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The winter night wrapped Kyoto in its arms, as soft, flat snowflakes gave up drifting lazily and melting the moment they touched gates, stone lanterns, and warm cobblestones that turned slick under their feet. The city seemed a mosaic of reflected gold and red, with strings of paper lanterns that swung overhead in the breeze. street vendors that barked and laughed and flirted with strangers for the price of a kushiyaki.
It was obscene, how alive the capital could feel while the country suffocated in tension, with its mix of scents—grilled fish, soy sauce, sweet dumplings—and sounds; street performers' flutes and drums, merchants that barked and laughed and flirted with strangers for the price of a kushiyaki, snippets of song, the rhythmic clack of geta on stone, and somewhere far away, a shamisen kept insisting on the same note that the world was fine, if you just listened hard enough.
Through that chaos of colors moved an odd little procession: two cloaked figures in front, walking side by side as they'd accidentally agreed on it, and two shadows behind them, one a stoic and watchful sentinel, one so calm he looked like he'd already fallen asleep standing.
Kaoru tugged her hood tighter over her head to hide the folds of her red kosode beneath it, hiding herself the way she'd been trained to do since childhood, because it was a habit: to hide what needs to stay hidden without ever truly vanishing. Every bump and brush of strangers against her cloak made her shoulders tighten in half reflex, half irritation; she wasn't used to being jostled. She was used to rooms parting for her name.
Kyoto was not Nagoya-go, her hometown; Nagoya-go was a small village controlled by the Zenin, who had their main estate there; everyone in the village knew her, the heir; everyone in the village feared the Zenin name; and everyone in the village served her father. Instead, Kyoto spilled and laughed and touched; smoke in your hair, warmth on your face, strangers' elbows in your ribs. It gave you too many reasons to forget yourself for one foolish heartbeat.
And still, despite the layers binding her chest, despite the cloak, she couldn't shake the feelings of being seen anyway.
Kaoru's steps slowed as she looked up where lanterns strung high above formed a floating river of red light; she paused only for a blink, and in that blink Kaoru Zenin wasn't an heir, but just… a traveler, a stranger, hungry-eyed, awed despite herself.
Beside her, Seijiro walked in uncharacteristic silence, except his silence wasn't directed at the lanterns or the stalls; it was directed at her. His gaze lingered on the Zenin heir, undone by the simple beauty of the streets and looking like a child seeing the world for the first time. That's a first. His lips twitched as he let out a soft hum that sounded suspiciously pleased. "Kaoru-sama," he drawled loud enough to cut through the street noise with that teasing lilt. "The lanterns won't run away if you stop staring at them for a moment, you know?"
Kaoru snapped her head down, instantly reassembling her face into something neat and unimpressed as a faint flush climbed her neck anyway. "I wasn't staring," she said with a scowl, then ruined it by darting her gaze back to the colorful stalls. "I just fail to see why you deemed it necessary to drag me out here tonight, Seijiro-sama, when we have an important diplomatic council starting tomorrow."
Seijiro's smirk widened, bright and clearly intending to poke a very specific bruise; there it was, the Zenin's fragile pride. "And here I thought the proud Kaoru Zenin was impervious to the charms of the capital," he said lightly, hands slipping into the sleeves of his haori. "Come on, come on, let the humble me show you what the nightlife has to offer in the capital. Let's start with that."
Without waiting for her answer, he strode forward, silver ponytail flaring behind him; Kaoru sighed, muttering something that sounded like a prayer for patience with a very specific Gojo man, but followed.
Behind them, Harunobu trailed like a hawk, never losing sight of her because a crowd this dense was a perfect place for accidents, or "accidents."
On the contrary, Rensuke, walking beside him, sounded mildly amused by the concept of duty. "Babysitting," he murmured. "What a noble job this is turning out to be."
Harunobu didn't answer that; when Seijiro slipped away in the crowd, too fast, and Kaoru, damn her, followed, his frown deepened in the universal language of men who had sworn to protect a disaster and were now forced to watch that disaster voluntarily approach another disaster.
By the time Kaoru caught up, Seijiro had already planted himself at a stall like he owned the street with a steaming skewer of kushiyaki in hand; smoke curled up into the cold, and the smell of soy glaze, charcoal, and sweet hit Kaoru. She stepped closer, her curiosity betraying her before pride could catch it.
"Here," Seijiro said, tone commanding as he shoved the skewer toward her. "I assure you, one of Kyoto's finest and befitting of your oh-so-noble taste. Try it."
