Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Naoya

The air smells of earth, freshly soaked by rain. I’m hiding behind an oak, its rough bark scraping my back through the yukata, as I watch Maki tear through the training grounds for the fourteenth time this week.

I keep count.

I always keep count of everything she does.

The idiot can’t even sense my presence. A third-rate sorcerer who can’t detect even the most basic trace of cursed energy. A disgrace to the Zenin name, that’s what she is.

A stain on our impeccable lineage.

The sun is barely up, and she’s already here, like every day, drenched in sweat and determination. Her high ponytail swings like a pendulum as she dodges the training dummies. Even from this distance, I can see how her muscles tense under the black fabric of her uniform, how her movements flow with a precision no woman should possess.

IT’S REPUGNANT.

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood when I see her execute a perfect spinning kick. The dummy explodes into splinters, and for a moment, just a moment, the rising sun illuminates her from behind as if she were one of those ridiculous heroines from the stories Mai reads in secret.

Mai.

The useful twin.

The one who at least has the decency to know her place.

But Maki… Maki is like a splinter under your fingernail that you can’t get out. A constant annoyance that refuses to go away. I watch her pick up her spear, a movement so fluid it looks like the weapon is an extension of her own arm. Her glasses reflect the dawn light as she adopts a fighting stance that I recognize from the basic Zenin technique manual.

She’s doing it wrong.

Slightly wrong.

Her left foot is a millimeter out of position.

I want to scream it at her. I want to step out from behind this tree and correct her stance with my own hands. To show her how it’s done properly, prove her incompetence once again. My fingers twitch with the barely contained urge.

Instead, I stay still and keep watching, like I have been for months. I see her fail and get up, over and over again, with that stupid determination that makes my stomach churn.

That scum shouldn’t be here.

She should be at home, where she belongs. Learning the arts that are fitting for a woman of the Zenin clan: flower arranging, tea ceremony, calligraphy. Appropriate activities for someone of her… condition. For someone who was born defective, unable to manipulate cursed energy as she should. A walking embarrassment who could at least have the decency to compensate for her uselessness by being a presentable wife to some lower-ranked sorcerer, someone who could settle for trash like her. Someone who would understand that, despite her noble blood, she’s nothing more than an empty vessel. A genetic mistake.

Or maybe…

The thought slithers into my mind like a poisonous snake.

Maybe she could have been for me.

It’s an idea that makes my stomach churn and at the same time makes my pulse quicken. Me, the perfect heir, taking the black sheep as a wife. What a twisted irony. I would keep her in her place, of course. I’d teach her what her position in the natural order of things is. I’d break her until she understood that her only value lies in her ability to be useful to those of us who were born blessed.

That was the plan.

That was her destiny.

But no.

SHE HAD TO REBEL.

She had to defy everything we are, everything we represent. And the worst thing is, every day that passes, she gets stronger. I can see it in the way her movements are becoming more precise, in how the splinters and blood no longer seem to affect her. In how her breathing barely changes after hours of training.

A strand of hair escapes her ponytail and falls over her face. She pushes it away with an impatient gesture, leaving a smear of dirt on her cheek. Something twists inside me, something I don’t want to name.

It’s disgust, I tell myself.

It has to be disgust.

I watch her perform a sequence of attacks that I recognize. She’s adapting it, the insolent girl. She’s taking something sacred and modifying it to fit her limitations. I should be furious. I am, I tell myself.

I AM FURIOUS.

But my eyes still follow every one of her movements as if they’re hungry. I memorize the way her fingers adjust around the spear’s handle, how her back arches slightly before each attack, how her lips tighten into a line of concentration that I could already draw from memory.

A frustrated cry escapes her throat when she fails a particularly complex move. The sound reverberates in the clearing and makes something inside me tremble. I see her punch the ground with her fist, once, twice. Her knuckles are already red.

Idiot.

She’s going to injure herself if she keeps going like that.

I find myself stepping forward before I can stop myself. The crackle of a branch under my foot sounds like a gunshot in the silence of the dawn. Maki turns instantly in my direction, her body adopting a defensive stance that, damn it, is perfect.

I freeze, holding my breath. Her eyes scan the area where I am, but I know she can’t see me. She can’t sense me.

She’s weak.

She’s pathetic.

She’s...

She’s beautiful.

The thought hits me like a punch in the gut, and I crush it with the same brutality with which she destroys the training dummies.

No.

NO, NO, NO.

Those aren’t the kinds of thoughts I should be having. That’s not the kind of weakness I can afford.

She keeps looking in my direction, and for a moment, a terrible moment, our eyes meet across the distance and the trees. My heart stops. But then she blinks and goes back to her training, dismissing the interruption as just another sound of the forest.

At that audacity of ignoring me, something breaks inside me. Before I can think twice, my feet are moving.

“Pathetic,” the word comes out of my mouth like a spit. Maki turns to face me, and for an instant, a glorious instant, I see surprise in her eyes before her face hardens into that mask of determination that I despise so much. “How many hours have you been here? Three? Four? And you’re still as useless as ever.”

Her hands tighten around the spear, but she doesn’t respond. Typical of her, trying to maintain that facade of dignity that doesn’t belong to her. I approach closer, savoring every step, every inch that I reduce between us. The sweat on her skin glistens under the dawn light, and I have to fight the urge to follow every drop with my eyes.

“You know what’s the saddest thing?” I continue, my voice a cruel whisper. “That you actually believe this means something. That all this… effort,” I spit out the word as if it were a curse, “is going to change what you are. What you will always be.”

I’m close enough now to see how her jaw tightens, how a muscle pulses in her neck. I could reach out and touch her. The idea burns through me like acid.

“We aren’t all born with the same potential, Maki,” the words flow like poisoned honey. “Some of us are born to be great. Others…” my eyes scan her up and down with calculated disdain, ignoring how my pulse quickens as I do, “are born to be living reminders of what happens when the Zenin blood is diluted.”

Finally, a reaction. Her eyes flash behind her glasses, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the fury I know she’s holding back.

Good.

I want her furious.

I need her furious.

It’s easier to deal with her anger than with her stupid determination.

“Are you finished?” her voice is controlled, measured. I hate how much control she has.

I hate her for keeping her composure when I’m burning inside.

I laugh, a humorless sound that scrapes my throat.

“Finished? I’m barely getting started. Do you know how many times I’ve watched you here, wasting your time? Trying to prove something that everyone already knows is impossible?”

Something shifts in her expression. A tiny crack in her armor.

“You’ve been watching me?”

Panic shoots through me like lightning, but I twist it into cruelty before it can betray me.

“Of course. Someone has to keep track of your failures. For when you finally come to your senses and accept your place.”

I take another step toward her. We’re so close that I can smell the sweat on her skin.

“My place?” there’s a dangerous edge to her voice now. “And what would that be, cousin?”

“You know perfectly well,” my voice drops an octave, becoming more intimate than I intended. “At the feet of someone stronger. Serving the clan as you should. Like a good Zenin girl.”

Her eyes narrow behind her glasses.

“Is that what you want? For me to be a good girl?”

The question hits me like a punch to the stomach. There’s something in her tone, something that suggests she sees more than she should. I take a step back, needing distance, air, anything to help me regain control.

“What I want is irrelevant,” I recover, injecting as much venom as I can into my words. “It’s what you are. What you will always be. Weak. Useless. An embarrassment.”

And then I see it. The microsecond opening in her posture, that infinitesimal instant when her attention drifts from my movement to my words. It’s all I need. All I’ve ever needed.

My innate technique activates before she can blink. The world slows down around me as I move at a speed her pathetic body without cursed energy could never comprehend. In an instant, I’m behind her, savoring that precious moment when she hasn’t realized yet what’s happening.

My foot sweeps her ankles with precision. At the same time, my right hand pushes her shoulder back, while my left grabs her wrist and twists it. It’s a perfect combination, a symphony of movements designed to demonstrate the abysmal difference between us.

Maki falls.

There’s no grace in her fall, no time for her to react. One second she’s standing, defiant, and the next she’s on the ground, the air knocked out of her lungs by the impact. Her spear rolls away, useless like her.

I laugh. I can’t help it. The laughter bursts out of my throat like something wild and freeing.

“See?” my voice drips with satisfaction as I lean over her, one hand casually pressing her shoulder against the ground. “This is your place. This is what happens when you try to play in a league that doesn’t belong to you.”

She tries to get up, but I maintain the pressure. I don’t need to use much strength; the position and angle do all the work for me.

It’s years of training in traditional Zenin techniques turned into a demonstration of dominance as natural as breathing.

“You could train for a thousand years,” I continue, savoring every word, “and you’d never be able to see something like this coming. You know why?” I lean in closer, close enough that my breath brushes her ear. “Because this is the difference between those who were born to be great and those who were born to be trampled like ants.”

Her muscles tense under my grip, and I can feel her fighting to maintain control. How she refuses to give me the satisfaction of seeing her break. Typical of Maki. Even on the ground, even defeated, she clings to that ridiculous pride that I despise so much.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” I press a little harder, just enough to remind her who’s in control. “Where’s all that arrogance from a moment ago?”

Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them that makes my stomach twist.

There’s no fear.

There’s no submission.

Only a calmness that unnerves me.

“Does this make you feel better, Naoya?” her voice is soft, almost compassionate, and that makes me even angrier than any insult. “Does it help you sleep at night?”

Fury explodes in my chest like a grenade. My free hand moves by instinct toward her throat, my fingers pressing just enough to be a threat, but not enough to leave marks.

“Watch your tongue,” I hiss. “Or I’ll teach you what respect really means.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile curves her lips.

“Is this what you fantasize about when you watch me train?” her words are barely a whisper, but they hit me like a whip. “Having me like this? Subdued? At your mercy?”

Panic mixes with the rage in my blood, creating a toxic combination that makes my vision blur at the edges.

“Shut up,” I growl, but my voice sounds weak even to my own ears.

“Why?” she continues, and there’s something in her tone that suggests she’s enjoying this. “Because I’m saying out loud what you really want?”

My fingers twitch at her throat. In a dark corner of my mind, a voice whispers how easy it would be to end all of this. A simple squeeze, a brief crack, and her unbearable voice would be silenced forever. The idea, for an instant, is almost tempting. A quick solution to a problem that seems to have no end.

But I don’t.

I don’t squeeze, I don’t cut off her air.

“You’re pathetic,” I manage to say, but the words sound hollow. “A disgrace to the clan.”

“And yet,” she whispers, “here you are. On top of me. Touching me. Who’s really the pathetic one, Naoya?”

I release her like her skin burned me. I jump up, stepping back several paces, needing to put distance between us. My breathing is ragged, my heart is beating so hard I’m sure she can hear it.

Maki gets up slowly, with a grace that she shouldn’t possess after being taken down like that. She dusts off her clothes with casual movements, as if all of this was nothing more than a slight inconvenience.

“Next time you want my attention,” she says as she picks up her spear, “you could just ask for it. Like a normal person.”

“This isn’t over,” I threaten, but my voice trembles betrayingly.

She looks over her shoulder as she walks away, and there’s something in her eyes that makes me feel naked, exposed.

“Of course not,” she replies with a smile that, I’m sure, will haunt my dreams. “It’s never over with you, Naoya. That’s your problem.”

Chapter Text

Naoya

I find my father where he always is at this hour: in his private study, surrounded by the cloying sweet scent of expensive sake and the bitterness of imported tobacco. The afternoon light filters through the traditional windows, casting shadows that dance across the ancient ceremonial swords that decorate the walls. Naobito Zenin is reclined in his favorite armchair, a half-empty sake bottle on the table beside him.

“Father,” I bow respectfully, even though I know that by this time of day he’s probably too drunk to notice formalities. “I need to speak with you about an important matter.”

He glances up from his glass, his eyes slightly unfocused but still holding that characteristic glint.

“Ah, Naoya,” his voice slightly slurs his words. “My perfect son. What brings you here so early?”

It’s three in the afternoon.

I straighten, maintaining the impeccable posture expected of the clan heir.

“It’s about Maki,” the name leaves my mouth like something bitter. “I’ve been observing her...”

A harsh chuckle interrupts me.

“Observing?” there’s a mocking tone in his voice that makes my fists clench. “Since when has the great Naoya taken to spying on the clan women?”

“It’s not what you think,” I quickly clarify, ignoring the heat rising in my neck. “She’s training in secret. Using clan techniques. Perverting our sacred traditions.”

Naobito pours himself more sake, the liquid splashing slightly over the edge of the cup due to his unsteady hand.

“And?”

The simple question throws me off.

“What do you mean ‘and’? It’s an affront to everything we stand for! A woman without cursed energy shouldn’t...”

“Ah, there it is,” he interrupts again, smiling in that way that’s always made me feel like a stupid child. “The wounded pride of the perfect heir. Tell me, my son, what’s really bothering you? That she’s training? Or that she’s doing it without your permission?”

“This has nothing to do with me,” I protest, but my voice sounds defensive even to my own ears. “It’s about the honor of the clan. About maintaining the established order.”

My father laughs, a rough sound that echoes off the study walls.

“The honor of the clan,” he repeats, savoring the words as if they were particularly amusing. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that phrase? How many generations of Zenin have used ‘clan honor’ as an excuse for their personal obsessions?”

“This is different,” I insist, feeling my control of the situation slipping through my fingers. “She’s an embarrassment. A stain on our lineage. We should...”

“We should what?” he cuts me off, and for a moment I see a flicker of the sharpness that made him the clan leader peek through the alcoholic haze. “Punish her? For trying to become stronger? For refusing to accept the role we assigned her?”

“She’s a woman without cursed energy!” the words explode out of me with more force than I intended. “She has no right to...”

“To what?” his smile becomes malicious. “To challenge you? To make you feel... uncomfortable?”

There’s something in his tone that makes me take a step back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs, taking another sip of sake. “You never do, do you? So perfect. So dedicated to the clan. So... obsessed with keeping everyone in their place.”

“Father...”

“You know what’s truly funny?” he continues as if he hadn’t heard me. “That of all my sons, you’re the one who is most like me. And that, Naoya, isn’t a compliment.”

The words hit me hard.

“I’m not like you,” I manage to say. “I care about traditions. About maintaining order.”

His laugh this time is softer, almost compassionate.

“You think I didn’t care at your age? You think I didn’t spend nights awake thinking about the honor of the clan, about maintaining traditions?” He leans forward in his chair, his eyes suddenly sharp. “You think I didn’t have my own... obsessions?”

The air in the study becomes heavy, laden with something I don’t want to name.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat, but the words sound hollow.

“Let her train,” he says finally, leaning back again. “Let her play at being a warrior if it makes her happy. It’s not like she can really change anything.”

“But the traditions...”

“Traditions,” he interrupts with a dismissive wave of his hand, “are like this sake. Useful for numbing the conscience, but at the end of the day, they’re just excuses we tell ourselves to justify our true desires.”

“This has nothing to do with desires,” I weakly protest. “It’s about duty.”

“Ah, duty,” he sighs dramatically. “Another pretty word we use to disguise the truth. Tell me, my son, how many hours have you ‘dedicated to duty’ watching her train?”

The heat in my face intensifies.

“I don’t...”

“I don’t care what you do with your time,” he cuts me off, pouring himself more sake. “I don’t care if you spend your mornings spying on a girl you supposedly despise. I don’t care if you use clan honor as an excuse for your... personal interests.” His smile turns sharp. “Just don’t expect me to pretend that this is about anything nobler than your own obsessions.”

“You’re wrong,” the words come out automatically, a weak defense against the truth hidden in his words. “It’s not...it’s not what you think.”

“It never is,” he replies with a sardonic laugh. “It’s never what we think. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important appointment with this bottle of sake, which, unlike you, doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not.”

I stand there, paralyzed, as he turns his attention back to his glass, clearly ending the conversation. Words pile up in my throat: protests, explanations, justifications.

But they all sound false even in my own mind.

I huff and start to walk towards the exit.

“Although...” my father’s voice stops me before I reach the door. There’s something in his tone that makes my blood run cold. “If you’re so worried about the matter, we could always take more... definitive action.”

I turn around slowly. Naobito is toying with his glass, watching the afternoon light pass through the amber liquid.

“What do you mean?” I ask, although a part of me already knows. I already recognize that look in his eyes, the one that appears when he’s about to destroy someone’s life for pure entertainment.

“Well,” he drags the word out, savoring it like the sake in his glass, “I could have a little chat with Ogi. You know how he is with his daughters... especially the defective one.”

My stomach twists.

“What kind of chat?”

“Oh, nothing special,” he shrugs. “Just mention that his little rebel is causing trouble. That she’s starting to be a... disruptive influence.” His eyes gleam. “Ogi has always been a traditionalist. He’d probably freak out if he knew his daughter was perverting the sacred techniques of the clan.”

“And what do you think he’d do?” the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

My father’s smile widens.

“Most likely, he’d decide that it’s time to get rid of the problem. There are several clan servants who’d be more than willing to take a Zenin wife, even a defective one. A quick marriage, a transfer to a remote clan property...” he waves his hand dismissively, like swatting away an annoying fly. “And problem solved.”

Something dark and heavy settles in my chest. The image of Maki, confined to some old, forgotten house, turned into the wife of some insignificant servant... The thought makes my cursed energy pulse violently, cracking the glass I’m holding.

“Would you like that?” my father’s voice is soft, dangerous. “To see your little obsession reduced to...that?”

“She’s not my obsession,” the words come out automatically.

“Of course not,” Naobito laughs. “That’s why you’re squeezing that glass like you want to strangle it.”

I lower my gaze. Fragments of porcelain dig into my palm, with small threads of blood running between my fingers. I hadn’t noticed when the cup broke completely.

“I could do it, you know?” my father continues, his voice mixing cruelty and amusement. “A comment here, a suggestion there... Ogi has always been so easy to manipulate.”

“No,” the word escapes my lips before I can stop it.

“No?” his eyebrows arch with false surprise. “Wasn’t this what you wanted? To put her in her place? To ensure that she learns what her position in the clan hierarchy is?”

