Chapter 4 - Arrow

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

The cells, being in a shinobi village, weren't exactly built for hospitality.

There was no proper light, just one flickering candle outside, half-drowned in shadow, casting twitching shapes across the wet stone walls. The air was damp, the kind of damp that clung, the kind of damp that made Kaoru feel like she was slowly being pickled in her own kosode.

The prisoners had been split: the main delegation of sorcerers from both clans packed together across the corridor in one larger cell; Kaoru and Seijiro—plus their respective personal retainers—had been given a private cell. A "courtesy for the heirs," Hattori Masanari had said. It didn't feel like one.

Kaoru stood by the bars, forehead resting lightly against the metal; her crimson kosode was stained with dirt and moss and the knot had come half-undone during the ambush. She still hadn't bothered to retie it properly. Her face was carefully blank, dignified as always, except for the telltale pinch at the corners of her mouth.

Across from her, their men murmured among themselves, quiet, tense. No one said what they were all thinking: that being held hostage by allies was worse than by enemies. It made you question your judgment, your alliances, your orders.

Your leaders.

Kaoru's chest tightened with guilt as she observed them.

Behind her, Harunobu leaned silently against the back wall, arms crossed, watching and waiting. At contrast, Rensuke had collapsed in a corner near the drain hole and hadn't moved since. Eyes closed, head bowed. Either asleep, meditating, or disassociating violently or simply ignoring them all. It was hard to tell and no one dared to ask.

And then there was Seijiro.

Pacing like a tiger in a cage, muttering under his breath, looking five seconds away from blasting the walls down in a fit of very personal enlightenment.

His haori was long gone, abandoned somewhere between the clearing and his pride, during their capture. His black kosode sleeves were shoved to his elbows, collar hanging askew. His silver hair—usually just fashionably unruly—was now full disaster, sticking to his temples, though he seemed too irritated to brush it away, ponytail swishing with every angry pivot like punctuation, making him look more dramatic than the situation warranted. Again and again, his eyes snapped toward the bars and his scowl deepened with each step.

He was on his fifth lap when he turned sharply to face her. "Remind me again, Zenin-sama," he said brightoy with a smile so tight it could barely pass for mock politeness, "why exactly we're not breaking out of this pathetic excuse of a cell?"

Kaoru sighed, closing her eyes briefly as if willing the noise to stop. It didn't. He knew the answer, of course, but she also knew he wouldn't stop until she said it. Again.

"Because," she intoned flatly, "we surrendered to avoid to ignite a conflict and useless bloodshed, and you agreed, however reluctantly, that staying put was the better option. Besides, the cell is reinforced with a barrier that nullifies cursed techniques."

Seijiro snorted, crossing his arms. "Oh, of course. Really, Zenin-sama, you think that if I were to put in the effort—real effort— I couldn't break it? I assure you, I could. I could definitely break it, I'm just choosing not to, because—"

"—because I asked you not to." Kaoru interrupted, finally turning her head to glance at him over her shoulder, her voice dropping just enough to signal she wasn't in the mood for more of his antics.

That shut him up for about two seconds. Then, predictably, he stepped closer, just enough to loom and invade her personal space with all the grace of a storm cloud. The cell wasn't large to begin with, and Kaoru resisted the urge to back away, though her grip on the bars tightened slightly. She had nowhere to go in the tiny cell, but even half an arm's length away from his looming figure would have been welcome.

"Because you asked," Seijiro repeated, tone theatrical, arching a silver brow as he bent slightly, trying to catch her eye. "Right. That's why I'm being so cooperative. Because you're friends with these fine Hattori gentlemen. Friends!" He gestured vaguely at the hallway, as though offended by the concept of diplomacy itself.

Then he launched into a full-on impersonation.

"Let me paint you a picture, Zenin-sama. We're in the forest, surrounded. Poisoned arrows raining down from the heavens. You're yelling something about 'Don't attack, Gojo-sama. Leave it to me, Gojo-sama. Centuries-old relations between our clans, blah blah blah—'" His voice pitched into an aggressively nasal falsetto. "—and then, what was it? Oh right: 'Save me, Gojo-sama!'"

Kaoru's cheeks flushed, her pride stung by the exaggerated imitation. She turned so sharply her ponytail nearly whipped him in the face. "I do not sound like that," she growled, voice dropping into her deliberately lower register she used when she was moments away from stabbing someone. "And I never asked you to save me!"

Seijiro leaned in, utterly delighted. "Really?"

The smirk had spread too fast. "Because I distinctly recall you screaming at me to 'do something' while arrows were trying very hard to murder us."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again..Unfortunately for her, her memory had perfect timing. The ambush had been textbook Hattori; precise, quiet, and absolute. One minute, they'd been moving through the forest, the next, the sky had opened and rained poisoned arrows. Kaoru'd been halfway through a diplomatic overture words carefully chosen to appease Hattori Masanari, when she'd turned to see Seijiro just… standing there. Barrier intact, deflecting arrow after arrow with an almost lazy elegance, like he was bored by gravity.

She'd snapped.

"Gojo-sama do something!" 

What she'd meant: Stop watching at the arrows bouncing off your smug little barrier and help me salvage the negotiation.

What he'd heard, naturally: Please smite the forest, great and terrible Gojo-dono, and save us all from the scary shinobi.

Kaoru's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I wasn't asking you to attack," she jabbed a finger toward his chest like it might puncture his ego. "I was asking you to support the negotiation. Not—" she made a sweeping gesture with one hand "—annihilate everything in sight! The Hattori live here! You nearly started a war!"

Seijiro's expression shifted to one of mock solemnity. "Ah. I see. It must've been your tone. A desperate cry for help."

He placed a hand on his chest, as if wounded by the memory. "And so, being the selfless, generous soul I am, I acted—"

"—by blasting cursed energy around you like a madman and escalating the situation," Kaoru interjected, stepping closer despite herself. "And then—"

"—And then," Seijiro went on, as if she hadn't spoken, "you turned those big, pleading black eyes on me and I thought, well, how could I refuse?"

"I did not—!"

"—Save me, Gojo-sama!" He clasped his hands to his chest in mock agony. "I'm weak and helpless and surrounded by shinobi archers, please do something!"

Kaoru's jaw tightened. "I said 'cover me,' you absolute menace! That's hardly the same thing!" She scowled, her patience long gone. "Perhaps if you hadn't broken formation to chat, we would have noticed the ambush before we had two hundred poisoned arrows aimed at our throats."

She stepped forward, until they were almost toe-to-toe, or more face to chest; her glaring upward, him smiling downward, both radiating barely contained violence. Still, Seijiro couldn't help but find the sight almost amusing; the little prodigy was nothing if not persistent, with that ability to keep pace with him, to meet him with equal force.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

"Oh, forgive me," he drawled, thoroughly unimpressed, crossing his arms and leaning slightly down to meet her glare head-on. "You're really scary when you're furious," he said conversationally. "Like a very dignified kitten about to explode in a tantrum."

Kaoru blinked, then punched him in the shoulder, hard, just to remind Seijiro that the cells suppressed his cursed technique and he was mortal again.

"Now that," he muttered, scowling and rubbing the spot, "was uncalled for."

"Count yourself lucky that I didn't aim lower," she muttered back. "Because you just escalated the whole situation!"

"I just deflected a few arrows while you were stalling!"

"I was buying time," she said through clenched teeth. "Time you wasted by blasting the forest!"

Seijiro grinned. "I looked good, though. Admit it."

"Go to hell."

"You first," he said cheerfully.

Harunobu cleared his throat loudly.

Both of the heirs froze in their toe to toe standoff. Turned. Looked. He raised one brow; that was all. But the judgment in that single brow was staggering.

"We simply need to be patient, Gojo-sama," Harunobu said, his tone calm and maddeningly paternal. "As Kaoru-sama explained, once we're granted an audience with Hattori-dono and clarify our position, this misunderstanding will resolve itself."

"Or explode," Rensuke muttered from his spot in the corner, still lying flat with one arm over his face.

"Your cynicism is unhelpful, shinobi." Harunobu's head turned, slowly. "Shouldn't you have a better grasp of your similar's mindset?"

"I do, you're the one who thinks they're going to serve us tea." Rensuke cracked an eye open, fixing Harunobu with a pointed look. "Your optimism is naive, samurai."

Kaoru and Seijiro exchanged a glance. One of those brief, mutual we-are-so-screwed glances. Wonderful, they thought in unison. Even our guards are at each other's throats. Kaoru pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply, while Seijiro rolled his eyes and muttered something about incompetence under his breath.

Then, just when the conversation seemed mercifully dead, he turned back to her. Hair still a mess. Kosode still crooked. Expression… unexpectedly sober. "When you speak to Hattori," he said, brushing silver strands off his shoulder, "I'm coming with you."