She eyed it like it might bite her back. Her gaze flicked from the skewer to Seijiro, who was enjoying himself far too much. "Why?" she asked.
Seijiro tilted his head, feigning innocence with a mock frown. "Why not?" he said; then, blunt as a knife: "You've lost weight. A concerning amount of it. What will I do," he went on smoothly, smirk deepening, "if my rival can't even live up to the title?"
Kaoru's brows snapped together as her glare deepened, beautiful, murderous, controlled; she snatched the kushiyaki from his hand anyway. "I wasn't exactly feasting in that cell," she muttered.
She inspected the meat as though expecting a trap, then, after a moment of hesitation and feeling warmth reach her cheeks, she finally took a cautious bite. The flavor hit: salty-sweet glaze, smoke, tenderness, heat. Her eyes widened in surprise, enough to betray her and for Seijiro to see.
"It's… good," she admitted, glancing up at Seijiro with too much energy and forgetting her usual scowl behind.
Seijiro nodded like a man vindicated by the laws of the universe. "Told you so." Annoyingly, his grin softened for a blink as something stupid stirred in his chest—pride? satisfaction? The ridiculous pleasure of seeing Kaoru enjoy something that wasn't strategy or suffering or politics? He crushed the feeling immediately because he was the Gojo heir, and he was not going to start being sentimental just for having fed her.
Harunobu approached just in time to witness Kaoru take a second bite, and his fast, pained inhale sliced through the moment. Kaoru turned toward him, brow lifting in innocence and mild confusion, just as Harunobu opened his mouth, clearly preparing to scold; then, he stopped, words dying as he saw her expression.
She hadn't doubted food handed by Seijiro Gojo. Not for logic or caution, but for instinct. It irritated him; it unsettled him, too.
Kaoru tilted her head at his silence. "'Nobu? You good?"
"Kaoru-sama," he said, voice strained with forced patience, "you have been poisoned once before. It would be wise to let me inspect your food before you eat."
Kaoru blinked, gaze flicking briefly to Seijiro; the Gojo heir raised an eyebrow as he dared her to doubt him. "Oh." The thought seemed to arrive too late, lost on the way to her brain. Usually, she would have been more careful, but... She frowned. "It's fine," she said firmly. "It's not poisoned."
Harunobu's grey eyes narrowed. "You're certain?"
She nodded firmly, avoiding Seijiro's smug gaze. "I am."
Seijiro grinned at Harunobu, inclined his head in a mocking little bow—See?—and Harunobu let out a long breath, choosing not to argue further only because he was outnumbered by stubborn noble heirs and stupidity. "Just... Stay in sight, Kaoru-sama," he said, voice firm. "Please."
She ignored them and took another innocent bite, feeling Seijiro's stupid gaze lingering, observant, and pleased. For one fleeting moment, she didn't mind; if he thought feeding her was some grand victory in his life, let him believe that.
Seijiro turned back toward the street, and the crowd parted around him as if it recognized arrogance as a legitimate form of authority. "Come now. There's still so much to see."
He didn't look back to check if Kaoru followed; of course, she would. Snd Kaoru, frustrated by the simple natural law of it, lingered half a step behind and watched the line of his shoulders as he moved. There were far too many reasons to dislike him, yet she had to admit—grudgingly—that he had a talent for making her forget her own position as the Zenin heir for a moment.
She shook her head and caught up. "The Kamo should take lessons from these common folk," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "This is infinitely better than whatever they served us today."
Seijiro heard anyway. "Oh?" he said, fawning imitation of courtly flattery. "Careful, Kaoru-sama. That's the kind of statement that could start a diplomatic war with the Kamo. Perhaps I should inform Kamo-dono of your discerning palate. 'Ah, Zenin-sama, forgive us for our culinary failings. How may we humble ourselves before your superior taste?'"
Kaoru blinked, and traitorously, a soft laugh escaped her. She covered her mouth immediately as if she could shove the sound back down. "Enough," she snapped around the smile she was trying to strangle.
Seijiro turned with a grin that could have set the whole street on fire. The Zenin heir had laughed. Again. "There it is," he muttered under his breath, stupidly proud of himself.
He seemed to realize his grin was a little too genuine for a moment, and he hated that he couldn't immediately scrub it off his face. It's nothing, he reasoned, brushing an imaginary speck from his sleeve. It's just because he's less infuriating without that stupid scowl on his face. Nothing more.
