Sunbeams pierced through the heavy curtains, casting narrow stripes of light onto the floor where rare dust motes swirled as if in slow motion. Jin opened his eyes not from the brightness, but from an unfamiliar smell—a mixture of fried meat with a note of bitterness and light smoke that hung in the air, disturbing the mansion's usual sterility. This scent was foreign, almost intrusive, in a house where empty silence usually reigned, interrupted only by footsteps or the rare rustle of pages. He lay motionless for a few moments, analyzing his sensations: his body responded with a light aching fatigue, an echo of yesterday's outburst of emotions and physical exertion, but it wasn't real pain—rather, a reminder of the need for control. The dream about the porcelain doll in the makeshift box still loomed at the edge of his consciousness, but reality demanded movement, and he sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring the inner voice whispering about the meaninglessness of it all.
Standing up, Jin headed to the bathroom, where the cool tile met his feet with a slight chill. He turned on the shower, adjusting the water to a moderate warmth—not scalding, but just enough to wash away the traces of the night: sweat mixed with a foreign scent, and those sensations better not remembered in detail. The streams ran down his shoulders and back, washing away muscle tension, but his thoughts remained sharp as ever: Kuroka was still here, her presence not an accident but part of some scheme, and this was more annoying than tiring. Turning off the water, he vigorously dried himself with a towel, smoothed his wet hair back with his palm, and put on a simple shirt and trousers—the clothes fit familiarly, without extra effort, emphasizing the athletic build he had inherited along with this power.
In the corridor, he was stopped by a muffled squeak—a high, persistent sound with a tinge of panic coming from behind the door of a small storage room where forgotten boxes and tools gathered dust. Jin froze, pinpointing the source: the noise was rhythmic, as if someone was desperately trying to attract attention. He turned the handle—the door resisted, propped from the inside by a heavy box of books. Pushing harder, he opened the passage, and the squeak turned into a feverish flurry. Kuro was thrashing inside: the familiar darted around the cramped space, his ruby eyes sparkling with anxiety, and ears with crimson tips pressed flat against his head, betraying stress. The rabbit jumped to his master, nuzzling his wet nose into his palm, and Jin understood immediately—this was no accident. Someone had locked him in on purpose, and suspicion instantly pointed to the culprit. Irritation flared, but he suppressed it as always: bent down and stroked the pet's silky fur, feeling the tension in the small body gradually subside.
"Calm down already," Jin muttered quietly, lifting Kuro onto his shoulder, where he settled, still trembling slightly. "Nothing terrible happened."
With the familiar on his shoulder, he went downstairs, following the intensifying aroma of food, now mixed with a slight metallic taste of burnt oil. The kitchen, usually cold and empty like an abandoned laboratory, had transformed: a tray with dishes stood on the table, and at the stove, wearing a light apron over a tight dress, stood Kuroka. She turned, her golden eyes lit up with familiar predatory interest, and cat ears twitched slightly in greeting, emphasizing her playful nature.
"Good morning, my dear," she purred in a low voice with a slight rasp, hinting at their recent intimacy, and swept her gaze over him, full of seduction. "After such a wild night, I thought you could use a good recharge. You wore me out yesterday, but I still got up early. Sit down, try it. Maybe it will whet your appetite... for more."
She pointed to the table where scrambled eggs with bacon, some toast, and a bowl of something resembling oatmeal were steaming. Everything looked like a beginner's enthusiastic effort: the eggs were browned at the edges from excess heat, the bacon was cut in uneven strips and remained pink inside in places, and the porridge had gathered into dense lumps as if cooked in a hurry. Kuroka leaned against the countertop, crossing her legs in a graceful pose, and watched him with the same mixture of calculation and desire as at night, her tails swaying slightly behind her back.
Jin, showing no surprise, sat on the chair opposite. He stared at the food, noting the burnt edges and unevenness, but without emotion—just fact. Taking a fork, he began to eat methodically, chewing each bite without haste, as if performing a routine task. The first bite of eggs went smoothly, but an eggshell crunched in the second—a minor oversight he noted mentally, but his face remained impassive. Kuroka leaned closer, her ears perked up, and lips curved in a playful smirk.
"Well, how is it?" she asked teasingly, her tone light but with subtext. "I don't often experiment in the kitchen, but I tried my best for you. After you... well, you know. Deserved something special."
