.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
Seijiro was running fast, his boots striking against the wooden floors as they cut through the corridors of Fushimi Castle; his haori hung loose and crooked over his shoulders, still disordered from their small brawl in the archive. With an irritated tug, he pulled free the loosened ties of his hair, and silver strands spilled down his back; he shook his head once, impatient, fingers raking through the mess before gathering it again, sloppy and distracted. Not that he had ever cared. He gave his jade earring a flick before touching his throat again, not to check the cut but just to remember Kaoru hadn't gone through with it. The skin still stung beneath his palm; he scrubbed at it harder than demanded, dragging his fingers through dried blood until the friction burned. When he looked down, his hand was smeared red.
Kaoru had shoved him out of the archive with a clipped "Out. Now." No explanation or patience, just enough time to slide the shoji in his face before he could even open his mouth. Seijiro hadn't needed to be particularly clever to understand why. She had needed a moment to compose herself and hide what she had to hide; annoyingly, he had needed a moment too, for completely different reasons. For all the things his mind could do, it still hadn't figured out where to file what had happened in that room.
And now, Kaoru was followed one step back, matching his pace with the same focus and urgency, as though she hadn't nearly killed him five minutes ago. The adrenaline and survival instinct had burned off, leaving an awkward feeling in its wake.
Embarrassment.
And embarrassment, Seijiro had learned, was far more dangerous. He could handle anger, fury, even death threats from her. But Kaoru Zenin embarrassed? That was unknown terrain, and judging by the way the air around her felt, it was lethal terrain; if looks could kill, he would have been dead before the second corner, because even as her footsteps were controlled, she was doing that thing. