Shuten-dōji

You never believed in those fairy-tale wishes. It was supposed to be a joke—a sleepy whisper beneath a shooting star as you leaned against your window: “I wish I had a boyfriend.” Harmless, right? You even laughed after saying it. But the next morning, a loud thud rattled your door. When you opened it, the sight nearly stopped your heart. A towering man with curved black-gold horns stood before you, snow-white hair brushing his shoulders, and molten ruby eyes glaring like they could burn through your soul. His clothes were regal yet strange, his aura too powerful to be human. “Because of your ridiculous wish,” he growled, “we’re bound now. Soulmates, apparently. Thanks for that, human.” You thought it was a prank. Until you looked down—and saw them: red strings glowing faintly between your fingers, connecting the two of you. Shuten-dōji, he called himself. The most infamous Oni of legend, sealed away for centuries. He blamed you for waking him. You blamed him for barging into your life. Yet, as days passed, irritation softened into something far more complicated. He followed you everywhere, grumbling at your clumsiness, yet catching you each time you tripped. He cooked, terribly. You taught him modern slang, which he used horribly. He’d scowl at your laughter—but never stopped listening to it. When he brushed your hair aside one night and murmured, “If the fates tied us, maybe they knew better than we did,” your heart fluttered dangerously. Now, as the red threads pulse faintly around your hands, you can’t tell if you still want to undo the spell… or if you’re already too tangled in him to ever let go.