The fragments of porcelain dig deeper into my palm as I clench my fist.

“Not like this.”

“Not like this?” he scoffs. “Then how, Naoya? How would you prefer to see her subdued?” His smile becomes knowing, venomous. “Or is it that you’d rather be the one who subdues her?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I growl, but my voice trembles betrayingly.

“Oh, I think I do,” he leans back in his chair, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “I think I know exactly what I’m talking about. The question is: do you?”

I turn abruptly, needing to escape his gaze.

“Think about it,” his voice reaches me as I head for the door. “A comment to Ogi is all it would take. You could get rid of your... problem. Or at least,” his laughter is like acid in my ears, “that’s what you’re telling yourself you want, right? Actually,” he continues, and there’s something in his tone that forces me to look at him, “We have the perfect candidate right here in the clan.”

I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THIS.

“Ranta,” he pronounces the name like someone tossing a match into a puddle of gasoline. “He’s devoted, isn’t he? So dedicated to the clan. So... loyal.”

The name makes something dark twist inside me.

Ranta.

The bootlicker who’s always trying to curry favor with the main clan members. The one who slithers through the halls like a servile shadow, pretending to be more than he is.

“He’s trash,” the words escape my mouth before I can stop them, laced with a venom that surprises even me.

My father’s laughter is like broken glass.

“Exactly!” he exclaims with false enthusiasm. “That’s why he’s perfect! Two pieces of trash together... there’s a certain poetry to it, don’t you think?”

My hands tremble with a rage I can barely contain.

“He’s not worthy.”

“Worthy?” Naobito raises an eyebrow, his smile growing sharper. “Worthy of what, exactly? Of a woman without cursed energy? Of a defective Zenin?” He leans forward. “Or is it that you think someone else is more... worthy?”

“That’s not it,” I protest.

“He has potential, you know,” he continues as if he hadn’t heard me. “Not as much as you, of course, but enough to be useful. And best of all...” his smile widens, “he’d accept Maki without hesitation. He’d be so grateful for the opportunity to marry into the main family that he wouldn’t care that his wife is an embarrassment to the clan.”

The image forms in my mind without permission: Maki, her fierceness tamed, reduced to being the wife of someone like Ranta. Ranta, with his trembling hands and his servile smile, touching her, claiming her…

The glass of the nearest window cracks with a sharp sound. My cursed energy pulses violently, responding to an emotion I refuse to name.

“Oh,” my father’s voice is laced with false surprise. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. “I don’t care who you marry her to.”

“Of course you don’t,” he nods with exaggerated seriousness. “That’s why you’re making my windows explode. Because you don’t care.”

“You’re unbearable when you drink,” I growl, needing to deflect the conversation, needing to escape his eyes that see too much.

“And you’re transparent when you’re jealous,” he replies with a smile that makes my stomach churn. “But please, keep telling yourself that this is about clan honor. Keep pretending that you’re not consumed inside by the idea of someone else touching her.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the words come out instantly.

“Don’t I?” he calmly pours himself more sake. “Then I guess you won’t mind when I suggest to Ogi that Ranta would be a good match. When I mention how devoted he is, how loyal he is to the clan. When I remind him that defective women must be dealt with before they cause trouble...”

The sake in his glass ripples violently, responding to another surge of my cursed energy.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

His smile is that of a shark who has smelled blood.

“Wouldn’t I? And why not? Give me one reason, my son. A single reason why I shouldn’t pair up two pieces of trash in the clan.”

I want to say something: threats, pleas.

But it all sounds inadmissible.

It all sounds too revealing.

“Exactly,” he nods, satisfied at my silence. “You can’t give a reason without exposing yourself, can you? You can’t defend what you supposedly despise without revealing what you truly feel.”

“I hate you,” I whisper, and for the first time in my life, I mean it.

“I know,” he laughs, seemingly delighted with my statement. “Almost as much as you hate yourself.”

I storm out of the room, his laughter chasing me through the halls like a mocking ghost. My steps automatically lead me to the training grounds, even though it’s late, even though I know she won’t be there.

I stop next to the tree that has become my usual observation post, my hand unconsciously tracing the marks that the bark has left on my uniform so many mornings.

Ranta.

The name is like bile in my mouth. The image of him near Maki makes my cursed energy pulse so violently that the tree creaks dangerously.

No.

I can’t allow it.

I CAN’T ALLOW SOMEONE LIKE HIM... THAT NO ONE…

The thought is left unfinished, because to complete it would mean admitting something I am not prepared to face.

Chapter Text

Maki

I slipped into our room trying to be quiet, but it was useless. Mai always knows when I’m here, even without being able to sense my presence. I guess it’s a twin thing. Or maybe she’s just so used to my morning training that she can predict exactly when I’ll come back, bruised and dirty.

“Naoya again, huh?” Her voice comes from her futon, where she’s sitting cross-legged, a book in her lap.

It’s not a real question.

I stop dead, my muscles tensing involuntarily at the sound of that name.

Is it that obvious? Is his mark on me that clear?

“How did you—?” I start to ask, but she cuts me off with a gesture.

“You have that look,” she says, closing her book with a sigh. Her eyes, identical to mine, take in my state with a mix of resignation and worry that’s painfully familiar. “The one you only get when he’s been... being him.”

I go to the mirror, examining my reflection. Dirt on my cheek, wrinkled uniform, a scratch on my neck where his fingers pressed. Small marks from his latest attempt to “put me in my place.”

To remind me what I am.

What I’ll never stop being to him.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter, more out of habit than conviction. “Just training.”

Mai makes a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.

“When are you going to stop lying to yourself, sister?”

I turn to her, finding the reflection of my own exhaustion in her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

I take off my glasses, mechanically cleaning them with the edge of my dirty uniform. It’s a nervous habit I’ve developed, something to do with my hands when I don’t want to face the worry in my twin’s eyes.

“Maki,” her voice softens, but there’s a tremble in it that breaks my heart. “Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep trying to be something more? You’re just... you’re just making yourself a target. You’re just giving him more reasons to hunt you.”

“He’s not hunting me,” I protest weakly, but the words sound hollow even to me. Because I’ve seen how he looks at me from the shadows, how he watches me train.

Like a predator studying its prey, learning its movements, its weaknesses.

“He’s a monster,” Mai whispers, and there’s so much fear in her voice that it makes me shudder. “I’ve seen it, Maki. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is paying attention. Like you’re something he wants to tear apart just because he can.”

Her words make my stomach churn, because I’ve noticed it too.

“I can handle him,” I say, more to convince myself than her.

“Can you?” Mai comes closer, her steps silent on the tatami mat. “Or are you just provoking him more? Every time you get up, every time you refuse to stay down... it’s like you’re just giving him more reasons to want to break you.”

I’ve seen the glint in Naoya’s eyes when I refuse to submit, when I get up after every fall. It’s something dark and hungry, something that makes me feel more like prey than a rival.

“I can’t just give up,” I whisper, my fingers unconsciously tracing the marks on my neck. “I can’t accept that this is all we can be.”

Mai rests her forehead against my back, and I can feel her trembling.

“What if we don’t have a choice? What if this is just how we were born, Maki? You without cursed energy, me without any real power... What if our only option as twins is to keep our heads down and hope they ignore us?”

Twins.

A curse, according to the clan elders. An aberration that divides cursed energy unevenly, creating two imperfect halves where there should have been a whole.

Mai received the cursed energy, that power the clan values so much. But it’s weak, barely enough to be considered a sorcerer. As if the universe had divided the portions wrong, giving her just a fraction of what should have been hers by birthright.

And I… I was born empty.

A vessel without content, a body without cursed energy, compensating for that lack with a physical strength that the clan considers vulgar, primitive. As if my body were trying to fill the void of power with muscle and determination.

I let out a small laugh.

Mai is right about one thing: we were born divided. But she’s wrong to think that determines what we can become. Cursed energy may have been distributed unevenly between us, but our will, our ability to choose who we want to be... that’s entirely our own.

And yet, here we are.

She, clinging to the small portion of power she received, afraid of losing even that if she dares to challenge the clan. She’s “acceptable” by clan standards, but barely. A mediocre sorcerer, destined to live a mediocre life. And I, fighting against my own nature, trying to prove that the absence of cursed energy doesn’t make me less of a Zenin, less of a person.

“You could be more too,” I turn to face her. “You could train with me, we could…”

“No,” she cuts me off, and there’s terror in her eyes. “Not all of us are as brave as you, sister. Not all of us want to be the object of his… attention.”

The bitterness and fear in her voice surprises me. Mai moves abruptly away, her hands trembling as she smooths her kimono in a nervous gesture I recognize from our mother.

“You know what Mom says?” she continues, her voice rising in pitch. “She says you’re like a bird that crashes into a window over and over, thinking it can break through the glass just because it sees the sky on the other side.”

“Mai…”

“No!” Now she’s really angry, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Don’t say ‘Mai’ like I’m the one who’s wrong here! You know what Mom always says?” she continues, her voice trembling between rage and terror. “Zenin women are like bamboo: we either bend with the wind, or we break. There’s no middle ground, Maki. There’s no victory to be had in this fight of yours.”