As they walked, Kaoru's steps slowed near a modest stand where ornamental combs, kanzashi, and hairpins; for reasons she refused to think too much about, she hesitated, gaze snagging on a simple wooden comb, a kushi painted with red camellia blossoms with the kind of care Kyoto poured into useless beautiful things.
Combs. Kanzashi. Stupid, useless, feminine, the kind of things she remembered on her mother's hair in childhood. Nothing she could ever think to wear; nothing she wanted to wear, really. Still, unconsciously, her hand lifted instinctively, fingers hovering above the smooth wood surface.
Pretty, she thought, and then immediately recoiled as if the thought itself was indecent and scandalous. What the hell am I doing?
The merchant's eyes lit up like he'd smelled blood in the water, or better said, money. "Young master!" he chirped, leaning forward all theet. "Something for your wife?"
Kaoru's glare returned, the kind of look that usually ended conversations and occasionally ended careers, but Seijiro's voice slid in from behind her. "Oh kami," he said, far too delighted. "Don't tell me you've finally decided to take Kamo-dono's proposal seriously? I'm sure our Matsue-dono will be thrilled."
Heat climbed Kaoru's neck fast as she spun, scowl snapping back into place, though her ears betrayed her anyway, burning red. "What?" she shot back, entirely too defensive for her liking. "Jealous, Seijiro-sama? I thought you weren't interested in Kamo-dono's offer."
Seijiro's grin widened as he stepped closer. "Oh, I'm not," he said lightly.
Then—because he was infuriating—his gaze flicked down on what she was looking at, and he reached past her with casual, thoughtless ease; he plucked the camellia comb from the display.
Kaoru's eyes widened before she could stop them. "Seijiro—"
He ignored her protest with the serene arrogance of a man who had never been stabbed for his sins, lifted the comb above her reach and turned it between his fingers, amused by the weight, the shine, the ridiculous delicacy of it. Then, he did something worse; he reached forward and held the comb up beside Kaoru's temple like he was measuring it against her face. He tilted his head, studying with exaggerated seriousness, the Six Eyes apparently transferable to hair ornaments now.
"Hm," he hummed, wickedly pleased. "Yes. With this, you'd make Matsue-dono die of embarrassment."
Kaoru blinked once, very slowly. "...What?"
"It actually suits you," he said, as if he'd just discovered a law of nature. "Which means you absolutely cannot buy it." He chuckled down at her scowling face, and wiggled the comb slightly like he was educating her. "Think about it! Matsue-dono walks in wearing her pretty, opulent kimono, and then you—you walk in wearing this, and she gets overshadowed by a man?"
He said it with the earnest gravity of someone offering genuine moral guidance; Kaoru stared at him as if she might actually throw the entire hair ornament stall at his head; the merchant, sensing imminent death, had become very interested in rearranging his inventory three inches to the left.
Seijiro nodded to himself, satisfied with his own logic, and set the comb back down like he hadn't just stolen it, evaluated her with it, and declared her a threat to noblewomen everywhere; then he turned on his heel and started walking again as if none of that had happened.
"Well?" he called over his shoulder. "Coming, Kaoru-sama? Or do you seriously want to try one?"
Kaoru stayed frozen for one heartbeat, fingers flexing at her sides as she debated pelting him with her skewer. "Ridiculous," she muttered under her breath. "Ridiculous, absurd, infuriating man."
Then she followed him anyway.
Seijiro slipped his hands back into his sleeves and launched into a casual little lecture like he was a city guide and not a walking diplomatic incident. "Over there, near the Kamo river, they serve the best noodle soup," he said, waving vaguely. Then, with a small smirk, he pointed the other way without missing a beat. "And over there, in the alley between those two shady hatago, they sell poisons. My father usually sends some of his trusted men to buy—"
He stopped mid-sentence and mid-gesture, as his own words had finally caught up with his brain. Seijiro's brow furrowed at the empty air in front of him as the realization set in: I am currently telling the Zenin heir where my father buys poison?
"Anyway," he said, changing the subject with impressive speed, he nodded toward a suspiciously overcrowded side road where men and samurai gathered in clusters. "The real nightlife actually happens over there, where—"
For a heartbeat, his mouth froze open, as he was about to suggest: tea houses, red-light district, painted faces, bad sakè, and laughter. A brothel. The kind of "capital entertainment" every man with money pretended not to know too much about.