Kaoru straightened. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"That's not how this works."

"I'm not asking."

It wasn't a question or a suggestion. It was a statement of fact.

She studied him, really studied him, for the first time since the cell door had slammed shut. He wasn't joking. No mischief in the eyes, no smirk. Just that rare, focused version of Seijiro that only showed up in real battles and diplomatic minefields—the one she could, grudgingly, trust.

"Hattori Masanari is not easily impressed," she said carefully. "Or patient, for the matter. If you go in there swaggering—"

"I won't." He held her gaze. "I'll behave."

Kaoru's eyes narrowed. "Keep that in mind and don't be... you."

A corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Duly noted, Zenin-sama." He gave a small, almost mocking bow. Except this time he meant it; an unspoken acknowledgment of her authority, of how the Zenin prodigy didn't always manage to put him in his place.

And, damn him, Kaoru thought, watching him return to his spot in the cell with maddening casualness, if the arrogant bastard didn't just manage to say thank you in the most irritating way possible.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

The oppressive stillness of the cell finally broke with the arrival of two masked Hattori guards, silent and perfectly expressionless as they gestured for Kaoru and Seijiro to follow.

Kaoru rose without a word, smoothing the crimson sleeves of her kosode with the kind of dignity one wore like armor; a glance toward Harunobu, seated with arms crossed against the back wall, earned her a barely perceptible nod. In return, she offered a flicker of reassurance, one practiced blink, one breath. After years side by side, they needed nothing more.

Satisfied, Harunobu's gaze slid to Seijiro next, and though his expression didn't shift, the distrust in his eyes was unmistakable.

Seijiro caught the look and smirked to himself. "Don't worry," he murmured, brushing past, "I'll bring your precious heir back in one piece."

The silence that followed was not agreement.

Harunobu, he thought dryly, was loyal to Kaoru to a degree that bordered on paternal or worse religious fervor. Rensuke liked him well enough, sure. But if Seijiro ever started bleeding mid-mission, he was pretty sure Rensuke's first question would be: Is it fatal, and can I have your expensive boots?

Kaoru walked slightly ahead, her posture straight and deliberate though slightly disheveled, each movement screamed: We mean no harm. 

Seijiro followed, hands clasped behind him, sparing Rensuke the smallest of nods before vanishing down the corridor. Let's hope the babysitters don't murder each other while we're gone, he thought, casting one last look between Harunobu and his own perpetually aggrieved retainer.

The path to the audience hall wound through the heart of the shinobi village under Iga'd forest canopy. Lanterns swayed in the cursed fog that choked the entire region, their light showing the shilouettes of damp wooden buildings and rooftops. The village, if one could even call it that, was built for function, befitting a clan steeped in the arts of war and stealth; tight alleys, shadowed eaves, no open spaces. Somewhere, water trickled through a channel, somewhere else, Seijiro was sure, someone was watching them breathe. The kind of place where one wrong step could introduce you to a blade.

The silence from their escorts was unnerving. Seijiro's eyes wandered, cataloguing rooftops, treetops, blind corners. So many rooftops. So few visible people. His Six Eyes scanned the surroundings, lingering on the occasional shinobi perched atop rooftops or hidden in the shadows. Paranoid little rats, he thought, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

"This is... cozy," he muttered, his voice slicing cleanly through the hush. "I feel very welcome. I half expect a kunai to fly out of that tree."

Kaoru shot him a warning glance without breaking stride. The look said: Don't start.

He started.

"What?" Seijiro asked with feigned innocence. "Do they all walk that quietly?" he asked, tilting his head toward the guards. "Feels less like an escort and more like a kidnapping, it's unnerving."

Kaoru inhaled, long and suffered through her nose. "Could you, just for once, not antagonize everyone within earshot, Gojo-sama?"

"I'm not antagonizing," he replied cheerfully. "I'm merely observing. If that's antagonistic, perhaps I'm not the problem here."

They reached the audience hall just as the mist began to thin. The building loomed ahead, larger than the rest, its structure rounded and strange, without a single sharp angle, as if the forest had exhaled it fully-formed from its lungs. Weathered wood, draped in moss, no banners, no mon, no embellishment.

Inside, the space was spare; worn out tatami, dark beams, the scent of old incense long since burned out... It wasn't built to impress; it was built to remind visitors they didn't belong.

And there, at the far end of the room, seated on a raised dias like a man already sick of everyone's excuses before they'd even begun, was Hattori Masanari, the third Hattori Hanzo.

The new leader of the Hattori clan was a man who commanded attention without needing to demand it. He didn't stand, didn't speak. He barely moved, just leaned forward slightly, weight shifted onto one leg, hands scarred and resting loosely on his knees, a reminder of the life he had inherited from his father. His short hair was streaked with too-early grey, his black eyes, small and pinning, locked on them the moment they passed the treshole.

Kaoru took one step ahead of Seijiro and bowed. Not too deep, respectful, but not humiliating. She still had a faint scratch on her cheek from the forest, but carried herself with the quiet composure of someone who would rather die than acknowledge any discomfort.

Seijiro followed suit, though "follow" was generous, as he locked eyes with Masanari; he offered a shallow nod that might've passed as a bow if one squinted. His sleeves were still rumpled, his hair tied back but falling loose again. He looked like he'd rolled out of a fight and into a meeting, which, to be fair, he had. His first impression was that the Hattori leader had no interest in pretenses, as with one hand gestured lazily for the guards to retreat.

Not a man to mince words, Seijiro thought. This should be interesting.

Masanari didn't even pretend to return the bow. Just gave them both a long, evaluative once-over, then said with a faint sneer: "Zenin Kaoru, Gojo Seijiro. What an... unexpected pleasure." It sounded exactly like the opposite. "A pity," he added, gaze sharp enough to draw blood, "that you made such a memorable entrance into my domain. Hardly fitting of your stations. Disruptive, even. No—" His eyes landed squarely on Seijiro. "—Destructive."

Seijiro smiled like he'd just been complimented. Well. Someone's still upset about the crater in the landscape.

Next to him, Kaoru stepped—very slightly—on his foot. Just enough pressure to remind him that now was not the time. He didn't wince, didn't bother with Infinity. His pale blue eyes met hers briefly as he gave her the faintest lift of one brow: What did you expect?

She didn't dignify it with a response, and straightened meeting Masanari's gaze head-on with all the grace of someone accustomed to diplomacy, disapproval, and deeply inconvenient traveling companions. "Hattori-dono," raising her chin with that distinct, infuriating Zenin composure Seijiro found so punchable. "I acknowledge our arrival was abrupt. For that, I offer my sincere apologies."

Seijiro resisted the urge to snort. That's not going to land, Pretty Boy.

But Kaoru wasn't deterred. "However this urgency reflects the fragile balance of the nation. This kekkai encasing this region—"

"—has turned my forests into a breeding ground for curses," Masanari interrupted flatly, his voice the verbal equivalent of a slap. "Are you here to lecture me, Zenin-sama? You think I don't know what's happening in my own lands?"

Kaoru's mouth shut mid-sentence.

"My people are dying and my patience's at its limit," Masanari went on. "My hands are already full and amid this crisis, what do I find? Part of our sacred forest flattened. And not by just anyone—" his eyes flicked again to Seijiro, slow and cold as he spat the next words "—but by a Gojo."

Seijiro blinked. Once. Lovely, he thought. As expected, a warm welcome for me.

Kaoru held Masanari's gaze, steady and composed. "I sent word to my father days ago, requesting permission to pass through these territories. Surely a messenger came back, and as allies—" she dipped her head just enough to be formal, "—I hoped we could rely on mutual understanding."

"Spare me the pleasantries, Zenin-sama," Masanari interrupted again, speaking easily over her softer voice.

Her head came up again, jaw tight.

Masanari gestured lazily, and a retainer stepped forward, scroll in hand. The Zenin mon glinted on the seal that the Hattori leader cracked open with all the enthusiasm of a man reading tax code. "This arrived a few hours ago," he said, unrolling it with unnecessary drama. "From your father, Zenin Takahiro."

Kaoru didn't flinch, but her mind raced. If my father arranged our passage... then why—?

She opened her mouth to ask, but Masanari cut in before the thought could become a question. "If this passage was so vital," he said, voice lowering, "perhaps you all should have included me in the table of discussions. As you would have done with my late father."

Oh, Seijiro mused internally, his eyes catching the subtle shift in Masanari's tone. A slow, dry smile formed on his lips. So this was what it was about. Didn't get invited to the war table. Wounded pride. Of course.

Kaoru stiffened; she'd caught it too, the bruised ego Masanari hadn't even tried to hide. So that's it. She tried again, her tone softer. "Hattori-dono, considering the long-term collaboration between our esteemed fathers—"

Masanari snorted, actually laughed, leaning forward slightly on his dais. "Esteemed?" he echoed, incredolous. "I did not esteemed my father, least of all now that he's dead. And I doubt you hold yours in much higher regard."

Kaoru went still.

The hit landed—deeper than she let show—as Masanari leaned back, perfectly pleased with himself. "Let's not pretend this is about our fathers," he said, pinning Kaoru in place with his gaze. "I want to know why I should let you pass through my lands. Especially... with this Gojo whelp." He didn't bother to look at Seijiro as he said it, just gestured vaguely in his direction like an unwanted gift left on his doorstep.

Seijiro raised a brow, unbothered. Whelp, huh? He'd been called worse. Beside him, Kaoru's jaw tightened, fingers twitching at her sides. He glanced at her, caught the shift, the furrow of her brow. Oho, he thought, that one got under his skin. Poor thing.

He leaned just slightly toward her. "Touched a nerve, didn't he, Pretty Boy?"

She inhaled, slowly, dangerously. Didn't even look at him. She would not let that Gojo pigeon ruin this.

Seijiro took the hint and fell silent. No need to push it—yet.

Kaoru refocused. Alright, she thought.Shift tactics. Pride, insult, legacy. All irritatingly masculine buttons. But buttons she could press. She straightened again, calming the wave of irritation Masanari's words had sparked inside her. This wasn't her first time dealing with prideful men; her father was no different, after all.

"Very well, Hattori-dono," she said. "Let's speak plainly. I'm not here just as the Zenin heir, I'm here as a sorcerer. The Three-Stars Spear, sustaining the kekkai over your lands, is a curse beacon. Its energy feeds the infestations that plague your forests, and its presence is escalating the imbalance, a danger not just to your region but to the surrounding provinces." Her tone didn't waver. "It won't stop here. The mist will spread. Eventually, it'll touch Kyoto."

Masanari leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he processed her words. He didn't interrupt, for once, but his expression remained inscrutable.

Kaoru took a measured step forward. "If we retrieve the spear and dismantle the kekkai, your people will be freed from this unnatural burden. And you won't even have to get your hands dirty." A pause. Her voice softened, taking on a subtle tone of reverence.

"More than that," she added, "your name will be remembered. The Hattori clan will be credited with safeguarding both the mundane and Jujutsu realms. Your name's and clan's legacy would be tied to the resolution of this crisis, ensuring its continued prominence in both historical and jujutsu records."

Masanari's brow furrowed slightly, though he said nothing. Kaoru could sense she had his attention. He's buying it, she thought.

Still no interruption, so she went for the closer.

"The presence of the Gojo clan," she said, gesturing toward Seijiro, "ensures neutrality. It removes politics from the matter and guarantees that this operation remains focused solely on its objective. We have no intention of undermining your authority, Hattori-dono. On the contrary, we wish to honor it."

Seijiro, for once, didn't smirk. He watched her with mild interest, head tilted. Her calm, persuasive tone, paired with her unyielding posture... she seemed to know exactly how she could command a room without rising her voice. An authority that even he found difficult to ignore

Damn, he thought, closer to reluctant respect. Who knew Zenin's golden children had such a silver tongue?

Seijiro turned his attention to Masanari. The man's brow was furrowed, but not dismissive.

Then: "And what do the Gojo gain from this… magnanimous neutrality?" The Hattori leader asked low and direct, not bothering to hide his distaste.

Seijiro stepped forward at last, all smooth composure and courtly menace. "The same as you," he said lightly. "Peace. Containment. A resolution to a crisis that threatens to spill over our borders. Surely, even you see the appeal."

Kaoru cast a quick glance at Seijiro, silently acknowledging his contribution. He caught the look and quirked a brow. There. You're welcome.

The room was still for a long moment, and Kaoru allowed herself the faintest glimmer of hope, her hands relaxing at her sides.

Masanari's gaze shifted between the two heirs, his expression unreadable. Then, his lips curled into a sardonic smile.

"No."

A beat.

Kaoru blinked. "Excuse me?"

Seijiro blinked too tilting his head slightly, genuinely confused. "What?"

"I said no," Masanari repeated, louder now, with the quiet satisfaction of a man who'd just overturned a chessboard and dared them to ask why. His lips curled into a faint smirk. "Zenin-sama. Just because we both serve Tokugawa-dono, it doesn't mean your clan and mine are aligned. Don't confuse shared allegiance with shared purpose." He stood, slowly. "Your arrival was invasive, arrogant, and frankly insulting. You walk into my lands for a mission discussed behind my back, flatten part of my forest, and expect me to nod along like a filthy servant?" His eyes flicked pointedly toward Kaoru, then lingered—too long—on Seijiro. "You assume my cooperation, without earning my respect. This—" he gestured to the hall, to the shinobi at the edge of the room, to the weight in the air, "—is the consequence of that oversight."

At his signal, two guards stepped forward. Hands resting on their tantō. Nothing overt, not yet, but enough to warn. Kaoru's stance shifted automatically; so did Seijiro's.

"Tomorrow morning," Masanari said coolly, "you'll take your little delegation and leave. You'll be escorted to the border of Iga. After that, I strongly suggest you stay gone."

Kaoru opened her mouth, probably to salvage something, anything, but Masanari raised a hand.

"Don't worry, Zenin-sama. You'll be treated as an honored guest tonight." His tone dipped into mock politeness. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill. Though frankly, the fact you're still breathing should count for more." He turned, half-away, then added, almost as an afterthought: "Your men remain in the cells. Standard protocol. I trust you'll understand."

That did it.

Realizing the situation was beyond salvaging, Seijiro exhaled sharply, and with it, every shred of decorum died. "Oh, we understand," he said. "Perfectly. I must say, though…" He angled his head with theatrical slowness. "It's just funny, how even a Zenin finds your hospitality lacking. Didn't think I'd see the day."

His arms dropped slightly from where they'd been folded,just enough weight in his stance to count as he stepped closer to Kaoru, slipping just slightly in front of hers—not shielding, not quite, just... There.

Not that it was his intention and not that she really needed it.

It was instinct. Probably.

Kaoru shot him a glare. One of those "stop helping, you're not helping" looks, but at that Masanari's jaw flexed, a vein visibly pulsinyyg at his temple. Like he'd just noticed the mold on fruit he already hated.

The Hattori leader reached up and tore a thin, rectangular metal plate from the strap across his chest. He peeled it off with two fingers, infused it with cursed energy and flicked it through the air like a coin. Casual, effortless; he didn't even look.

Seijiro tracked it easily, the smirk already returning. Poor aim. He didn't even bother to dodge. "Too wide. You'll miss—" he remarked confidently—except it didn't miss.

The plate ricocheted mid-air off a wooden beam, then a pillar at an impossible angle and struck the back of Seijiro's knee with a dull thunk that cracked through the hall. His stance buckled, barely, foot sliding half a step, and his expression darkened immediately. The plate fell perfectly flat on the floor behind him, like it had always meant to be there.

Seijiro hissed quietly, weight shifting back into both feet, and stared down at the now-innocent object on the floor. He didn't say it aloud, but the thought was loud enough.

He didn't aim at me. Right? Did he? No. I'm sure of it.

His eyes snapped back up to Masanari, who, across the hall, stood fully now, hands loose at his sides, gaze blank and unbothered.

"I never miss," he said. "Gojo-sama."

The silence that followed had a pulse.

Kaoru tensed beside him, her eyes darting between Seijiro and Masanari. She didn't miss the faint satisfaction passing in the Hattori leader's gaze.

Seijiro recovered quickly and straightened, his expression hardening into a smirk as the guards stepped forward to escort them out. He glanced briefly at Kaoru, then back at Masanari. "Cute trick," he said flatly, no charm in it now.

As they were led away, Masanari's voice followed them, low and deliberate. "Consider this my final warning. Pray you don't test my aim again, Gojo."

The guards ushered Kaoru and Seijiro out of the hall. As the heavy doors closed behind them, Kaoru shot Seijiro her signature Zenin glare. "Couldn't help yourself, could you? You had to provoke him." she muttered.

Seijiro shrugged, wincing a little. "He provoked me first." He didn't answer, but he kept walking beside her, adjusting his stride slightly to match hers.

"Just keep walking and for the love of the Kami, do not cause any more trouble."

He didn't answer, but he kept walking beside her, adjusting his stride slightly to match hers.

