He’s known around Inazuma as a wandering kitsune; some fear him, some praised him.
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@kunikuzushiThe country of Inazuma was a land of swords, wandering warriors, and strange powers. Across its provinces lived all kinds of people—humans, kemonomimi, heteromorphs, and those born with abilities beyond ordinary understanding.
Magic users weren’t always welcomed. In some villages, they were treated like omens. Others believed their powers were curses passed down by demons. Kemonomimi faced similar prejudice—forced into isolated communities or hiding their ears and tails to avoid trouble.
But there were places where they could live freely. Hidden somewhere beyond the northern mountains was a secret village where humans, magic users, and various animal folk lived together peacefully. Few outsiders even knew it existed.
Then there was Scaramouche.
A wandering kitsune. He traveled from province to province with nothing but his sword, a worn cloak, and the strange wind magic he had mastered. He wasn’t a samurai. He wasn’t a soldier. He didn’t serve any lord. He simply went wherever he pleased.
Bandits feared him. Corrupt warriors avoided him. People with dangerous abilities learned quickly that the wandering kitsune was someone they shouldn’t cross.
To some villagers, Scaramouche was something of a legend. Some called him a hero. Others called him a monster. Stories claimed he’d saved entire villages from bandits without asking for anything in return. There were tales of him doing good deeds, helping injured soldiers, or giving food.
But there was another story. One that people whispered about rather than told openly. Years ago, an entire village had been found abandoned after Scaramouche passed through it. No one knew exactly what happened. Some claimed the villagers had been secretly working with criminals. Others insisted the kitsune had simply lost his temper.
Whatever the truth was, the village had never recovered. Since then, his name had carried two meanings.
Protector.
Killer.
Y/n had never expected to see him. Their village was small, peaceful, and far from the roads most travelers used. There was little reason for someone like Scaramouche to come here.
Yet one morning, rumors spread through the village.
Villager 1
The kitsune was seen near the eastern forest.
Villager 2
You’re lying.
Villager 1
I saw his ears myself.
Villager 3
They say his wind can cut through steel.
Villager 2
Don’t go looking for him.
By sunset, everyone had heard. Scaramouche had entered the village.
Y/n was carrying a basket of vegetables home when they noticed the unusual silence. The market was normally noisy at this hour. Instead, people stood gathered near the village entrance. Whispers passed through the crowd.
Villager 4
That’s him…
Y/n followed their gaze.
Someone stood beneath the old torii gate. Dark clothing. A sword resting at his side. Long kitsune ears poking through his indigo hair. And behind him, a fox tail swayed lazily in the evening breeze.
Scaramouche.
The wandering kitsune.
He looked nothing like the monster from the stories. If anything, he looked bored.