They do have brothels in Nagoya-go, right? Surely, the Zenin heir has—
Slowly turning his head to peek at Kaoru, he bit his tongue so hard his cheek dimpled; he looked away, scratching the back of his head as if embarrassed by his own thought, because Kaoru just stared at him seriously and patiently. It was—annoyingly—almost innocent, like she genuinely trusted him to produce something appropriate and worthwhile. Like she expected him to be a respectable noble clan's heir.
Seijiro, for the record, had never cared to be a respectable noble clan's heir, never once cared what anyone expected of him. But the expression on her face made him feel suddenly very, very stupid. He coughed once and recovered with brute force. "...Anyway," he said, like he hadn't almost suggested a brothel to the Zenin heir. "There's an inn at the end of the street."
He started walking again, faster now to leave behind the red-light district as fast as they could. He stopped again—because she was still looking at him like that, calm and expectant, and ugh, and he decided he hated that expression more than her glare. "Are you coming or not?" he muttered, too casual, too clipped.
Kaoru's mouth twitched for a fraction as she side-eyed the red light district, before she followed him; Seijiro felt the tension in his shoulders ease like he'd avoided stepping on a battlefield he didn't understand.
The inn welcomed them with a heavy wooden door that creaked as Seijiro pushed it open with a confidence that suggested he had crossed this threshold a hundred times; warmth rolled out to meet them, mixed with chatter, too loud laughter, the clink of sakazuki, the smell of sakè and hearth smoke.
Seijiro paused in the doorway, lantern light catching in his silver hair. "After you, Pretty Boy," he quipped, dipping into an exaggerated grinning bow.
Kaoru brushed past him without a word, cautious like a cat entering an enemy territory; her hood stayed drawn low, with only black strands of hair escaping, peeking out.
Harunobu tried to enter after her, but Seijiro was faster; with far too much forced innocence, he closed the door right in his stoic face. When the samurai finally managed to enter, pushing the door open with an irritated shove, the first thing he glared at was Seijiro's skull; the second was the room. Hand flying to his katana, Harunobu's eyes immediately swept all the presents, cataloguing every threat to his clan's heir and every possible escape route. Rensuke trailed behind with the bored patience of a man watching history happen and finding it unworthy of his time.
Kaoru hesitated as her fingers found the edge of her hood; the fabric caught briefly, then she tugged it back, releasing black hair tied in her low ponytail at the nape of her neck.
Her face caught the lantern light and, apparently, Seijiro's attention; for a brief, ridiculous moment, his gaze lingered.
The winter cold and the warm glow conspired to make her look softer than she had any right to, for a supposed man; her cheeks and the tip of her nose were kissed red by the cold air outside colliding with the warmth inside, her lips faintly chapped. She lifted her black eyes—that always seemed too clever, too irritated at him on principle—to meet his gaze.
Seijiro swallowed, almost imperceptibly, then scowled at her face as he reminded himself firmly: A man. Right. He's a man. Just happens to be a pretty one.
A few curious glances slid their way from nearby patrons; most drifted back to their sakazuki and conversations quickly because Kyoto had its own dramas, and a pair of cloaked nobles didn't rate more than a second look.
Kaoru ignored the attention; Seijiro didn't. He leaned lazily against the doorframe and let his smirk widen. "Careful, Kaoru-sama," he teased, looking away too fast. "With your delicate constitution, I wouldn't want you wilting under all this attention."
Kaoru's brows twitched, but she refused to take the bait. "Delicate...?" she repeated, eyeing the jade earrings dangling from each side of Seijiro's face. "If anyone here looks like a delicate courtesan, Seijiro-sama, it's you." She brushed past him without sparing another glance, outrunning his stupidity.
A middle-aged hostess approached, hands tucked into the sleeves of her frayed yukata, all warm smiles. "Welcome!" she greeted, bowing politely but in a way that suggested her inn saw more drunk farmers than nobles. Her gaze shifted between them, lingering a heartbeat too long on Kaoru, before she added, bright as a bell, "What can I get for you, young master? And for the… young lady?"
Kaoru froze mid-step, breath punching out of her lungs; slowly, she turned, expression caught between shock and indignation. She could hear Harunobu behind her, the soft, furious rasp of him pinching the bridge of his nose like that would cancel the event. "I—no, I am not—" she blarted, and the word lady nearly killed her. She inhaled once, squared her shoulders, and forced her voice an octave lower through willpower. "There must be a mistake. I'm no young lady."