For once, Seijiro listened. But he did pout.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

Masanari sat cross-legged before the low table, a single candle melting in its dish, projecting shadows across the room's wooden austerity. The scroll lay unfurled before him, Takahiro Zenin's handwriting stared back—the kind of calligraphy that always looked like a blade had carved the words instead of a brush. The same precision the man applied to his politics: brutal and absolute.

He didn't need to reread it, by now he could've recited it from memory.

He set the scroll down with unnecessary care, thick fingers lingering on the edge as if it might will the words into something more reasonable. It didn't.

"A waste," he muttered at last.

Across the room, two of his shinobi knelt in silence, their heads bowed and faces obscured by their masks. Neither spoke. They knew better, they always did. Two of the clan's best and discreet assassins. These were not the guards stationed at doors, these were his—the kind you only called when decisions had consequences.

Masanari leaned back with a grunt, rubbing his brow with two fingers, his elbow crooked lazily against the table. His gaze drifted upward—past the candlelight, past the smoke-streaked wood—to the modest ink portrait of his late father hanging on the wall. The previous Hattori Hanzo. One whose name was already halfway down to legend, unlike him.

The old man glared back at him. Stoic. Disapproving. The same judgmental air he hadn't earned but inherited anyway with the only difference being his father was dead.

"Don't start," Masanari muttered to the portrait. He looked back at the scroll, then away. Again. "What do we make of the Zenin boy?" he asked aloud, to no one in particular.

Silence. Sensible silence. He didn't need the answer, not really, he was still chewing on the memory.

Kaoru Zenin, he thought.

He hadn't seen Kaoru Zenin in years, not since his father had dragged him along to Nagoya-go when Reika Zenin—Takahiro's wife—died, and they were all called to pay their respects. Sudden illness, they'd said. Or perhaps not sudden; nothing in that household had ever struck him as particularly nurturing.

Masanari had expected a child.

Instead, he'd been greeted by a copy of Takahiro Zenin, already mimicking that bastard's posture in the face of politics.

Kaoru Zenin, eleven. Eleven. And already a weapon.

She'd stood beside her father in the great hall, dressed in mourning white, so small, so painfully, obviously young, her shoulders barely squared, bony wrists. But there had been something about her.

She hadn't cried. Not at the funeral, not during the procession. Her mother had just died and there Kaoru stood unmoving. And somehow she still managed to make it look like everyone else was the one being inappropriate.

Her eyes had locked with his across the room; black, and still, and far too old for her age. That was a clan leader's stare. Masanari remembered the irritation he'd felt, and the strange, reluctant stab of respect that had followed it. There'd been nothing childlike in her demeanor, not even the pretense of it.

It wasn't natural. No child should learn to perform politics before they learn to mourn.

He remembered thinking, Kami help us, he's going to grow into his father. And for the briefest moment he'd wondered what might've happened if someday, years from then, they had stood side by side, clans aligned, no fathers between them. If he'd ever wanted to play the lapdog to Zenin ambitions he might've followed her lead. He would've hated every moment of it, but he might've done it.

But he hadn't seen her again after that, not until she'd walked into his hall. And kami, had she grown into the same miniature Takahiro-thing he'd seen that day, just as unnerving.

Masanari could still see it, that calm, calculating posture mid-disaster. That's what made his skin itch; that unnatural stillness, it hadn't faded with age, if anything, it had sharpened into something worse. No flinching, no whining, no attempt to shift blame. Worse, no begging. Just the recalibration behind the black eyes, the strategy shifting mid-breath like she'd been born doing it, born to politics. Like it wasn't the first time her own father had thrown her into corners and she had learned to make walls a weapon.

Masanari hated that he recognized the instinct.

"Sharp little bastard," he murmured. "Unseasoned, yes, but clever. Too clever." He paused. "And worse, composed." He reached for a cup and poured himself a shallow measure of sake. "Clever enough to flip the table. And convincing enough to make me doubt it." He took a sip. "Shouldn't be my problem."

But of course, it was. Because then there was the other heir; the Gojo heir.

Ugh. Gojo.

Masanari could still see him too: tall and irritating, eyes too pale, mouth too fast, smirking like he'd already won a war the rest of them hadn't even agreed to fight. But the way he'd stepped in between him and Kaoru Zenin... the way he'd narrowed his eyes when Masanari raised his voice... the shift in stance, the slight turn of his body, shoulder forward, dominant foot planted just enough to suggest: Say one more thing.

Masanari had been trained to read aggression and that? That had been a warning. That was a man protecting an ally.

He didn't like what it meant for the balance among the Big Three Clans.

He especially didn't like that Kaoru Zenin had let him do it.

Let the Gojo heir posture like a guard dog in front of her, in his hall, in the middle of a political negotiation between allied clans—and she hadn't even blinked. No hesitation. No correction. She'd stood there and let him step in front of her like some oversized, overpowered dog on a leash she wasn't holding.

Masanari muttered something unrepeatable and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Not even subtle," he said aloud, to the room. "The Gojo idiot was about to start a war in my hall and the Zenin kid—" He paused, glancing again at the still-burning candle. No. Not a kid anymore, a young man. "—let him," he finished quietly. "Let him stand there, knew exactly what he was doing."

He paused. Thought about it again.

Then—worse—he realized she probably did it on purpose. Let the Gojo look the fool, let Masanari see it. Another layer of strategy, let the Gojo clan's aggression act as her shield while she played the diplomatic card.

"Brilliant," he muttered bitterly. "Absolutely insufferable. And yet..."

Why?

It was a question that lingered at the edge of his mind, though he doubted he'd ever receive a satisfactory answer. He stared down into his sake, at the light catching the surface just right, then glanced at the two shinobi. One of them shifted—only a sleeve's whisper—but Masanari noticed.

He gestured. "Speak."

"The requests from the Zenin clan head, Zenin-dono," the shinobi began, his voice quiet but steady, "are clear, Hattori-dono. Do you doubt their intent?"

Masanari's gaze dropped back to the scroll:

Discretion is paramount. Make it appear like the Gojo's doing.

His thoughts slipped into darker territory. Right. That line. A polite way to say:

Kill my heir and blame the Gojo.

Masanari exhaled through his nose; he knew what this was. A cleanup job. A political removal. What bothered him was why.

Why send your heir into ally territory and greenlight his death? Why offer him up like a pawn? Why send someone like Kaoru Zenin—a child, yes, but clever, composed, dangerous if given the right soil—to die?

What kind of leader called it strategy?

He glanced at the candle, at the way the wax bled slowly down the stem.

"What kind of man," he said aloud, "sends his son and heir to die like that?"

The shinobi remained still, the silence their agreement.

Masanari refilled his cup and drank slowly. The warmth of the sake did nothing to thaw the weight pressing on his chest. "The Zenin heir isn't weak," he said, after a moment. "Don't let the voice fool you. Or the frame. He lacks presence, yes, seasoning. But that doesn't mean he's useless. He's the sort that survives even if he has to carve a way through the people who raised him. He'll outlast most of us." He paused. "Assuming he survives tonight." His fingers tightened on the scroll. "A pity."

One of the shinobi, his voice muffled, finally broke the silence again. "Hattori-dono, discretion is our craft. If you command it, the matter can be handled tonight without a trace."

Setting the cup down, he straightened, his frame casting a long shadow across the room. The Hattori's position, already precarious since his father's passing, could not withstand another blow. Tokugawa relied on their clan's loyalty and expertise. Killing Zenin Kaoru could destabilize too much. Not killing him might piss off the wrong people.

"We'll act as requested," he said at last. "But if the Zenin heir dies tonight, it must look like the Gojo idiot did it. A clan feud, something everyone expects. Nothing more."

The younger shinobi spoke again, his voice steady but wary. "And if the Gojo heir interferes?"

Masanari's lips curled, but there was no amusement in it. "Of course he'll see it coming," he said. "And he'll weigh it against his name, his duty, and his clan. Then he'll do nothing. Because that's how this ends.

No one steps in to protect an enemy heir."

A flicker of doubt cut through the thought before it even finished.

No one should, anyway.

Masanari swore under his breath. "I should've thrown them both off a cliff when I had the chance," he muttered. Then louder: "Proceed. As instructed."

The shinobi vanished like smoke. Gone before the candle even flickered.

He turned back to the room, his expression unreadable once more. He glanced one last time at his father's portrait, lips curling into a bitter smile. What would you have done, Father? Taking the scroll in hand, he rolled it tightly and placed it inside a hidden compartment beneath the table. 

A true waste, he thought once more. Not like he hadn't seen a dozen like it before. Promising lives chewed up and spit out by clan politics; potential meant nothing if it got in the way of convenience.

"Oh well," he mumbled, low and tired of everyone's games. "Not my problem. Their affairs are their own."