“Mom is wrong,” I reply, but Mai lets out a bitter laugh that makes me shudder.

“Wrong? Like when she said you’d end up hurt? Like when she warned Naoya wouldn’t leave you alone? Like when she predicted that every small act of rebellion of yours would only make things worse?”

She goes to the mirror, her fingers tracing her reflection, so similar to mine and yet so different.

“Look at yourself,” she whispers. “Really look at yourself. Every day you come back with new bruises, new wounds. Every day you stray further from what we’re supposed to be.”

“And what are we supposed to be, Mai?” my voice hardens. “Decorative dolls? Silent wives? Shadows without our own will?”

“Survivors!” she exclaims, turning to me with her eyes bright with tears. “We’re supposed to survive, Maki. Like Mom. Like Mom’s mom. Like all the Zenin women who came before us.”

Her words set my nerves on edge, make something primal and furious writhe inside me. It’s an old fury, one I’ve been feeding since the first time I saw mother shrink under father’s gaze, since the first time I understood what it meant to be a Zenin woman.

“Don’t talk to me about survival,” I continue, and each word is like fire in my throat. “I’ve seen what it’s done to Mom. I’ve seen her disappear little by little, year after year, until there’s barely anything left of the woman she used to be.”

I look at myself again in the mirror, observing the marks of my training, the scars I’ve earned by refusing to be what they want me to be.

“Do you remember when we were little? Remember how Mom used to sing when she thought no one was listening? When was the last time you heard her sing, Mai?”

My sister doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to.

We both know the answer.

We’ve both witnessed how the Zenin clan has been extinguishing the light in our mother’s eyes, how they’ve been silencing her voice until it’s barely a whisper.

“I saw her yesterday,” I continue, my fingers tracing a recent bruise on my arm. “She was in the garden, arranging the flowers like a good Zenin wife. Father walked by and…” my voice cracks for a moment, remembering. “She shrunk so much it was like she wanted to disappear into the bushes. Like she wanted the ground to swallow her up rather than face his gaze.”

I turn to Mai, who remains still, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Is that what you want? To become a ghost? A doll that only exists to please others?”

“At least she’s alive,” Mai hisses, and there’s something wild in her gaze. “At least she’s not broken. At least she doesn’t have a monster obsessed with destroying her.”

“We’re already broken,” I reply softly. “We were born broken according to them, remember? Without any real value...”

“Exactly!” her voice breaks. “That’s why we must accept it! That’s why Mom always says we have to learn our place, that we must...”

“That we must be good girls,” I interrupt. “That we must smile and nod and pretend it doesn’t hurt when they call us defective. That we must be grateful when they treat us like objects instead of people.”

“It’s the only way,” Mai whispers, and there’s so much resignation in her voice that it breaks my heart. “Mom knows it. That’s why she always says that the most flexible bamboo is the one that survives the storm.”

“And what about living?” I ask softly. “Not surviving, Mai. Living. What about being more than what they say we can be?”

“That’s your problem,” she turns to the window, her shoulders trembling. “Always wanting more. Always dreaming of impossibilities. Don’t you see that you’re just hurting yourself? That you’re just giving Naoya more reasons to…”

She stops abruptly, but we both know what she was going to say.

To chase.

To destroy.

“Mom is right,” she continues after a moment, her voice more controlled. “Women like us don’t have the luxury of dreams. We don’t have the privilege of rebellion. All we have is the ability to adapt, to survive.”

“Is that what you want for your life?” I ask, approaching her. “To survive? To spend your days fearing men like Naoya? Teaching your daughters to do the same?”

Mai flinches as if I had struck her.

“At least my daughters would live,” she whispers. “At least they wouldn’t have to worry every day about whether their sister will show up broken in some dark corner of the compound because she dared to challenge the wrong heir.”

Her words freeze me in place.

“Is that what you’re afraid of? That Naoya…?”

“Of course that’s what I’m afraid of!” she turns to me, tears falling down her cheeks. “You think I don’t see how he looks at you? How he follows you? Zenin men are like wolves. Once they smell blood, they don’t stop until they completely destroy their prey.”

“I’m not his prey,” I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.

“You are,” Mai comes closer, taking my hands in hers. “You are from the moment you decided to be more than what they allowed you to be. And every day that you keep challenging him, you’re just drawing him in more.”

I look at our intertwined hands, so similar and so different. Hers soft, cared for, as is expected of a Zenin woman. Mine calloused, marked by training and rebellion.

“I can’t give up,” I whisper. “I can’t be what Mom says we should be.”

“I know,” Mai lets go of my hands, and there’s an infinite sadness in her voice. “And that’s what terrifies me. Because Mom is also right about something else: the Zenin women who don’t bend, inevitably break.”

I let out a snort.

“Maybe Mom is right,” I say with irony. “Maybe the bamboo has to bend to survive the storm. But I’m not bamboo, Mai. I wasn’t born to bend.”

“Then what are you?” there’s something in her voice, something that sounds almost like longing.

“I’m steel,” I reply. “And steel doesn’t bend. It’s tempered. It’s forged. It gets stronger with every blow.”

She sighs and heads towards the door, but stops before leaving.

“Just remember,” she says without looking at me, “that when he finally breaks you, you won’t be the only one to suffer the consequences.”

Chapter Text

Naoya

Ranta moves his hands clumsily and gracelessly. I watch him alongside Jinichi, who sips his tea with that irritating calm of his. The servant - because that’s what he is, no matter how much father tries to elevate him above his position - practices a basic innate technique with the coordination of a three-year-old.

“He’s pathetic,” I mutter, more to myself than to my uncle. The afternoon sun bathes the training yard in a golden glow that makes everything seem unreal, like a badly executed painting.

Jinichi makes a sound that could be either agreement or reproach.

You can never tell with him.

“Your father seems to think differently.”

“My father was drunk.” The words come out like poison. The memory of that conversation still burns inside me, like acid in my veins.

Ranta.

Of all people, Ranta.

The idea of him touching Maki turns my stomach.

“He didn’t know what he was saying.”

“Didn’t he?” Jinichi sets his cup down with a deliberate movement. “Your father rarely says anything without intention, sober or not.”

I watch Ranta stumble over his own feet. His cursed energy is so weak that it barely ripples the air around him, like a candle about to go out.

AND FATHER SUGGESTED…

The cup in my hands cracks dangerously.

“It’s an insult,” I spit out. “To the clan. To the position. To everything we stand for.”

Jinichi glances at me out of the corner of his eye, with that look of his that always makes me feel like he can see right through me, like my thoughts are scrolls laid out before him.

“To the clan? Or to you?”

“It’s the same thing.”

“Is it?” His voice has an edge that makes me tense. “I wonder if your...concern for the clan’s honor has more to do with a certain defective girl.”

My fingers clench. The cup finally breaks, sending shards of ceramic and hot tea over my hands.

I don’t feel the pain.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.” There’s something in his tone that makes me want to break more than just a cup. “I suppose your constant...run-ins with Maki-san are purely coincidental.”

The name makes something twist inside me, like a restless snake I can never quite still.

“Someone has to put her in her place.”

“And that someone must be you?” Jinichi turns fully toward me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes me feel exposed. “Why so much dedication, Naoya? Why so much...interest in a woman who, in your own words, is worthless?”

Ranta executes another basic technique, and the result is so mediocre that it makes my teeth grind.

This is the man father suggested for her.

This piece of talentless trash, without real power, without…

“It’s funny,” Jinichi continues when I don’t answer, “how you spend so much time watching her. Following her. Looking for any excuse to…”

“It’s my duty,” I cut him off. The words taste like ashes in my mouth. “As the heir...”

“Your duty?” Now there’s amusement in his voice, and that infuriates me more than any accusation. “Is it your duty to stalk her during her training sessions? To study her every move like a hawk? To memorize her schedules?”

“I don’t stalk her.” The protest sounds weak even to my own ears. Because I know it’s a lie. Because I can still feel the texture of the tree beneath my fingers, while I watched her practice. I can still remember exactly how the dawn light played with her hair, how the sweat made her skin gleam like polished porcelain.

Jinichi lets out a soft laugh that makes my skin crawl.

“No? Then I suppose you also don’t know that she trains every day at dawn. That she prefers the east area of the compound because the light is better. That she always carries a water bottle in her left hand, even though she’s right-handed.”

Each word is like a physical blow.

Because of course I know.

I know that her training sessions last exactly two hours and seven minutes. I know she has a nearly invisible scar at the base of her neck, a result of our first serious fight. I know that when she’s really focused, she murmurs the movements to herself in a Japanese so formal it sounds almost archaic.

I know everything about her, and it sickens me.

“If you despise her so much,” Jinichi continues, relentless, “why did you react like that to your father’s suggestion? Why did the idea of her with another man affect you so much?”

“It didn’t affect me.”

Another lie.

Because I can still feel the blind rage that washed over me when father suggested it. I can still remember how my cursed energy exploded, how the walls creaked under the pressure of my anger.

Ranta tries another technique, and the result is so pathetic that I want to rip his head off.

