—Inside the Himejima Temple – Afternoon—
"Oka-san, you're hurting me…" whined a small black-haired girl as her mother scrubbed her head a little too hard.
"Don't you dare complain, Shuri," said the black-haired woman—already showing a few strands of gray. She was Shuri's mother and clearly not in the mood. "This is the fifth time this week you've pulled the same stunt!"
"But I didn't do it on purpose…" Shuri sniffled, tears streaking down her dusty face.
"Oka-sama, why are you hitting us!?" the two chestnut-haired girls shouted in unison, rubbing their sore heads.
"And you have the nerve to ask why?" barked their mother, a woman with brown hair like theirs, as she applied disinfectant a bit too enthusiastically. "First of all, Yumma—if you know Shuri-chan doesn't like being teased, why do you keep provoking her?"
"And you, Aki," she continued without missing a beat, "why are you encouraging them instead of being the voice of reason? You three could have been seriously hurt!"
"I'm back," came a deep voice from the doorway as a bearded, black-haired man stepped inside.
"Otou-san, welcome home!" Shuri cried, immediately forgetting her pain as she ran into his arms.
"I'm home, my little girl," the man said warmly, crouching to embrace her before giving his wife a kiss on the forehead. "So... what happened to her?"
"Our dear daughter jumped on top of Yumma-chan and Aki-chan," his wife explained, "and they ended up crashing into the sakura tree."
"…Really?" he asked again, his expression stiffening.
"Yes," confirmed the older red-haired woman, arms crossed.
…
…
…
"…And… is the tree okay?" the man asked carefully.
CLANG!
A knife—God only knows where it came from—thudded into the wall beside his head, millimeters from his throat.
"You were saying, honey?" said the black-haired woman, flashing a smile cold enough to freeze hellfire.
"N-nothing, honey. Nothing at all," he said, eyes wide, heart pounding.
"That's what I thought, my love," she replied sweetly, finishing bandaging up their daughter.
"Well, Yumma, Aki—we're leaving now," said the brown-haired mother as she stood.
"But Mooom!" both girls whined in unison.
"No 'but mom!' You've got school tomorrow, and you won't be late."
"Boo…" the girls muttered with matching pouts.
"Goodbye, Yumma-chan! Aki-chan!" Shuri waved cheerfully.
"Bye, Shuri-chan!" the two chestnuts chorused as they left.
"Well then, Shuri, it's time for bed," said the black-haired man, already retreating into a sense of false peace.
"Hai! See you tomorrow, Otou-san, Oka-san!" Shuri chirped, heading to her room.
"Sleep well, my daughter," said her mother gently, watching her close the door.
ZAS.
"…Now then, honey," the redhead said calmly, picking up a black leather whip—the kind with spikes. "Would you care to explain why you were more concerned about that damn sakura tree than your own daughter?"
She took a step forward, whip dragging on the floor.
"I'm honestly worried. You care more about a plant than your own blood."
"H-h-honey, p-p-please… c-calm down…" the man stammered, eyes darting for an exit that didn't exist.
"Wrong… answer."
ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.
"HELP ME—!"
ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.
"Is Oka-san having sex with Otou-san?" asked little Shuri innocently from her room.
The whip froze in mid-air.
Her mother's eyes twitched.
"…My daughter, who taught you that?" she asked, attempting to mask the horror in her voice.
"Otou-san did!" Shuri answered cheerfully, like the sweet, innocent little angel she was—unintentionally signing her father's death warrant.
"…We're not doing that, sweetie," her mother said, hands shaking as her eye twitched again. "We're just… trying to kill a fly. Yes. A fly."
"Can I help?" Shuri asked, peeking through a crack in the door.
"No, no, don't worry about it, my love. You get your rest," her mother replied, smiling with the calm of a woman on the edge.
"Okay~ See you tomorrow, Oka-san! Otou-san!"
Shuri closed the door at last.
"…Honey," the redhead purred dangerously, slowly stretching the whip again, "do you have anything—anything at all—to say in your defense?"
"H-h-honey, l-l-let me e-e-explain," the man begged, sweating bullets.
ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.
The black-haired man screamed, but the whip didn't stop.
ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.ZAS.
And so, under the divine sounds of pain, punishment, and poor decision-making, the night came to a close.
I wouldn't realize until years later that the story Shuri told me was true:The sadistic nature of Himejima women wasn't just legend—it was hereditary.