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

The moonlight barely filtered through the paper windows of their shared room, casting silvery patterns on the worn wooden floor. The space was modest, at best—a far cry from the grandeur befitting heirs of two prestigious clans. Still, it was a step up from the cells they'd occupied hours earlier.

Kaoru stepped into the room first, her shoulders tense and her steps measured. Her mind replayed the disastrous encounter with Masanari Hattori in a loop, each memory of his curt dismissal like a thorn digging deeper into her pride.

What on earth had her father said to Masanari to sour the encounter so thoroughly?

What the hell was on that damn scroll? she wondered bitterly.

Had her father, in his infinite wisdom, decided to insult Masanari, his late father, and every Hattori ancestor in existence? It seemed likely.

As she moved toward the narrow window, her gaze flicked briefly outside. The dim view revealed the faint silhouette of a fence, but Kaoru knew better. Shinobi were undoubtedly hidden somewhere in the darkness, watching their every move. They were trapped, and she hated the feeling.

Seijiro entered, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his expression broadcasting irritation. His usual smirk was replaced by a faint scowl, and his pale blue eyes moved to the room. "This," he muttered as the guards slid the door shut behind him, "is the height of their hospitality? Incredible. I feel so valued." 

For a moment, he stood still, his gaze fixed on Kaoru's back. He tilted his head slightly, watching as the young Zenin heir remained still, lost in thought. "Wow," he finally broke the silence, his tone teasing and deliberately exaggerated. "You really took that rejection to heart, pretty boy."

Kaoru didn't respond, though her shoulders tensed visibly. She braced herself for what she knew would come next. And, predictably, it did.

Seijiro cleared his throat theatrically, and then, mimicking Kaoru's voice with exaggerated formality, recited: "We have no intention of undermining your authority, Hattori-dono. On the contrary, we wish to honor it." He continued, his tone dripping with genuine admiration. "Truly, I'm impressed, pretty boy. I couldn't have delivered a more diplomatic sentiment myself, even with weeks of preparation. Pity that, evidently, the Hattori don't give a damn."

He took a few steps closer, his boots creaking against the old floorboards.

Kaoru muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like an insult, but Seijiro wasn't deterred. He stopped behind her, his height allowing him to loom just slightly, his silver hair catching the light, giving him an ethereal glow—much to Kaoru's annoyance.

"Look," he said, his voice softening just enough to sound almost genuine. "It's time to face facts. No one here is interested in peace or alliances—not the Hattori, not me, and certainly not your father. Everyone's just playing their own game. Probably even your ancestors in their graves."

Kaoru turned sharply, her dark eyes locking onto his. Her voice was steady, but exhaustion dulled the sharpness of her words. She was tired—of him, of Masanari, of the entire ordeal. "I assure you, the last thing my father wants right now is a conflict with another clan."

"Oh?" Seijiro drawled, his smirk widening. "And what, pray tell, does the noble Takahiro Zenin want?"

Her breath caught for just a moment. What does he want? The unspoken truth churned in her mind. He wants me to retrieve the Three Stars Spear, to secure our position with Tokugawa, to ensure his ambitions outlast him—and maybe even me. She bit the inside of her cheek, unwilling to voice it aloud, unwilling to even acknowledge it fully to herself. "And what game are you playing, Gojo-sama?" she countered, brushing past him with a measured step, her kosode rustling faintly as she moved to inspect their sorry accommodations.

Seijiro watched her, his pale blue eyes narrowing as they followed her movements. She was too composed, too guarded. That hesitation… Hiding something, aren't we, pretty boy? he thought, a flicker of curiosity stirring beneath his perpetual smugness.

Kaoru scanned the room, her gaze landing on the pitiful futons, the precarious table, and the questionable basin of water. She exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath, "What a wonderful night this will be."

The Gojo heir leaned against the wall, tilting his head slightly, amusement flickering in his expression. "So," he drawled, "are we done pretending this can be salvaged? Can we skip to the part where we break down the wall and escape this charming little snake pit? Before the next piece of flying metal ends up embedded in my skull, preferably."

Kaoru paused, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the futon. She glanced back at him, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Why didn't your fancy barrier work against his throw?" she asked, her tone deceptively casual.

He shrugged, his smirk faltering just slightly. "It's not automatic," he admitted. "I wasn't expecting a trick shot. That's on me. It won't happen again."

She turned fully toward him, her fingers moving almost instinctively to loosen her tightly bound hair. As the strands slipped free, dark waves tumbled down her back, framing her face in an unexpectedly soft cascade.

Seijiro froze.

Oh.

With her hair down, she looked… different. Softer. Her usually attempt to a stern features were muted by the uncharacteristic disarray, her already delicate jawline less severe, her expression less guarded. It threw him off in a way he didn't entirely understand—and definitely didn't appreciate. Why does he have to look like that? he thought, irritated by his own reaction. Like some kind of... Pathetic painting. The thought grated against his sensibilities, unbidden and unwelcome.

Kaoru, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continued speaking, her fingers running absently through her hair as if the act might help her think more clearly. "We'll let them escort us to the edge of their territory," she said, her tone slipping into the calm authority that usually commanded attention. "From there, we'll find another entry point—one that irritates the Hattori less. The spear must be recovered, but the longer we can avoid open conflict—"

Her words faltered when she caught sight of Seijiro's expression. His eyes were slightly wide, fixed on her as though he were seeing something entirely new. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

"What?" she snapped, suddenly self-conscious. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Seijiro blinked, snapping out of his reverie, in confusion. "What—what are you doing?"

Kaoru frowned. "What am I doing? I'm trying to think clearly, to plan for tomorrow—"

"No, I mean…" He gestured vaguely, messily, toward her black hair, suddenly defensive. "Your hair. Why are you… Why are you letting it down? It's… long."

She blinked hard at him, baffled, feeling an unwelcome warmth creeping up her neck, as his gaze seemed strangely intent on her face—or perhaps her now-loose hair. Which was absurd. Hair was hair, right? "Your hair is long too, Gojo-sama. Are you telling me you never let it down?"

Seijiro opened his mouth, closed it, then scowled as he realized how ridiculous he sounded. His hand absently brushed his silver ponytail as if reminding himself that right, he had long hair too. "No, I mean, I do. It's just—" His voice faltered again and his stupid gaze lingered on her for a moment too long before he turned abruptly to the far window, shoulders stiff. "Never mind," he muttered, glaring into the dark outside as if it were to blame for his lapse in composure. "Damn, castration really did wonders on you."

Kaoru's mouth dropped open, her shock quickly replaced by indignation. "Oh? Maybe you should try that, Gojo-sama. Who knows, it might improve your personality."

"Nah," he replied casually, brushing his ponytail back over his shoulder. "What a waste that would be. The world would mourn my legacy."

She snorted, turning her back to him as she settled onto the floor near the table. "I highly doubt that," she muttered.

Seijiro glanced at her again, catching the faintest smile on her lips as she adjusted her kosode. He tried desperately to redirect his thoughts, muttering something under his breath about Rensuke and Harunobu. "Bet they're either at each other's throats or bonding over how insufferable we are." 

The hours dragged on in their shared room, a place Kaoru increasingly likened to a glorified cage.

Seijiro, sitting cross-legged at the low table with his chin propped on his palm, had been thoroughly entertained for the last half hour watching her.

She paced the room with as much composure as she could muster, though her quick glances at the basin in the corner betrayed the real source of her anxiety.

Her dignity was crumbling fast.

The moment had reached its peak when Kaoru tried for the fifth time to reason with the guards posted outside.

"Please," she said, her voice forced into an uncharacteristically gentle tone. "I only need a moment to... relieve myself. Surely you understand."

The answer came, as predictably as the four times before, in the same monotone. "My apologies, Zenin-sama, but you must use the basin."

Kaoru's eye twitched. The basin. She had tried to ignore its presence, tried to pretend that this situation wasn't real. But the pressure in her bladder was building with alarming speed, and there was no escaping it. Not happening, she thought, her lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn't just about pride. It was about survival—survival of her secret. Because of course, Seijiro Gojo was lounging nearby, the very embodiment of smug amusement, his eyes following her every move like this was the highlight of his life.

It probably was.

"Come now, Pretty Boy" he drawled, as he leaned casually against the low table. "What's the big deal? Just use the damn thing, we're all men here. I swear, no one's going to know. Your secret is safe with me."

Kaoru whipped around to glare at him, her loose hair swishing with the motion. She dropped her voice to a deeper register, a desperate attempt to cling to her masculine guise. "Absolutely not, Gojo-sama. I will not—"

"—What?" Seijiro interrupted, leaning forward with a lazy grin. "You're telling me you've survived this long on missions and never had to make do? Between men, no less? Don't worry, I can look the other way if you're that—what's the word—prudish." He tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself. "Really, though, I'm starting to wonder how your poor Harunobu manages to keep you alive."