He swallowed the next bite without batting an eye and continued to empty the plate: the bacon crunched unevenly, the porridge turned out bland, but he ate everything, expressing neither praise nor displeasure. Finishing, he pushed the dishes away and nodded briefly. "Didn't expect this. Thanks."
Standing up, he went to the coffee machine, brewed himself a mug of strong black coffee without sugar and for her—cocoa with milk, adding a little sugar for sweetness to balance the taste. Returning, he placed the drinks on the table and sat down, his expression becoming more focused, with a slight shadow of boredom in his violet eyes—not from weakness, but from habitual apathy toward games. Taking a sip of coffee, he looked at her directly, without unnecessary aggression.
"What do you really want from me?" he asked in a level tone, allowing no evasion.
Kuroka, who had been acting breezy until now—with jokes and hints at their intimacy—froze for a moment. Her eyebrows raised in mute surprise, the mischief in her eyes extinguished, replaced by slight wariness. She didn't expect such directness immediately after the meal, without flirting or a warm-up.
"Straight to the point?" she answered, trying to return the playfulness, but caution slipped into her voice. "And I hoped we'd first remember the pleasant moments. About how you took the lead yesterday."
He didn't smile, continuing to look at her, and added calmly: "And you ate the cat food. Was it at least tasty?"
This stung her deeper. Kuroka blinked, confusion flashing on her face—a rare glimpse of vulnerability for one accustomed to manipulating. She opened her mouth to answer, but he continued, his tone becoming a bit bolder, with a note of irony piercing his gaze.
"What were you counting on?" he uttered, leaning back in his chair but not looking away. "Worming your way in through sex? Or just having fun at my expense?"
At that moment, her mask finally cracked, instincts howled. Kuroka's face became serious, golden pupils narrowed into thin slits. A wave of ki poured from her—thick spiritual energy saturated with tension and hidden threat. Her body transformed: ears became sharper, two tails wrapped around her waist, and clothes changed into an elegant kimono with exquisite patterns emphasizing her curves. Blue spheres of flame flared around, dancing in the air, heating the space and creating an aura of danger.
But Jin remained calm, his apathy like a shield. With an impassive expression, he released his aura—not hostile, but suppressing, like the pressure of the ocean depths. It crashed down on Kuroka, instantly dispelling the spheres and making her freeze, body trembling with primal fear. The ki faded, tails drooped, and she realized her insignificance before this power—not evil, but absolute, capable of crushing with a single wish.
"Sit," he said evenly, without malice.
Kuroka obeyed without delay, sinking onto the chair, her hands trembling slightly from adrenaline.
"Don't boil over, I just asked," he added, sipping coffee, his tone softened but remained firm. "No need for a fight."
She exhaled, checking herself, and looked up, searching for deception in his eyes but found only directness—deep, without subtext. Sensing no threat, she cast an illusion, hiding ears and tails, returning her human appearance. But hearing his next words, she canceled it, allowing her true form to manifest freely.
"Don't bother with masks," he said, propping his head with his hand and looking toward the window. "I won't cause harm. Just explain. You're not here for fun, that's already clear. Spill the truth."
Kuroka was even more surprised, her eyes widened. Taking a sip of cocoa—warm, with pleasant sweetness that calmed nerves—she gathered her courage. Mischief left, replaced by cautious frankness.
"Alright," she began in a level voice, without jokes. "We want you not to interfere in the upcoming event."
Jin raised an eyebrow, his surprise minimal but noticeable. Fragments of knowledge about the plot surfaced in memory—Loki.
"Details," he demanded neutrally but with pressure. "What event?"
Kuroka hesitated, her tails twitched nervously. She sighed, as if overcoming an internal barrier. "It's planned to disrupt a meeting in hell. Faction summit... Just ignore it, stay aside, and it will go without unnecessary losses."
His eyes glinted, a thought flashed: 'Loki and his Ragnarok... expected.' He leaned back, thinking aloud. "Loki with his end of the world... Denied. It will affect too much—wars, destruction, deaths. Why are you getting involved?"
Kuroka stared at him, her ears pressed back in shock. Fear mixed with amazement—where did such awareness come from? She hadn't named names, hadn't revealed the essence.
"How... how do you know about Loki?" she whispered, voice trembling. "I didn't mention him. You... Read minds?"
He noticed her panic and sighed, diffusing the atmosphere. "Relax, I don't read minds. Just... know? But tell me more. What is Loki planning? And what is your benefit?"