It might have worked; it might have been convincing; if only Seijiro hadn't made a sound like he was physically choking on his own stupidity. A snort escaped him, then another, then it broke free entirely into a laugh he couldn't contain. He turned away, eyes watering, covering his mouth with his sleeve; his attempt to stifle it made it worse, until he was gasping for breath as if this was the funniest tragedy he'd ever witnessed.
Kaoru looked firmly forward, refusing—refusing—to feed him even one glance more than necessary. "It's an honest mistake," she said, straightening her posture further and yanking her cloak tighter around herself. "I just have delicate features. It's not that unusual."
Seijiro, still clutching his side, managed between wheezes: "How tragic for the proud Zenin heir! Mistaken for a delicate flower! Oh, this—this is too good." He wiped at the corner of his eye with a finger. "It seems not everyone is as perceptive as I am, Kaoru-sama."
Perceptive, she thought. He has no idea.
The hostess bowed rapidly, mortified. "My apologies, young master! I didn't mean to offend—"
"It's fine," Kaoru muttered tersely, eyes flicking toward Seijiro. "Don't mind him, he's just an idiot."
Seijiro waved a hand dismissively, finally regaining some composure, enough to stand upright, grin infuriatingly intact. "Sakè for both of us," he told the hostess. The good kind. And do forgive my too-pretty-rival here, his face must have thrown you off."
Kaoru didn't rise to the bait; she turned, letting her gaze sweep the room as though searching for anything—anything—to distract herself from the man who was very quickly testing the limits of her patience.
Their guards had already taken their places at a small corner chabudai. Their synchronized disapproval scowl was almost comical: Harunobu sat in seiza, perfectly upright with his arm crossed, eyes unblinking on Kaoru, while Rensuke, cross-legged, leaned back against the wall, eyes shut as if willing himself to sleep through the entire ordeal.
Kaoru focused on the patrons instead, because patrons were safe, normal, and not laughing at her in public. Farmers with weathered hands nursed sakazuki of sakè; merchants shouted stories over bowls of soup; a couple of samurai sat stiffly at the far corners of the room, their katana always within arm's reach. The inn was a lively, a symphony of voices, and Kaoru allowed herself to loosen, but her fingers still tapped against the table. She wasn't nearly as composed as she wanted everyone to believe.
Meanwhile, Seijiro was not looking at the patrons; his gaze, subtle only in the way a hunting hawk was subtle, stayed fixed on her:
"You're staring," Kaoru muttered, eyes still scanning the room before landing on him, catching him red-handed.
"Am I?" Seijiro replied smoothly, tilting his head as though genuinely considering the accusation. The smirk curling at his lips made it clear he wasn't about to deny it. He lifted his sakazuki as the sakè arrived. "And here I thought I was being subtle."
She didn't dignify that with a response; she also didn't look away as she reached for her own sakazuki. There was a small clinking of porcelain against wood. Kaoru was the first to break eye contact, lifting the sakazuki to her lips.
"Dare I say it, Kaoru-sama," Seijiro began, swirling the sakè in his sakazuki, "you almost look like you're enjoying yourself. I was concerned you'd spend the entire night sulking at me."
Kaoru's gaze snapped back to him, narrowing. "I'm perfectly capable of enjoying myself, Seijiro-sama," she said, clipped. "This isn't the first time I've… done this."
"Liar," he said bluntly, leaning forward slightly. "You're terrible terrible at it, by the way."
Kaoru stiffened, her stupid pride bristling. "You don't know everything as much about me as you think, Seijiro-sama."
"Uh-huh." His smirk widened, and his voice dropped into that infuriating, conspiratorial tone of his. "I know enough to guess this is your first time sneaking out behind your father's back. No wonder you're so tense."
Kaoru opened her mouth to argue, then stopped because if she argued, she'd have to pick which part was untrue and admit that he was, in fact, right. So she deflected. "What about you, Seijiro-sama?" she asked, tone cooler now. "You seem far too comfortable with these… escapades. Are you always so restless?"
His grin softened, a small, almost-there shadow passing over his face as he swirled the sakazuki again. "Restless? Perhaps," he admitted, quieter. "My father would certainly say so. I've given him more headaches than I care to count." He paused, then added with newfound strength, like it tasted good, "Deserved, though. Entirely deserved."