Her cheeks flushed—not with embarrassment, but with frustration. Of all the things to be stuck discussing with a Gojo, it had to be this. She straightened her back, crossing her arms defensively. "Harunobu usually handles… the logistics," she muttered.

Seijiro blinked at her, a look of disbelief flickering across his face before giving way to his signature smirk. "Logistics," he repeated, savoring the word. "Wow, your babysitter even plans your bathroom breaks? Does he tuck you in at night, too? Fluff your pillow?" He laughed. "No wonder you're so helpless."

Kaoru didn't dignify that with a response. Harunobu's careful management of her circumstances had always been a source of security, but hearing Seijiro mock it felt like an insult to her very existence.

But then his expression shifted into one of exaggerated realization, and she knew trouble was coming.

"Ohhh," Seijiro said, suddenly snapping his fingers. "I get it now. Why didn't I think of it before? It's because of your... problem, isn't it? You can't aim properly anymore, can you? I mean, with what's—uh—" he gestured vaguely toward her midsection "—not there."

Kaoru's patience snapped. Her voice rose in an uncharacteristic burst of fury. "I swear, Gojo-sama, if you make one more comment about what is or isn't between my legs, there will be consequences."

Ridiculous. Seijiro blinked, feigning innocence. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he stood, stretching his arms lazily above his head. "Fine, have it your way. Hold it in for your pride. But if you end up wetting yourself, don't come crying to me. Honestly, ridiculous." He crossed the room to the basin, picked it up with one hand, and walked toward the window.

"What," Kaoru managed to sputter, her voice laced with horror. "What do you think you're doing?!"

He tilted his head, as though the answer were obvious. "What does it look like? I, for one, have no intention of wetting myself in this glorified prison." Without waiting for further protest, he tipped the basin over the edge of the windowsill, the water splashing noisily onto the ground below.

From outside came a muffled shout, clearly an unfortunate soul caught in the deluge. Seijiro ignored it, setting the empty basin on the windowsill with a satisfied smirk.

Kaoru stared at him, her mind racing with a mixture of indignation and disbelief. Oh no. He wouldn't. Her voice rose an octave. "You're not seriously—!"

"Relax, Pretty Boy. It's nothing you haven't seen before, right?" Seijiro said, turning back toward her with an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug.

Her mortification reached its peak as he began fiddling with his hakama, clearly preparing to make good on his threat. She turned away sharply, mumbling something about disappearing into one of her shadows. Better to risk being accused of rebellion than stay here for… that.

Fortunately, the universe seemed to take pity on her at last. A knock sounded at the door, and it creaked open to reveal a servant carrying a tray.

Both turned to see a servant standing in the doorway, a tray balanced carefully in their hands. "Your meals, honored guests," the servant announced, bowing respectfully.

Kaoru exhaled slowly, sending a silent prayer of gratitude to her ancestor, as she shot Seijiro a glare that promised retribution. The Gojo, unfazed, simply grinned.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough, she thoughs.

The servant who had delivered the food had lingered a moment too long before leaving, and Seijiro's sharp eyes hadn't missed the fleeting glance exchanged between the man and the guards outside.

She sighed audibly, clearly still irritated from their earlier exchange and the general indignity of their situation. She sat down across from him, her movements less poised than usual. Her long hair swayed as she tied it back into a loose, messy tail—so unlike the precise, disciplined look she usually sported.

For a moment, Seijiro wondered if she always looked this unkempt when Harunobu wasn't around.

Kaoru glanced up, noticing his gaze. "What?" she asked flatly, clearly not in the mood for more of his antics.

Seijiro shrugged, his expression deliberately casual as he leaned forward slightly. "Oh, nothing," he said, his tone light. "I was just marveling at how different you look without someone fussing over you every second."

Her eyes narrowed, but she ignored the comment.

Seijiro's gaze fell to the bowls. His shoulders tensed slightly, though his expression remained casual. He leaned forward, studying the contents. Years of assassination attempts had honed his instincts; he could practically smell the ill intent.

And there it was—one bowl laced with poisonous cursed energy. Subtle, but unmistakable to his Six Eyes. And in his mind, that only led to one conclusion: Zenin.

His smirk returned, sharper now. Idiots, he thought. Did they really believe such a transparent trick would work? His gaze flicked to Kaoru, who appeared oblivious as she adjusted her sleeves. Really, pretty boy? This entire charade just to poison me? You and your buddy Masanari almost had me fooled. Almost. Too bad you can't trick the Six Eyes.

"Not hungry?" she asked, her voice tinged with fatigue.

"Oh, I'll eat." Feigning nonchalance, Seijiro reached for the safe bowl and claimed it for himself, pulling it closer as he began to eat. His movements were slow, deliberate, as he kept his eyes on Kaoru, waiting for her reaction. What excuse will you give me when you see your pathetic little scheme fail? he thought, the edges of his smirk curling further.

Kaoru, meanwhile, picked up the poisoned bowl without hesitation. She tilted it slightly, inspecting it from different angles as if the color or aroma might give something away. "Not poisoned, right?" she murmured to herself, though her tone lacked true confidence.

Seijiro watched with detached amusement. Go ahead. Pretend you don't know. Annoying little diplomat, always playing innocent. I was starting to like you. Shame.

He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. His world made sense when everyone had ulterior motives. And Kaoru? The pristine, poised heir of a rival clan, always carrying herself with that infuriating blend of stoicism and control—surely, she couldn't be so oblivious.

Kaoru hesitated, her fingers tightening around the chopsticks. "Usually Harunobu handles this sort of thing," she muttered under her breath. The confession was quiet, almost embarrassed, but Seijiro's sharp hearing caught every word.

His smirk faltered for a moment. 

That one offhand comment—so disarmingly genuine—disrupted his carefully constructed narrative.

Kaoru glanced briefly at him. He seemed calm, already eating from his bowl. That settled it. If there had been anything suspicious, surely someone as annoyingly self-assured as Seijiro Gojo would have noticed. Right?

Seijiro's confidence in his own assumptions began to waver, and it infuriated him. No, he can't be this naïve. He's playing me. He has to be. Wait…

His amusement evaporated in an instant. His eyes tracked the movement of her chopsticks, the noodles trembling slightly as they approached her lips.

Something didn't add up.

No... They knew I'd see the poisonous cursed energy. They knew I wouldn't eat from that bowl. So why poison it at all? Unless... The realization struck. The poison wasn't meant for me. It's for him.

Someone wanted Kaoru Zenin dead.

For a moment, Seijiro froze. His hand hovered just above his bowl, his posture unnaturally rigid. Let him die, a cold, pragmatic voice whispered in the recesses of his mind. Letting Kaoru eat the poisoned food would solve a dozen problems for him. One less Zenin to deal with. One less rival for the Gojo clan. One less source of irritation. It was simple, logical, and, most importantly, clean.

Convenient, isn't it? The Zenin heir out of the picture without me lifting a finger. His jaw clenched. It's the smart play. Stay out of it. Let it happen.

The chopsticks neared her lips.

Seijiro's chest tightened, his pulse quickening. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to stay put, to let nature take its course.

And yet…

Before he could rationalize further, instinct took over. In one swift motion, Seijiro leaned forward, his arm shooting across the table. With a sharp slap, he struck Kaoru's wrist, sending the chopsticks—and the tainted noodles—flying. The bowl tipped, its contents spilling onto the floor in a steaming mess.

"Wha—?!" Kaoru yelped, startled. She stared at him, her confusion quickly morphing into irritation. "What the hell are you doing?!" she demanded, her irritation flaring, but Seijiro's hand was already cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing against her lower lip with more force than care, wiping away any trace of what might have touched her lips.

"Did you ingest any?" he demanded, his voice low and urgent.

Kaoru blinked, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she tried to process what was happening. "What? No, I—" she stammered, swatting his hand away.

"Are you sure?" he pressed, his grip firm, his eyes scanning her face for signs of poisoning.

"Yes! I didn't eat anything!" she snapped, swatting his hand away. Her cheeks flushed a deep red—not from embarrassment, she told herself, but from sheer frustration. "What's wrong with you?"

Yeah. What the hell is wrong with me? Seijiro didn't answer immediately. He wasn't sure if it was her tone or his own reckless reaction that grated on his nerves. He'd acted without thinking, driven by some inexplicable need, and now he was left grappling with the aftermath. 

It wasn't loyalty—they were not allies, not truly. It wasn't duty—this wasn't his fight. So why?

This isn't about him. It's about me.

He straightened, casting a quick glance toward the door before leaning in closer. He pressed his ear to the wood, his voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Your bowl was poisoned," he said simply, his tone devoid of its usual mockery.