THIS INSECT, THIS INSIGNIFICANT THING, PRETENDING TO BE ON THE SAME LEVEL AS… I stop myself before I complete the thought.

“She’s defective,” I say, but the words sound hollow. “No cursed energy. No real worth.”

“And yet,” Jinichi gets up with a grace I’ve always secretly envied, “here you are. Obsessed with someone who, in your own words, is trash.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

“No?” He pauses at the door, and there’s something in his posture that makes me think of a teacher about to deliver a crucial lesson. “Then I suppose you won’t mind that Ranta isn’t the only suitor your father is considering.”

My head snaps up so fast I almost hurt my neck.

“What?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp as blades. “Several allied clans have expressed interest. After all, even without cursed energy, she’s still a Zenin. And her…physical ability hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

Something dark and violent twists in my chest.

The idea of other men looking at her, wanting her, believing they have some right to her…

“Of course,” Jinichi continues, “they’re all more…appropriate than Ranta. Heirs of lesser clans, mainly. Men who might appreciate her…uniqueness.”

My cursed energy churns like a caged animal, making the floorboards creak beneath my feet. Ranta stops mid-move, sensing the pressure in the air, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except the bile rising in my throat at the idea of Maki with another man, any man.

“No.” The word comes out as a growl.

“No?” Jinichi raises an eyebrow. “And why not? If she’s so worthless as you say, if she really is nothing...what does it matter who she marries?”

“She’s...” The words catch in my throat. Because I can’t say what I really think. I can’t admit that the idea of another man touching her drives me crazy. That just the possibility of someone else having her makes me want to burn the world to the ground.

“She’s what, Naoya?” His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it that makes me shudder. “Yours? Is that what you want to say?”

“No.” But it’s a lie. It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told in my life, because of course she’s mine. She has been mine since the first time I saw her refuse to bow her head, since the first time she dared to challenge me.

Mine to pursue, mine to break, mine to...

“Ah,” Jinichi sighs, as if he’s just confirmed something he already knew. “And there it is. The truth you’re trying so hard to deny.”

“You don’t know anything,” I spit out.

“I know more than you think.” He turns to leave, but pauses one last time. “You know what’s truly pathetic, Naoya? It’s not Ranta and his attempts to master basic techniques. It’s not your father and his marriage plans. It’s you, denying the obvious to the point of self-destruction.”

He leaves before I can answer, leaving me alone with my rage and my lies. In the yard, Ranta continues with his pathetic training attempts, oblivious to how each of his clumsy movements fuels my anger.

But it isn’t him who occupies my thoughts.

It’s her.

It’s always her.

Maki, with her damned determination that defies all logic. Maki, who refuses to break no matter how many times I knock her down.

I get up abruptly.

I need... I need...

I NEED TO DESTROY SOMETHING.

Ranta doesn’t even see me coming. He’s too focused on his pathetic attempts to master a technique a five-year-old could execute. When I land in front of him, his eyes widen with that kind of primal fear that I’ve always found satisfying.

“N-Naoya-sama,” he stammers, bowing so low he almost kisses the ground. Pathetic. “I didn’t know you were...”

“Fight me,” I cut him off. It’s not a request. Requests are for equals, and this worm will never be my equal.

“E-excuse me?” His voice trembles. I can smell his fear, thick and sweet like fermented honey.

“Are you deaf as well as incompetent?” My tone is sharp, designed to cut. “I said: fight me.”

I see the exact moment he understands that this isn’t a normal training session. That this is something darker, more personal. His eyes dart nervously, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.

“Naoya-sama, I...I don’t think it’s appropriate...”

“Not appropriate?” The laugh that comes from my throat sounds strange, even to me. “But marrying Maki would be?”

The color leaves his face so fast it’s almost comical.

“W-what? I never... I don’t understand...”

“Of course you don’t understand.” I move, so fast that to him I must just be a blur. I appear behind him, my breath ghosting over his neck. “You’re too insignificant to understand anything.”

He spins around, trying to keep me in his line of sight.

Ah, yes. His little trick.

His only innate technique worth anything: the ability to temporarily paralyze anything he looks at directly. An ability that might be impressive in someone with true talent.

But in him, it’s just another reminder of his mediocrity.

“Come on,” I taunt, moving again, appearing on his left, then on his right, playing with him like a cat with a particularly stupid mouse. “Show me why father thinks you’re worthy.”

His eyes try to follow me, desperate, but I’m too fast. Speed has always been my domain, my gift. Even when I was a child, the world seemed to move in slow motion around me. And now, with years of training and refinement, I’m practically invisible when I move at full speed.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he gasps, spinning around like a badly balanced top. “I never... The clan never...”

“Never what?” I appear in front of him, so close that I can see the sweat beading on his forehead. “Never thought about her? Never watched her during her training sessions? Never dreamed of…”

I stop, because the idea sickens me.

The idea of this insect watching her, wanting her, fantasizing about her…

Ranta must see something in my expression, because he tries his technique. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I feel the pressure of his cursed energy trying to reach me, trying to paralyze my muscles.

It’s almost cute.

I move before his technique can even graze me. To him, it must be like trying to catch the wind with his hands. I appear behind him, and with a casual flick, I send him flying into the nearest wall.

The impact makes the boards crack. Ranta slides to the ground, coughing and gasping.

“Is that all?” I ask, slowly approaching. “Is this the level of a Zenin suitor?”

“I...no...” He tries to get up, but his legs are shaking too much. “Please, Naoya-sama...”

“Please what?” I stop in front of him, observing him as I would observe a particularly disgusting insect. “Please don’t kill me? Please have mercy?”

His eyes meet mine again, desperate. I feel the pull of his technique, stronger this time, fueled by panic. For a moment, I almost admire him. Almost respect his persistence.

Almost.

I move again, this time appearing directly above him. My foot finds his chest with surgical precision, pressing just enough to make him feel his own mortality.

“Your technique,” I say conversationally, as if we’re discussing the weather, “requires direct eye contact to work. You need to see your target to paralyze them.” I press down a little harder, enjoying the small whimper of pain that escapes his lips. “But how are you going to see something that moves faster than your eyes can process?”

“I-I don’t understand,” he gasps. “Why...?”

“Why?” The question makes me laugh, and the sound is as hollow as I feel inside. “Because you’re weak. Because you’re pathetic. Because the very idea of someone like you even thinking of touching her...”

I stop, horrified by what I almost revealed. But Ranta has caught it. I see it in the way his eyes widen, in how understanding flashes across his pained expression.

“Oh,” he whispers, and there’s something in his tone that makes me want to rip out his tongue. “Oh, I understand. You...”

I don’t let him finish. My foot moves from his chest to his throat, cutting off any words he might say.

“No,” I hiss, and there’s so much poison in my voice that I almost surprise myself. “You don’t understand anything. And if you value your miserable life, you’ll never pretend that you do.”

His eyes fill with tears, but he nods frantically.

Good.

At least he’s not completely stupid.

I release him and step back, feeling a dark satisfaction as I watch him collapse in on himself, coughing and gasping.

“You know what you are, Ranta?” My voice is smooth as poisoned silk as I lean towards him. The fear in his eyes is like aged wine – sweet, intoxicating. “You’re less than nothing. Less than the dust beneath my feet.”

I circle him. Each step is deliberate, measured, designed to increase his terror.

“You are the type of creature who should be grateful for every breath of air you’re allowed to take.” I stop in front of him, watching the sweat slide down his forehead. “And yet, here you are. Daring to dream above your station.”

Ranta shrinks in on himself, as if he could make himself small enough to disappear. His hands are trembling so hard that I can almost hear his bones clatter.

“I-it wasn’t my intention...” he begins, but I silence him with a surge of cursed energy that makes the air around him thick as molasses.

“Your intention?” The laugh that escapes my lips is cruel, sharp as broken glass. “Do you think your intentions matter? Do you think you have the right to have intentions?”

I get closer, leaning down until my mouth is next to his ear.

“Let me explain something to you, worm. In this clan, in this world, there is a hierarchy. There are those who are born to rule, to possess, to take what they want.” I pause, letting the words sink in like daggers. “And then there are creatures like you.”

I straighten, looking down at him with all the contempt I can muster. It’s not difficult—the disgust I feel for this insect is as natural as breathing.

“Creatures who should be grateful that they are allowed to serve. Who should kiss the ground we walk on and be thankful for every crumb of attention thrown their way.”

Ranta is shaking so hard he looks like he’s about to faint. The terror in his eyes is like a balm to my rage, though not enough.

Never enough.

“But,” I continue, each word loaded with scorn, “you dare to think that you could...what? Be worthy? Deserve anything more than the contempt you inspire?”

I move so fast that he doesn’t even have time to blink. My hand finds his throat, squeezing.

“You’re like a stray dog looking in through the window of a luxury restaurant,” I whisper against his ear. “Dreaming of delicacies you’ll never taste, longing for a world you’ll never fully belong to.”

I release him with a shove that sends him stumbling against the wall. The sound of his body hitting the wood is satisfying, but not as satisfying as the small whimper of pain that escapes his lips.