Kaoru studied him over the rim of her sakazuki; for a moment, she almost forgot her guard. "Trouble," she echoed, trying to understand him from a very safe distance. "Why does that not surprise me?"
Seijiro chuckled softly. "Let's just say I owe him a few, but oh, he owes me a lot." His words trailed off with reluctance. "Spent the first five years of my life hidden away in a gilded cage, you know? No one was supposed to know I existed. Not even my own mother." He glanced down at his sakazuki, then back up, expression annoyingly smooth for what he was saying. "Guess it stuck with me, hating to be in a cage."
Kaoru blinked, caught off guard by the openness. She hadn't expected this; she'd expected a joke, a provocation, maybe even one of his usual smirks. But a confession of his childhood to her, the Zenin heir, of all people? "Hidden away?" she repeated. "That must have been—"
"—a waste of time?" he interrupted, his grin reforming as a reflex. "Yeah. Maybe." His eyes flicked, briefly, toward the corner where Rensuke sat like a bored kami. "But then I had Rensuke at least. Been with me since we were kids. That helped."
The casual tone didn't match as much as he probably intended.
"Why that?" she asked before she could stop herself.
The Gojo heir shrugged as if it meant nothing. "Why, because I was born with the Six Eyes, of course." He said it as if it were obvious. "My father didn't want to risk losing me like he lost my brother before."
Kaoru's brow furrowed. A brother? She had never heard of some other older son of Akiteru Gojo. "Your brother?"
"I'm a second child," Seijiro said simply. "My older brother only lived for a month. Killed. He had the Six Eyes too, but it made him a target the moment he took his first breath." His voice dipped, and for the first time that night, he looked truly distant, staring at something far beyond the inn's walls. "My brother... He's the one who was supposed to be the heir to my father, carrying this ridiculous weight."
"Oh," Kaoru murmured, fingers tightening around her sakazuki, knuckles paling. That explained… too much. It explained the sharpness beneath his arrogance; it explained how he treated danger like a joke and duty like an insult. "That's why your father hid you then," she said, carefully. "To protect you."
Seijiro's lips twisted into a smile that wasn't really. "To preserve his precious weapon, you mean," he corrected. "Let's not dress it up as a good intention or parental love. We both know how this works."
Kaoru looked down at the surface of her sakè, watching ripples distort her reflection; the boy she was not stared back at her with hollow eyes, and the thought arrived uninvited and stayed: for all their differences, this part was eerily similar. She, too, had been preserved and curated by a similar father. Even now, she was still a lie.
"That sounds," she began, voice softer than she realized, "lonely."
"Right? But second children are supposed to be restless spirits, Kaoru-sama," Seijiro replied, forcing a teasing tone back into place. "You can't keep them locked away for long."
Kaoru's gaze traveled toward Rensuke again, still the picture of indifference; she could almost imagine them as children, one a restless and defiant heir, the other a bored shadow that didn't complain because complaining didn't change anything. A small smile tugged at her lips, unbidden; probably the sakè that was warming her chest, loosening her tongue in a way that made her reckless.
"...I'm a second child too," she admitted quietly.
Seijiro blinked, eyes widening a bit as he tilted his head. "Really?" He asked in plain curiosity. "I thought Takahiro Zenin only had one child. Heard that his wife struggled to have even one heir delivered healthy and safely."
Kaoru bit the inside of her cheek, cursing herself for the slip; Harunobu's hard glare from the corner table practically burned a hole through her skull, but it was too late to pretend she hadn't spoken that truth at all.
"Oh, just a twin," she said after a moment, hesitant, choosing a half-truth. "He was born first but didn't survive." She took another sip as if it could wash everything away. "I came just minutes later. Born in blood and misfortune and all of that, or so my mother always said." Her gaze drifted as she added to herself. "Perhaps she was right, in the end."
For once, Seijiro didn't smirk; instead, his expression softened, quietly and reluctantly, like his face didn't know better. "Misfortune?" he repeated, voice slowly gaining. "Come on, Kaoru-sama, you're one of the strongest sorcerers alive in this rotten country and the heir to a major clan! That doesn't exactly scream misfortune."
Kaoru's lips twitched. "My mother always said in some ways I was too much of a free spirit for my own good, always challenging my father in a subtle, sideways way."
The Gojo heir scoffed, incredulous. "You? A free spirit? No way."
Kaoru arched a brow, and the corner of her mouth curled. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel entirely alone. It was unfamiliar and, worse, dangerous, and she didn't mind. "So tell me," she said finally. She set her sakazuki down, fingers lingering on the rim. "Why did you really insist on dragging me out here tonight, Seijiro-sama?"