Kaoru stared at him, the gravity of his words sinking in. Her lips parted as if to protest, but she quickly realized there was no denying it. She was no fool—Seijiro wouldn't make such a claim lightly. Her stomach churned at the thought of what could have happened if she'd taken even one bite. "Poisoned?" she echoed, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

"Seriously?" Seijiro scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if her ignorance physically pained him. Beneath that carefully crafted mask of the perfect heir was someone dangerously unprepared for the realities of their world. "You didn't notice? You can't recognize poisoned food? What kind of pathetic excuse for an heir are you?"

Kaoru's face flushed a deeper red as she scrambled for a retort. "Usually—usually Harunobu checks these things!" she shot back, her voice cracking slightly with indignation.

"Of course he does. Spoiled little prince." Seijiro exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "Truly, I'm amazed you've made it this far in life."

She bristled at the remark, her fists clenching at her sides. "Excuse me for not expecting someone to try and poison me on allies territories!"

Seijiro waved her off, standing and moving to the door. He's either wildly naive or dangerously intelligent. Vulnerability wasn't endearing. It was dangerous.

He pressed an ear against it, his posture taut with focus. "You're too naïve, Zenin-sama. This isn't allies territories. Someone wants you dead."

Kaoru's mind spun as Seijiro's words echoed in her ears, her initial embarrassment giving way to unease. Someone wants me dead. She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Who… who would—"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Seijiro muttered, glancing back at her. For once, his smirk was gone, replaced by a pensive frown.

Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, the dark stain of the poisoned soup spreading across the wood like a creeping shadow. Forcing herself to think logically was proving impossible; her thoughts kept circling back to the same, horrifying possibility.

Her father.

The image of Takahiro Zenin loomed in her mind—his cold, calculating eyes, his sharp tongue cutting through her carefully prepared arguments as though they were nothing. He had always made it clear she was expendable, a piece on a chessboard to be moved, sacrificed, if necessary. But this? Could he really...?

But what if he knew? About her secret. About the truth she had spent years hiding, the truth that would render her unfit for the role she was born to play. What... Was on that scroll? Kaoru, still frozen, shook her head, as if trying to physically dislodge the unwelcome thought creeping into her mind. No. No. Not even him. He wouldn't… he couldn't. Right?

She couldn't let herself spiral, not now. Seijiro was watching. The last thing she could afford was to let him—a Gojo, of all people—see her falter.

Behind her, Seijiro moved with a sense of urgency she wasn't used to seeing from him. He stood at the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the faint moonlight filtering through the thin paper screen. His eyes glinted in the low light, scanning the darkness outside looking for something that only his Six Eyes could see.

Seijiro turned to her, tilting his head with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Her silence stretched on too long, her composure slipping in ways she probably didn't realize. So that's what it looks like when the Zenin heir cracks. The thought wasn't satisfying. If anything, it unsettled him.

"Zenin-sama," he said finally, his voice cutting through her haze. His hand reached out, gripping her shoulder firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her dark eyes flicked to his, wide and unguarded, and for a moment, something inside him faltered. "Are you going to tell me why someone tried to poison you in your supposed allies' home? Or do I have to guess?"

Kaoru hesitated, her breath hitching in her throat. If she admitted her suspicions aloud, it would give them weight—make them real. She couldn't allow that. The truth clawed its way to the forefront of her mind, but she pushed it back, burying it beneath layers of control and denial. "I… have no idea," she lied, her voice unsteady.

Her uncertainty didn't go unnoticed.

The other heir narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. "Liar," he muttered under his breath, though it carried no malice. Instead, it was tinged with something bordering on exasperation. Still, he let it drop. The trembling in her hands had stopped, her posture was perfect, her tone measured. The mask was back in place. Annoying, but impressive. He could respect that.

She inhaled deeply, pulling herself upright, her posture straightening with the practiced dignity of an heir to one of the most powerful sorcerers clans in the nation. You're the heir of the Zenin clan. Act like it. When she spoke again, her voice was firmer, steadier. "It doesn't matter. We need to leave. Now. To hell the diplomacy, if Hattori Masanari wants me dead, for whatever reason, I'm not going to sit here and let him succeed."

Seijiro blinked, surprised by her sudden resolve. A slow, almost predatory smile spread across his face, one that sent a small shiver down her spine—not of fear, but of something more irritatingly complicated. "Oooh, about damn time," he drawled, his voice mockingly low. "Finally, something we can agree on, Zenin-sama."

Kaoru ignored the smugness dripping from his tone, instead focusing on the gravity of their situation. She turned to face him fully, her dark eyes locking onto his pale blue ones. "Gojo-sama," she began, her voice quieter now, her pride fighting against the words she needed to say. "It seems I owe you a debt. For… this." She gestured vaguely to the overturned bowl, the memory of his sudden intervention still fresh in her mind.

The Gojo heir's expression flickered, a brief flash of surprise softening his sharp features. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. Sincere. Huh. Pretty Boy can be sincere. It wasn't what he had expected. He inclined his head in a small, almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgment.

"Don't let it go to your head, Zenin-sama." He stepped past her toward the door, pausing only to glance back with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I just didn't want them thinking I was the one who poisoned you."

Kaoru rolled her eyes but followed him, her mind already racing ahead. She didn't trust him—not fully. But in that moment, she knew she had little choice. For now, infuriating as he was, Seijiro Gojo was her best chance of surviving the night.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

Harunobu leaned against the back wall of the cell, arms crossed, his eyes closed in what appeared to be deep contemplation. The truth was far less serene—his mind churned with unease, the hours stretching endlessly since Kaoru and Seijiro had left to "negotiate" with Hattori Masanari. Negotiation. The word tasted bitter. If it had gone well, we'd be out of here already, he thought grimly. But no, the minutes ticked by, and the sinking feeling in his chest deepened.

He did his best to project calm. Showing worry in front of the shinobi would be an insult to his station, not to mention his pride. Rensuke, kneeling on the other side of the cell in typical shinobi composure, seemed similarly unbothered—at least outwardly. His back was straight, his hands resting on his thighs, and his eyes were closed.

But unlike Harunobu, his youth betrayed him. He cracked first.

"Do you still think everything's fine?" he asked, opening one eye to glance at the samurai.

Harunobu didn't flinch. His response came sharp and flat. "Fine? If everything were fine, we'd already be out of here." He opened one eye to glare at Rensuke, his tone laced with dry sarcasm. "What's the matter, shinobi? Don't tell me you're worried about your master."

"Worried?" Rensuke countered, keeping his tone calm and unshaken. Of course I'm worried. But he would never admit that aloud. "Seijiro-sama can take care of himself," he replied flatly. "Unlike your master, I don't have to remind him how to hold chopsticks."

Harunobu opened one eye, a sharp glint in his gaze. "And unlike your master, mine knows when to shut his mouth."

The cell fell into silence again, tension crackling between them. It wasn't hostility, not exactly—more an understanding born of mutual exasperation with the people they served. Rensuke closed his eye again, exhaling slowly. "Seems we both have our hands full, huh?"

Harunobu allowed himself the faintest quirk of his lips, the barest acknowledgement of agreement. But then, he froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed it—a subtle shift in the shadow beneath the guard stationed outside the cell.

Kaoru-sama? His thoughts raced as he straightened to attention.

The shadow moved, flickering unnaturally, before erupting into Kaoru's form, followed closely by the sleek black shape of her Divine Dog. The shinobi guard barely had time to react before Kaoru swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, and Kaoru was on him in an instant, raining down brutal punches until the man lay unconscious. At the same time, her shikigami pounced on two other guards, its fangs sinking into their throats in quick, efficient strikes, blood splattering against the cells walls.

Silence fell like a curtain, the air in the cell heavy with stunned disbelief. All eyes were on Kaoru as she knelt over the downed guard, rifling through his belongings until she found the ring of keys.

"Kaoru-sama…" Harunobu began, his voice low and weighted with concern.

Kaoru met his gaze, her expression sharp but undeniably weary. The unspoken words in Harunobu's eyes were clear: You know what this means. You know how this will be seen. Kaoru knew. Of course she knew. This was no longer diplomacy—it was rebellion. Her father would be furious, the mission would spiral further into chaos, and the Hattori would never forgive this affront.

After a moment of heavy silence, she spoke, her voice steady but clipped. "Hattori Masanari wants me dead."

That was all Harunobu needed to hear. He strode to the bars of the cell as Kaoru unlocked them, his sharp eyes scanning her for any sign of injury. "Are you hurt, Kaoru-sama?" he asked, his voice tinged with an almost paternal worry.