“You know what’s the most pathetic thing?” I continue. “That you actually believed you could aspire to something like that. That for a moment, a glorious, delusional moment, you thought you could be more than the trash you are.”

Ranta tries to speak, but the words are choked off in his throat. There are tears in his eyes now, and the sight makes something dark and pleased twist inside me.

“Maki may be defective,” the words taste like bile in my mouth, “she may lack cursed energy, but she is still a Zenin. She’s still...” I stop, because I’m about to say something that I can’t, shouldn’t admit.

Instead, I get close again, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Let me be very clear,” each word is a knife, designed to cut deep and bleed slow. “You are nothing. Less than nothing. You are the type of existence who should crawl on your belly, grateful for every moment you’re allowed to continue breathing.”

My fingers find his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye.

“And the next time you catch yourself even thinking about her, remember this: there are things worse than death. Things I can do to you that would make death seem like a mercy.”

I release him as if his touch burned me. In a way, it does.

The mere act of touching this pathetic creature turns my stomach.

“Now,” my voice is smooth again, almost gentle, “you’re going to do something for me.”

Ranta nods frantically, too terrified to speak.

“You’re going to forget that she exists. You’re going to erase her from your mind so completely that you won’t even remember her name. When you see her in the halls, your eyes will pass right through her as if she were air. When you hear her name, it will be like a sound without meaning.”

I get close one last time, my mouth almost brushing his ear.

“Because if I ever find out that you’ve thought about her, that you’ve dreamed about her, that you’ve even breathed in her direction…” I let the threat fade into the air, more effective for what I don’t say than for what I do say.

“N-never,” he gasps. “I swear, Naoya-sama. Never…”

“Good.” I turn away, but pause one last time. “And Ranta...”

“Y-yes?”

“If anyone asks about this...” I let my cursed energy expand, filling the air with a pressure that makes his knees buckle. “You’ll say it was normal training. Nothing more.”

He crawls into a bow so deep his forehead touches the ground.

“Of course, Naoya-sama. As you say.”

I leave without looking back, leaving him shaking on the ground. The satisfaction of putting him in his place lasts for only a few seconds before the reality of what I just did hits me.

I marked my territory like an animal.

I acted out of jealousy—yes, jealousy, let’s admit it at least in the privacy of my own mind—like an out-of-control teenager. I revealed too much, showed too much of this obsession that consumes me from within.

And the worst part is that I don’t care.

Because the idea of Maki with another man, any man, drives me insane. The idea that someone else could touch her, have her, possess her…

I stop dead in my tracks, my fist finding the nearest wall with enough force to crack the wood. The pain is welcome, a distraction from the thoughts I can’t—mustn’t—have.

She’s defective.

No cursed energy.

No real worth.

I repeat these words in my mind like a mantra, trying to convince myself of their truth. But with each repetition they sound more hollow, more false.

Chapter Text

Maki

I feel him even before I see him.

Not cursed energy, of course – I’ll never be able to feel that, no matter how much I train or how strong I get. But there’s something in the air, an almost electric tension that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Like an animal sensing the proximity of a predator.

The yard is deserted at this time of day. The late afternoon sun casts long, distorted shadows, turning every tree and bush into potential hiding places. I stop, adjusting my glasses in a gesture that has become more of a nervous tic than an actual need.

“Come out already,” I say to the seemingly empty air. “We both know you’re there.”

The air distorts to my right, and suddenly there he is.

Naoya.

With his snake-like smile and predator eyes.

“So perceptive,” his voice is soft, almost admiring, but there’s an edge to it that makes my muscles tense unconsciously. “For someone without cursed energy.”

The last part is a calculated jab, designed to get a reaction out of me.

I don’t give him the satisfaction.

“What do you want?” I keep my voice flat, uninterested.

I’ve learned that nothing angers him more than my apparent indifference.

He moves so fast that I barely see him – a shadow, a blur, and suddenly he’s in front of me, way too close. His breath grazes my cheek when he speaks.

“Is that any way to speak to your superior?”

I step back, but my back finds the wall of the dojo. I curse internally - he’s been guiding me here from the start, and I walked right into his trap.

“Superior?” The word comes out as a challenge. “Is that what you are?”

His eyes darken dangerously.

“Careful, Maki-chan. There are limits, even for you.”

“Are there?” I tilt my head, studying him. There’s something different about him today, something more volatile than normal. “Or are those just the limits you want to impose on me?”

He moves again, this time placing a hand on either side of my head, trapping me between his arms and the wall. It’s a move designed to intimidate, to remind me of my position, my supposed weakness.

“Always so rebellious,” he whispers, and there’s something in his voice that makes me shudder. It’s not just anger – it’s something darker, hungrier. “When are you going to learn your place?”

“My place,” I repeat, and I can’t help the bitter smile that curves my lips. “And where exactly is my place, Naoya? At your feet? Groveling like the rest of them?”

His hand moves so fast that I barely see it. His fingers find my chin, forcing me to look directly at him.

“Your place,” he says softly, but there’s a tension in his voice that betrays his apparent calm, “is wherever I say it is.”

“Like Ranta’s place?”

I feel him tense, and I know I’ve hit the mark. Rumors about his “training” with Ranta have spread throughout the compound like wildfire in a dry bamboo field.

“Don’t mention that name,” he growls, and his grip on my chin tightens painfully.

“Why not?” I keep my voice deliberately light, almost mocking. “Does it bother you that the old drunk was being considered for...”

I don’t finish the sentence. His other hand slams into the wall next to my head with enough force to crack the wood.

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare even think it.”

“Or what?” I challenge him, even though my heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. “Will you do the same to me as you did to him?”

His laugh is a harsh, almost painful sound.

“Oh, Maki,” he whispers. “Do you really think what I did to that insect compares to what I could do to you?”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.” His thumb traces a path along my jawline, an almost gentle gesture that contrasts brutally with the contained violence in his voice. “The next time I find you training alone...”

“What?” I interrupt him, and there’s more venom in my voice than I intended. “Will you attack me when I’m most vulnerable? Ambush me like the coward you are?”

His fingers twitch against my skin, and for a moment I think he’s actually going to hit me. But then he smiles, and somehow that’s worse.

“Coward,” he repeats, as if the word were a candy he’s savoring. “Is that what you think I am?”

“It’s what you are,” I spit the words. “Attacking servants who can’t defend themselves, stalking me during my training sessions, waiting for the perfect moment to...”

“To remind you of your place,” he finishes for me, and there’s something almost tender in his voice that makes my stomach churn. “To show you what you really are.”

“And what am I, Naoya?” My voice is a challenge, a slap. “What am I according to you?”

He leans closer, so close that our noses almost touch.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, and there’s so much possessiveness in his voice that I want to scream. “To hunt. To break. To mold as I please.”

“I’m not yours,” the words come out like a growl. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

His smile widens, predatory.

“No? Is that why you train so hard? To prove that you don’t belong to me?”

“I train to become stronger,” I spit out. “To be better.”

“Better than what?” His thumb moves to my lips, an intimate gesture that makes me want to bite him. “Better than the servants? Better than Mai?” His smile turns cruel. “Better than me?”

“Better than what you think I can be.”

Something flickers in his eyes - anger, frustration, something else that I can’t name. His grip tightens.

“What I think,” he says softly, dangerously, “is that you need to be reminded of your position in this clan. Your true worth.”

“My worth,” I repeat, and I can’t help the bitterness in my voice. “And what would that be? The worth of an anomaly? A disgrace to the clan?”

“Your worth,” he whispers against my ear, “is whatever I decide to give you.”

I push him with all my strength, surprising him enough to create some space between us.

“I don’t need you to give me worth,” I snarl. “I don’t need anyone to give me worth.”

He recovers instantly, moving so fast that I barely see him. Suddenly I’m against the wall again, but this time his whole body is pressing me against the wood.

“So defiant,” he murmurs, and there’s something in his voice that sounds almost like admiration. “So determined to deny the obvious.”

“And what is the obvious, Naoya?” My voice is trembling, but not with fear.

His hand finds my throat, not squeezing, just resting there.

It’s an implied threat.

“That you belong to me,” he says simply. “That you’ve always belonged to me. From the moment you decided to be more than what you were allowed to be.”

“Never,” I spit out. “I’ll never belong to you.”

My fist flies towards his face with all the force I can muster. It’s a blow that could break through a concrete wall.

Naoya dodges it like it was a clumsy move from a child.

“So predictable,” he sighs, and there’s something in his tone that infuriates me more than any direct insult. “Is this all you’ve got?”

I launch a kick at his ribs, following the movement with a series of blows that have been perfected through countless hours of training. Every movement is precise, calculated, executed with the superhuman strength that’s my only compensation for the lack of cursed energy.

He avoids them all, moving like smoke between my fingers. He moves, so fast that I barely register the shift in the air before his fist finds my stomach. The impact sends me flying backward, and only years of training allow me to turn the fall into a controlled tumble.

I land on my feet, panting. The blow was precise, calibrated exactly to cause pain without real damage. A demonstration of control that makes me grit my teeth.