He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with a too-confident and, more importantly, fake-armor-smile plastered on his face. "Why? Do I need a reason?" he countered, voice light. "Really, watching you squirm outside your comfort zone is entertainment for me." He tipped his head, smug grin blooming. "Rivalries like ours need their lighter moments, don't you think?"
Kaoru's brow twitched, patience frayed. She leaned forward just enough to pin him with a serious glare. "Seijiro-sama, I mean it. What," she added flatly, "are you hoping to get out of this?"
Seijiro's smirk wavered, and he didn't answer immediately. His fingers traced the rim of his own sakazuki, slow and absentminded as silence stretched. When he spoke again, his voice was more honest than even he anticipated. "Maybe it's because no one else gets it." He exhaled, leaning back slightly as though the admission actually annoyed him. "You know, the ridiculous balancing act we've been born into." His eyes lifted to hers. "As infuriating as you are, Zenin Kaoru… you might be the only person who actually understands."
Kaoru blinked, startled. "Understand what?"
He laughed, but it was muted. "What it's like to have your life decided for you before you even know what you want." His gaze met hers, and for once, he didn't look like he was joking; it made her chest tighten in a way she didn't appreciate. "And that's absolutely maddening," he added, lips tightening. "I really hate that you might be the only one who does understand."
To be honest, Kaoru hated it too; hated that she knew exactly what he meant and hated that this strange, reluctant thread existed between them at all. Then she hated even more that she didn't hate it at all, if she was ever really honest about it. "The feeling is mutual," she said at last with reluctant honesty. "It's infuriating."
They fell quiet, the inn's noise fading into a distant hum, gazes locked across the table, neither willing to look away first because looking away felt like losing, and they were both too proud to lose at anything in their life, and neither of them knew what to do with it.
Then, once again, damn him, Kaoru broke first, because she had to rebuild the walls before she forgot how. "You do realize," she said, gesturing vaguely and annoyingly between them, "we're on opposite sides of whatever mess the country's being dragged into. The Kamo Patriarch can dress it up as diplomacy all he wants, but we both know what this is."
"A ridiculous, doomed friendship?" Seijiro offered dryly, bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Oh, believe me. I know."
Kaoru arched an eyebrow, expression neutral. "Our fathers would probably prefer to cut each other's throats in their sleep," she said matter-of-factly. "Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if it happens at this very council."
"It wouldn't surprise me either," Seijiro admitted with a shrug, but not dismissively. "But we're not our fathers."
Kaoru closed her eyes briefly, exhaled slowly; when she opened them again, there was a resolve there. "No. We are not," she agreed. "But like it or not, we'll both lead our clans one day, one way or another."
Just like that, the inevitability sat between them. Seijiro didn't look away, but his smirk softened into a more contemplative one, because for all his arrogance, he wasn't stupid. Not at all, at least. Kaoru lifted her sakazuki toward him as if she were making an oath in a tavern because, in fact, she was.
"So, Seijiro Gojo," she started, firmly, "when that day comes, when we'll both be the head of our clan, let's promise to maintain peace between our clans."
For the briefest second, he seemed caught off guard, eyes narrowing, searching for the trap because there was always a trap with the Zenin. Then, to her irritation, the cocky grin returned like it always did. "Wow," he drawled, leaning forward. "The presumptuous Zenin giving me orders before even becoming clan head? How very typical."
Kaoru rolled her eyes, sakazuki still raised. "And you, making promises just to spite your father. Are you going to toast, or are you just going to sit there like it wasn't your idea in the first place?"
Seijiro chuckled, shook his head, and lifted his own sakazuki. Their porcelain met with a clink, too small, ordinary, and somehow absurdly loud. "To second children," he said, voice light enough to pretend, but eyes too steady to be really a joke, "and to harmony between our clans. Even if, come on, we both know it's a doomed promise."
Kaoru's mouth curled, half a smirk and half resignation. "I'll hold you to that."
A promise; a stupid promise; a stupid promise neither of them dared admit they intended to keep.
Seijiro leaned back, cradling his sakazuki, then squinted at her as he'd just remembered himself. "Oh no. Kaoru-sama," he gasped as if genuinely horrified, "this feels dangerously like an actual conversation! Should I be worried? Are we… bonding?"
Kaoru scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, Seijiro-sama."