"I'm fine, 'Nobu," she replied, forcing a reassuring smile. Her tone softened reluctantly as she added, "Thanks to Gojo-sama."

Rensuke raised an eyebrow as he stood, his movements fluid despite the tension radiating from him. "Where is Seijiro-sama?" he asked, his tone sharp with concern as Kaoru moved to the next cell, freeing the other sorcerers. They poured out, immediately arming themselves with weapons retrieved from the guards' stash.

Kaoru hesitated at Rensuke's question, turning toward him just as a thunderous explosion rocked the compound. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a faint plume of smoke rose in the distance.

"Oh no," she muttered under her breath, her hand tightening on the hilt of her now retrieved katana. "Gojo-sama," she said aloud, "is... retrieving the horses. I think. Or maybe blowing something up." She sighed heavily, running a hand down her face as the group began moving out of the cells. "Probably both."

Rensuke looked appalled, Harunobu incredulous, but there was no time to linger on the implications. The group moved quickly, filing out of the cells under Kaoru's direction.

As they stepped into the open air, Kaoru glanced toward the source of the explosion, muttering under her breath, "I hope that fool hasn't decided to level the entire village."

The village of the Hattori clan was a labyrinth of narrow streets and shadowy paths, each corner shrouded in the oppressive cursed fog. Kaoru led the group at a swift pace, her Divine Dogs flanking her with watchful precision. Behind her, Harunobu remained close, his katana drawn and ready, his eyes scanning for threats. The freed sorcerers of both delegations trailed behind in a disorganized line, their breathing heavy with exertion.

The sharp clang of steel meeting steel shattered the silence as a squad of Hattori shinobi descended from the rooftops. Harunobu stepped forward instinctively, intercepting the first blade aimed for Kaoru with a calculated parry. His counterstrike was swift and deadly, sending the attacker crumpling to the ground.

Kaoru barely glanced back, her focus on the path ahead. With a hand seal and a murmured command, her black Divine Dog lunged at a trio of advancing shinobi, its fangs gleaming in the faint moonlight. The white Divine Dog bolted in the opposite direction, tearing through an ambush to their left.

From the corner of her eye, Kaoru noticed movement down a side alley. A group of shinobi closed in, their stealth broken by the glint of blades and the muffled cries of an injured Zenin sorcerer collapsing under their assault.

She reacted fast. With a sharp gesture, she evoked Toad. The massive shikigami materialized, its long, sticky tongue lashed out, barreling through the enemy group and coiling around the fallen sorcerer. The shinobi faltered, startled by the sudden intervention, giving Toad just enough time to retract its tongue and engulf the injured man into its gaping maw. Safely encased, the Toad pivoted, turning its bulk into a barrier that stalled the attackers.

"Move!" Kaoru barked, her voice cutting through the chaos. Harunobu was immediately at her side, his blade deflecting another attack aimed at her.

The group pressed forward, the heavy thuds of boots against dirt blending with the faint cries of pursuit. The village gate came into view, faintly illuminated in the cursed fog. Standing before it, with an air of infuriating composure, was Seijiro. Two horses stood tethered behind him, snorting nervously. Around him lay several unconscious or dead Hattori shinobi, their forms illuminated by the glow of a collapsed section of the village's perimeter wall.

That explains the explosion, Kaoru thought grimly.

Seijiro's smirk was visible even in the low light. He raised a hand, and a pulsing orb of blue energy materialized in his palm. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the energy shot past the group, humming ominously as it skimmed dangerously close to their heads. Kaoru's eyes widened, and she ducked instinctively, throwing him a sharp glare over her shoulder.

The orb connected with the pursuing shinobi, detonating in a burst of blinding light. The enemies fell, writhing under the attack's force. Seijiro watched them crumble with satisfaction, his smirk deepening as his eyes met Kaoru's glare.

Always reckless, Kaoru thought, exasperated.

You're welcome, pretty boy, Seijiro thought smugly, relishing her irritation.

The group finally reached the gate. Harunobu was at Kaoru's side in an instant, his hands steady as he helped her mount one of the horses with practiced efficiency. She cast a quick glance at him, her voice steady despite the urgency in her tone. "If we get separated, prioritize getting our men to safety. We'll regroup in the clearing where we were attacked by the locust curses."

Harunobu hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn't like the idea of leaving her side, but her command left little room for debate. He nodded sharply, gripping the reins of the remaining horse as Kaoru turned her attention to the rest of the group.

Seijiro was already mounted, his posture relaxed despite the chaos surrounding them. "Let's go!" he called, his voice cutting through the din. He issued rapid orders to his men, ensuring they understood the fallback point.

With the majority of their forces already escaping into the foggy forest, Kaoru, Seijiro, Harunobu, and Rensuke were the last to leave the village perimeter. 

From the vantage point of the eastern watchtower, Hattori Masanari stood still as a statue, his sharp eyes fixed on the fleeing group below. His towering form was cloaked in the deep shadows of the structure, the faint glow of torches casting jagged lines across his face. The faint thud of horse hooves and the distant clamor of pursuit faded into the oppressive quiet of the forest.

From his vantage point, Masanari could see it all: the shikigami Toad lumbering out of the gates, Harunobu cutting down any who dared to get too close to Kaoru, and Seijiro, the ever-arrogant Gojo heir, directing their retreat with maddening precision. His lips curled into a thin line of disdain.

I misjudjed, he thought bitterly, his gaze following the faint silhouette of Kaoru as she mounted her horse. She moved with urgency, but not panic, her head swiveling to ensure every member of their delegation was accounted for. Even in retreat, she carried herself with a dignity that gnawed at Masanari's confidence.

His eyes flicked briefly to Seijiro Gojo, whose white hair and relaxed posture on horseback stood out even in the dim light. The Gojo heir, Masanari mused, the bitterness pooling in his chest. He interfered. That wasn't part of the plan.

The young Gojo's intervention had thrown everything into disarray. What should have been a clean operation had become a spectacle, an escape through the front gates, no less, with the Hattori defenses trampled beneath their heels.

A faint rustle at his side drew his attention. One of his most trusted shinobi crouched a few steps behind him, his head bowed in deference but his body taut with unease. The man hesitated, the flicker of doubt in his voice betraying his otherwise composed demeanor. "Hattori-dono… at this rate…"

"Speak plainly," Masanari snapped, his voice low and razor-sharp. His eyes didn't waver from the distant figures vanishing into the mist.

The shinobi hesitated but pressed on, his tone careful. "If they reach the clearing, the pursuit may falter. Their forces are regrouping."

Masanari's jaw tightened. The logic was sound, but the words grated against his pride. He raised a hand, silencing any further commentary. The shinobi swiftly passed him a single arrow without question, the gesture smooth and practiced.

Masanari weighed the arrow in his hand, feeling the familiar heft of the wood and steel. He inhaled deeply, the tension in his chest easing as he focused on the task ahead.

He moved with deliberate precision, lifting the longbow that had once belonged to his father, Hattori Hanzō. The weapon was immaculate, its wood polished and its string taut. He nocked the arrow smoothly, the movement practiced and unhurried.

His technique was already activating.

As long as his eyes stayed on the target, the outcome was fixed.

Trajectory. 

He didn't need to account for distance, wind, movement, not anymore. The cursed technique would carry the arrow where it needed to go. As long as Kaoru remained within his line of sight, she might as well have been marked.

The shinobi beside him shifted slightly but said nothing. Even he knew better than to question Masanari when the bow was drawn.

Masanari leveled the arrow, raising the bow until it aligned with his target. The creak of the bowstring was the only sound in the tower as Masanari adjusted his aim, as Kaoru's figure shifted—just a flicker of motion in the fog—but his eyes never left her. That was all that mattered.

"Don't underestimate me," he murmured under his breath, though it wasn't clear if the words were meant for Kaoru, Seijiro, or perhaps the ghost of his father. This is my domain now.

Kaoru's silhouette swayed slightly as her horse shifted beneath her. The Divine Dogs darted through the mist on either side, their forms a blur of black and white. She paused briefly, turning back to glance over her shoulder as if sensing the weight of his gaze.

Masanari adjusted his aim, his muscles steady despite the strain of the bowstring. His confidence was absolute. He didn't need to aim—not really—he never missed. But tonight, perhaps, caution was warranted. He tightened his grip, the arrowhead glinting faintly in the light. His eyes locked onto Kaoru, now almost a ghostly shadow on the horizon.

The arrow's fletching brushed his cheek as he took a final breath, steady and unshaken. His cursed energy pulsed along the shaft, the air around the steel already warping under the corrosive trait of his cursed energy.

"I warned them," Masanari murmured, his voice low, almost lost to the wind. "I never miss."

The bowstring sang as he released the arrow.