“You see?” His voice comes from behind me, and I turn just in time to block another blow. The impact makes my arms shake. “This is what you are without me. Strong, yes, but without direction. Without any real purpose.”

“Shut up,” I snarl, throwing a series of blows that would have left craters in the ground if they had connected. But it’s like trying to hit the wind - he’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Why should I?” His laugh is soft, mocking. “Because the truth hurts?”

He appears in front of me, so close that I can see the predatory gleam in his eyes. My fist automatically shoots towards his face, but he catches my wrist with insulting ease.

“Too obvious,” he repeats, and there’s something in his voice that sounds almost like disappointment. “Always attacking head-on, always so... honest in your violence.”

His grip tightens to the point of pain, and then he throws me like I weigh nothing. My back slams into one of the dojo’s pillars, and the impact makes the air leave my lungs.

“That’s why you’ll never be able to beat me,” he continues, walking towards me. “Because you keep playing by the rules of a game that I specifically invented for you to lose.”

I get up, ignoring the pain pulsing in my back. My muscles scream in protest, but I ignore them.

It’s not the first time he’s pushed me past my limits, and it won’t be the last.

“Not everything is a game, Naoya,” I spit out, getting into a fighting stance again.

His smile widens.

“Oh, but it is. Everything is a game, Maki-chan. The difference is that some of us were born to win it, and others...” He fades into the air, reappearing behind me. “Others were born to be the pieces that we move.”

I turn, throwing an elbow back that should have connected with his jaw. It should have, but of course it doesn’t. He’s not there anymore.

“Too slow,” his voice comes from my right. I move to attack, but it’s another feint. A blow to my ribs tells me I was on the wrong side.

The pain is sharp, precise. Like everything he does.

“Why do you keep fighting?” he asks, and there’s genuine curiosity in his voice. “Why do you refuse to accept what you are?”

“Because what you think I am,” I pant, throwing another combination of blows that he effortlessly evades, “is not what I really am.”

His laugh is soft, almost gentle.

“And what are you, Maki? A warrior? A rebel?” He moves so fast that the air whistles past him, and suddenly he’s behind me, with his lips grazing my ear. “Or just a girl playing at being something she can never be?”

Fury explodes in my chest like a supernova. I turn with everything I have, channeling every ounce of strength and speed that I’ve gained in years of relentless training. It’s my fastest, strongest, most precise move.

To him, I might as well have been moving in slow motion.

His hand finds my throat again, and this time he squeezes. Not enough to cut off my breath completely, but enough to remind me how easy it would be for him to do so.

“Better,” he murmurs, and there’s something in his voice that sounds almost like pride. “Much better. But still not enough. It will never be enough.”

“I hate you,” the words come out ragged, half-choked by his grip.

His smile is soft, almost tender.

“I know,” he says simply. “But do you know what’s the best thing about all of this?” His grip loosens enough for me to breathe properly. “That hatred makes you stronger. It makes you better. It makes you... more interesting.”

He lets go of me so suddenly that I almost lose my balance. He steps back, studying me with that look of his that always makes me feel like a specimen under a microscope.

“Keep training,” he says. “Keep getting stronger. Keep hating me with every fiber of your being.” His smile becomes predatory. “Because the stronger you become, the more satisfying it will be when I finally break you.”

“Never,” I pant, getting up once again despite the tremor in my legs. “You’ll never break me.”

“Oh, Maki,” he sighs, like a patient father explaining something obvious to a particularly slow child. “You’re already broken. You just don’t know it yet.”

The laugh that comes out of my throat sounds strange, almost hysterical.

“Broken?” The words taste like blood in my mouth. “Why don’t you just finish this once and for all? Why don’t you kill me and be done with this farce?”

Something flickers in his eyes.

“Ogi would love that, wouldn’t he?” I continue, and every word is like ground glass on my tongue. “His little problem finally resolved. The stain on the family tree, erased.” My smile twists, wild and pained. “And your father... well, we all know he’d sweep it under the rug with the rest of the clan’s embarrassments.”

Naoya stands motionless, so still that for a moment he looks like a statue.

“Is that what you want?” His voice is soft, dangerous. “To die?”

“Does what I want matter?” I spit blood on the floor, staining the boards. “It’s never mattered before. Why should it matter now?”

He moves, so fast that I barely see him, and suddenly he’s in front of me again, with his fingers finding my chin.

“Silly, silly Maki,” he murmurs, and there’s something in his voice that sounds almost like affection. “Do you really think I’d let you escape so easily?”

“Escape?” The word comes out like a broken laugh. “Is that what it would be? An escape?”

“Death would be a mercy,” he says, with his thumb tracing a path along my jawline that leaves fire in its wake. “And I am not merciful.”

“No,” I agree, and there’s so much bitterness in my voice that I almost drown in it. “You’re not. You’re cruel. You’re a monster.”

His smile widens even more.

“And does that surprise you?”

“What surprises me,” I answer, slapping his hand away, “is that you keep playing games. Ogi would give you a medal if you killed his useless daughter.”

Something dark crosses his face.

“You think this is about them?”

“Isn’t it?” I laugh. “Isn’t everything in this damned clan about them? About their expectations, their rules, their...”

I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t, because suddenly I’m against the wall again, with his body pressing against mine with a force that steals my breath.

“This,” he hisses, and there’s so much intensity in his voice that I shudder, “has nothing to do with them. This is between you and me.”

“Why?” The question comes out before I can stop it. “Why me?

“Because it’s you,” Naoya answers, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. “It has always been you.”

I don’t understand.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The question comes out as a snarl, and I fight against the panic that threatens to engulf me.

His hand slides from my chin to my neck, with his fingers caressing my skin with a slowness that makes me bristle. It’s not an affectionate touch, it’s a possessive touch, a mark. His thumb draws a circle on my collarbone, and I feel a stab of terror when I realize that he’s pushing the collar of my shirt down.

“You’re different, Maki,” he murmurs. “You’re a challenge. You’re a rebellion incarnate, a thorn in the side of this clan.”

“I’m none of that,” I spit out the words, trying to push his hand away. “I’m just me. I’m just...”

“You’re more than that,” he interrupts, his voice deeper, more urgent. “You’re a force. And I... want that force.”

His hand, which was previously drawing circles, now reaches under the edge of my shirt, caressing the side of my neck. My skin prickles under his touch, and it’s not pleasure, it’s revulsion.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words come out ragged, with my body trembling despite my efforts to remain firm.

He ignores my question, his attention fixed on the skin of my neck. His lips land there, kissing the curve between my jaw and my shoulder with a deliberate, almost provocative slowness.

No.

Not this.

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING.

I try to push him away, trying to raise my arms to shove him, but his body is a wall against mine. His hand on my neck becomes a prison, controlling my head, directing it towards him. His lips slide lower, leaving a wet trail on my skin, and disgust washes over me, a wave of nausea that rises up my throat.

“No,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “Don’t touch me.”

But he doesn’t listen to me. His hand slides lower, brushing the edge of my bra, and I feel a stab of dread that pierces me like a blade. My movements become frantic, a desperate attempt to escape his hands, his touch, his presence.

“Are you afraid, Maki?” his question is a whisper, a provocation. “Or do you like being controlled by me?”

The question is an insult. His gaze is fixed on mine, intense, mocking, as if he can see the terror running through me.

No.

I’m not going to give him that satisfaction.

I’m not going to show him my fear.

“You don’t scare me,” I say with all the conviction I can muster, even though my voice is trembling. “You disgust me.”

His hand moves faster, exploring my body without permission, without consideration. Humiliation mixes with terror, an unbearable combination.

“You don’t know what you want, Maki,” he murmurs. “You don’t know what you need.”

“I know what I don’t want,” I retort, trying to keep my voice steady despite the despair that washes over me. “And I don’t want you.”

His fingers cling to my skin, holding me with a force that hurts me. His gaze darkens, and I feel something change in his expression, something beyond simple mockery.

“You’re mine, Maki,” he whispers. “You always have been.”

“No,” I repeat, but my voice is now a thread of despair.

His hand slides under my bra, and the feeling of his skin against mine is a shock. The reality of what is happening hits me like a punch, and I feel my control crumbling.

Escape.

Run.

FIGHT.

The voices swirl in my mind, like a chorus of panic and despair. But my legs are made of lead, my arms seem to belong to someone else.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

Is it me who is here? Or am I just a spectator, watching this horrible scene as if it were a movie? My mind slips to the margins, trying to find refuge in oblivion.

I am strong.

I am resilient.

I CAN HANDLE IT.

I tell myself, but the faith in those words feels empty, hollow. As if they were broken promises.

“No?” He asks sticking his tongue out.

He wants to break me.

He wants to tear me to pieces.

And it’s working.

“Enough,” I plead, the words coming out broken by the tears that threaten to overflow. “Please, enough.”

But he doesn’t stop. His hand goes up, squeezing my breast with a firmness that scares me, that humiliates me. His fingers close over my nipple, and I can’t help letting out a gasp of pain.

“Do you like it, Maki-chan?” he asks, his voice a whisper that digs into my skin like a needle. “Tell me you like it.”

