki’s voice, full of confusion and uncertainty: “Wakako, tell me… if I am no longer the Saint, who am I supposed to be?”

Wakako gave the question serious thought.

The Saionji clan had been reduced to ashes, meaning that even the title of “noble lady” had been erased. And with the title of “Saint” stripped away, Miki would indeed have no formal status left on this continent.

No… that wasn’t true. She still had one.

Miki continued: “I can’t even use the name ‘Miki’ anymore… I suddenly don’t understand who I am, or who I’m supposed to become.”

Wakako replied quietly but with a certainty that brooked no doubt, “No matter who you become, you’ll always be my wife and always my master.”

The words Miki had been about to say caught in her throat.

“Wakako,” she finally said slowly, “you shouldn’t call me master anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because… I’m about to stop being the Saint.”

“So what?”

“If I’m no longer the Saint, what right do I have to be your master?” Miki said slowly.

Wakako’s fingers clenched, then relaxed.

After thinking it over, she finally allowed herself to say it aloud. “Miki, whether you have the right to or not is up to me.”

“I’ve seen many married couples but none of them, regardless of status, have ever called each other ‘master’ and ‘servant.’”

“Our relationship… it’s different. Perhaps we’ll never be like them.”

“To me, you are both my wife and my master… Call it foolishness, but I’ve made my choice, and I won’t change it.”

Wakako didn’t understand why Miki was crying again, even pushing her away as tears streamed down her face. Wakako didn’t resist, allowing herself to fall softly onto the grass.

Even now, Miki maintained a measure of restraint, crying without any display of emotion, just quietly letting the tears fall.

Without the black veil, her white sleeves and long hair fell across Wakako, and as always, Miki gazed down at her. Unconsciously, the scent of cherries slowly filled the air, spreading over every inch of Wakako’s skin.

Wakako felt an odd thirst, a longing for water.

A teardrop landed right at the corner of her lips.

It tasted salty, not sweet at all.

Miki pulled open Wakako’s collar, her lips twitching slightly. “Even without this face, I’d still be your master?”

Miki had always had ways to leave Wakako speechless—whether with words, touch, or otherwise.

With her collar open, Miki plucked a wildflower from the grass and traced its soft petals across Wakako’s chest, just above her heart, a rhythmic tapping that Wakako both loved and found agonizing. A pain only Miki could inflict.

Wakako’s breathing quickened, momentarily forgetting to answer, unable to answer.

Only after Miki repeated the question did she finally answer, as if waking from a dream: “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She stared intently at her reflection in Wakako’s eyes, murmuring: “You always said I was beautiful… but what if one day I’m not?”

That face, delicate as white porcelain, showed traces of fear for the unknown.

“You’ll always be beautiful.”

“I won’t, I…”

Wakako sat up, letting her black clothes slip from her shoulders, and gently kissed Miki. Her hand fell softly yet steadily on Miki’s shoulder, as always soothing her companion’s anxious and restless emotions.

“Even if that happens, it doesn’t matter,” she pressed her forehead against Miki’s, repeating, “I love you, Miki, not your beauty.”

“So there’s no need to be afraid.”

Tears continued to flow down Miki’s face, spilling onto Wakako’s.

“What about everything else?” she asked softly, “I’m not a noble, I’m frail and useless, I can’t do anything, I need you to take care of me…”

“I do it willingly.”

Miki stared for a moment, then suddenly bit Wakako’s lip hard.

Even without much strength, the bite drew blood, the faint metallic scent mingling with their breaths.

It still hurt. But Wakako loved it.

“Why do you always listen to me?”

Tears continued to stream down Miki’s cheeks, but she almost seemed to smile.

“It’s been this way since you were thirteen… Just once, even once, Wakako, if you had ever disappointed me, I wouldn’t have gone this far, giving up everything just to be with you.”

“Why did you carry me home that day? Why, when everyone else was slacking off, did you stubbornly stand guard for me all night?”

“Why, after five years apart, did you still remember my name?”

Wakako paused, then smiled.

She countered, “What about you? Miki, why did you, as the Saint, come to the Kitagawa estate that day, just to take me, an insignificant servant, back with you?”

“Why did you name me Wakako, after your favorite kind of poetry?”

“When the Saionji clan’s music teacher was about to beat me to death, why did you shield me, telling them no one was allowed to touch me?”

“You hadn’t seen me for five years either, so why, when you discovered I had a fiancée, did you lose control and refuse to let go of my necklace?”

“If you don’t know the answer, then neither do I.”

“Loving you has never needed a reason, Miki. I love you without you being the Saint, I’ll love you when your beauty fades, I’ll love you no matter what.”

“I couldn’t forget you from the moment I first saw you.”

Wakako seemed to see several complex emotions in Miki’s eyes – confusion, helplessness, uncertainty… finally, her eyes half-closed.

Then Miki turned away.

She brushed aside her long hair, letting her white robes fall, revealing her neck, so delicate it seemed it might break with a touch, and the source of that rich cherry scent…

Her vulnerable yet alluring scent gland.

Offered willingly to Wakako.

She froze for a moment, not understanding Miki’s intention, until she finally heard that familiar voice: “A Saint must remain ‘pure.’ Once I lose this so-called ‘purity,’ I can no longer be the Saint.”

“So, Wakako, mark me.”

Alpha instincts made it impossible for Wakako to look away from Miki’s scent gland, but she couldn’t hide her shock.

More than anyone, she knew Miki’s pride.

Always maintaining a Saint’s dignity, meticulously maintaining her appearance, never appearing weak or vulnerable to anyone.

Even in bed, she always maintained control, her word absolute.

And yet, here Miki was, willingly baring her neck, inviting Wakako to mark her.

How much courage must it have taken to reach this decision?

“Are you sure?” Wakako stared at that smooth back, “Have you really decided?”

“Yes.”

Miki said, facing away.

“I used to be afraid of showing vulnerability in front of you… but now I think, if it’s you, it doesn’t matter if I’m weak or embarrassed.”

You… you’ll never look down on me, right?”

Wakako understood this feeling, embracing her from behind, saying softly: “Never.”

She finally, slowly, very slowly, bit down on Miki’s scent gland. She felt Miki tremble in her arms, the pain causing her to grip Wakako’s hand tighter.

Tears began to stream down Wakako’s face as well.

She didn’t want Miki to hurt.

But this had to be done.

“Just bear it,” she mumbled. “It’ll be over soon…”

Her hand moved where it needed to go, sensing Miki’s tension, which only gradually relaxed after her continuous comfort.

Wakako placed her other hand in Miki’s mouth, letting her bite down when it became too much.

Blood welled on her fingertips, each pulse a pang in her heart.

She would not let Miki bear this pain alone.

Everything proceeded naturally, inevitably. The cherry scent was no longer pure, making room for the scent of sunflowers, blending into a new fragrance.

At last, Wakako had marked her wife as her own, in every sense.

…

On the grassy hill, Miki rested quietly against Wakako’s shoulder, her gaze distant until, after a while, she seemed to refocus.

“Wakako,” she murmured, “I feel… different.”

“It’s normal to feel changes after being marked for the first time.”

“I suppose so,” Miki said. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“You’ll never be able to get rid of me now, not even in death.”

Wakako smiled, showing her dimples.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said.