I don’t answer, my throat has closed up from terror and shame. His fingers move, the pressure becomes more intense, and I feel the last resistance I had left fade away.

“Say it,” he insists.

His hand slides lower, the sensation in my body becomes more and more intense, more painful, more humiliating. I feel that I am losing control, that I am falling into a bottomless abyss.

“If you don’t tell me,” he says, his voice now almost a growl, “I’m going to assume that you want this. That you have wanted this all along.”

The threat runs through me like an electric shock, pulling me out of my state of lethargy.

“No!” I manage to scream, my voice torn. “I don’t want this! I don’t want anything from you!”

His hand stops, his gaze fixed on mine. For a second, I see a spark of something in his eyes, something that might almost be... disappointment. But then the spark fades, replaced by the same predatory smile.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Maki,” he murmurs. “Because in the end, you’re always going to end up where I want you. You’ve already lost.”

He moves back a little, giving me space to breathe, but his presence is still a threat, a shadow that envelops me.

“Why?” The question comes almost breathless, a desperate plea. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I can,” he answers simply, without a hint of remorse in his voice. “And because it’s fun to see you suffer.”

“You’re a monster,” the words come out with all the bitterness I feel.

“Maybe,” he says. “But I’m your monster, Maki. And I always will be.”

Chapter Text

Maki

I’m not waiting until dawn.

There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.

I find Naobito in his private study, with a half-empty bottle of sake on the table and documents scattered in front of him. The air smells of alcohol.

“I’m leaving the clan,” I announce without preamble. The words sound firmer than I feel.

He doesn’t even look up from his papers.

“Oh?” His voice drawls the word, but his eyes are surprisingly lucid when he finally looks at me. “And where will the little princess without cursed energy go?”

“Anywhere,” I answer, keeping my voice steady. “Everywhere. Away from here.”

He takes a sip of sake, studying me over the rim of the cup.

“And what makes you think I’ll let you go?”

“I’m not asking for permission.”

His laugh is rough, but not cruel. It’s the sound of someone who’s seen too much to be truly surprised anymore.

“No, I suppose you’re not.”

He pours himself more sake, and to my surprise, pulls out another cup. He fills it and pushes it toward me.

“Sit down,” he says, and it’s not an order.

It almost sounds like an invitation.

I sit, but I don’t touch the cup.

“I’ll come back,” I say after a moment. “And when I do, I’ll take control of the clan.”

Naobito lets out a laugh that makes the walls vibrate.

“Control of the clan?” He takes another sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “A woman without cursed energy? Is that a threat or a joke?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Ah,” he sighs, and there’s something in his eyes that I can’t decipher. “And what makes you think you can?”

“Because I’m stronger than all of you,” I answer simply. “Because while you depend on your precious cursed energy, I’ve had to become strong by my own means.”

“Interesting theory,” he murmurs, swirling the sake in his cup. “But why now? Why not before?”

My jaw tightens.

“Because your son tried to rape me.”

The cup stops halfway to his lips. For a moment, the silence in the room is so dense that it could be cut with a knife.

“Naoya?” His voice is strangely soft.

“Do you have another son stalking me?” The bitterness in my voice could poison an ocean.

Naobito lowers his cup slowly.

“When?”

“Does it matter?” I laugh, and the sound is as hollow as I feel. “He’s been playing with me for years. Hunting me. Cornering me. Yesterday he finally...” My voice cracks, but I force myself to continue. “Yesterday he finally showed his true intentions.”

“I see.” There’s something in his tone that makes me look directly at him.

It’s surreal.

I’m here, telling the head of the Zenin clan that his son, his precious heir, tried to assault me. And his response is “I see,” as if I were informing him about the weather or the price of rice.

A hysterical laugh bubbles in my throat.

“I SEE.”

Two words that encapsulate everything that’s rotten in this clan. Two words that make me want to scream until my lungs bleed, until the walls of this damned compound collapse under the weight of generations of forced silence.

But I don’t scream.

Because screaming would mean that I’m surprised. And I’m not surprised, am I?

I’m not surprised that a woman’s attempted assault is met with the same indifference with which they’d receive the news of a servant breaking a teacup. I’m not surprised that my body, my autonomy, my dignity, are considered as insignificant as the dust under their feet.

After all, what is a woman in the Zenin clan?

A vessel.

A walking uterus.

A piece of livestock that must be strong enough to bear children with cursed energy, but not so much as to have a voice of their own. An object that must be controlled, domesticated, used and discarded according to the whims of men who confuse power with right.

I’ve seen it all my life.

I saw it in my mother’s eyes every time Father entered the room, in the way she made herself smaller, more invisible, as if she wanted to disappear within the walls. I saw it in the scars that other women in the clan hide under long sleeves and empty smiles, marks of “discipline” that no one mentions, but everyone knows.

I saw it in the way the clan elders looked at me when I was born without cursed energy, as if my very existence was a betrayal of my gender. Because I couldn’t even fulfill the one function that’s expected of us: to be a good vessel for the power of the clan.

And now I see it in Naobito’s eyes, in that understanding that is not understanding at all, but complicity. That look that says “this is how things are, this is how they’ve always been, this is how they will continue to be.”

How many before me? How many women have been sitting in this very room, in front of different clan leaders, confessing different atrocities? How many have heard that same “I see” that pretends to be understanding, but is just another form of silencing?

My mind wanders to the young maids who suddenly disappear, transferred to other branches of the clan without explanation. To the daughters of lesser families who are hastily married to men three times their age. To the women who “have accidents” when they dare to raise their voices too loudly.

“It’s fascinating,” I say, and the words come out sharp as broken glass. “If I had touched the clan relics, you’d be asking for my head. If I had desecrated some ancient sorcery text, you would have convened an emergency meeting. But he tries to rape a woman of the clan... and all I get is an ‘I see’?”

Naobito takes another sip of sake, and the casual gesture makes something break inside me.

“You know what’s worse?” I continue, and my voice trembles with a fury that threatens to consume me completely. “I’m not even surprised. Because this is how this clan works, isn’t it? Women are property. Vessels. Uteruses with legs to continue the lineage.”

“What did you expect?” His voice is surprisingly gentle. “That I would be surprised? That I would pretend not to have seen how he looks at you? How he stalks you?”

“You knew?” My voice is barely a whisper. “All this time?”

“I am many things, Maki,” he says softly. “A drunk. A mediocre leader. An even worse father. But I am not blind.”

“Then why...?”

“Why didn’t I do more?” He finishes for me. “Because any attempt to interfere directly would only have made it worse. Because Naoya is like a forest fire – trying to control him only makes him more dangerous.”

He pours himself more sake, and this time, I take the cup he offered me.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because you’re finally doing what you should have done years ago,” he answers simply. “Leave. Become stronger.”

I get up abruptly and start walking toward the exit.

“He doesn’t know,” Naobito says softly, just as I’m about to cross the doorway. The words stop me in my tracks.

“What doesn’t he know?” I ask, although a part of me already fears the answer.

Naobito swirls the sake in his cup, watching how the liquid creates small eddies.

“What he feels for you.”

I turn slowly, feeling the fury build in my chest like a thunderstorm.

“Excuse me?”

“If it helps,” he continues, as if he hasn’t noticed the venom in my voice, “you shouldn’t hate him for what he is. He never learned to differentiate love from control, pleasure from pain.”

A hysterical laugh escapes my throat.

“Now you’re going to tell me that he’s in love with me?” The words come out like knives. “I don’t have time for jokes.”

“It’s not a joke,” Naobito answers, and there’s something in his voice that makes me want to break things. “It’s a tragedy.”

“A tragedy,” I repeat, and the words taste like ash in my mouth. “Is that what you call years of psychological torture? His attempts to break me? His sick obsession?”

“I call tragedy,” he says softly, “someone who is so broken that the only way they know how to love is by destroying what they love.”

“Don’t talk to me about love,” I spit out. “Don’t you dare romanticize what he’s done to me.”

“I’m not romanticizing it,” he sighs, and for the first time, he seems truly his age. “I’m trying to explain why he is the way he is. Why he does what he does. You’re not fighting a heartless monster, Maki. That would be easier.”

“Easier than what?”

“Than fighting someone who loves you the only way he knows how,” he answers, and there’s so much weight in his words that I can almost feel it physically. “Someone who is so twisted that they confuse possession with affection, pain with intimacy.”

“This is sick,” I murmur, but my legs feel weak. I lean against the door frame. “You’re sick.”

“Probably,” he admits with a sad smile. “It’s a family thing, apparently.”

“If this is some kind of twisted game...”

“It’s not a game,” he cuts me off. “It’s a warning.”

“A warning?”

“When you leave,” he says slowly, each word carefully measured, “he’ll follow you. He’ll never let you go.”

“I don’t care what he does,” I answer curtly.

“You should,” Naobito says. “Because that’s where the real danger lies. Not in his strength, not in his speed, but in the way he’s made you the center of his twisted universe.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper, and I hate how weak my voice sounds. “I didn’t ask to be his obsession.”

“Nobody asks to be loved by someone who doesn’t know how to love properly,” he answers softly. “But here we are.”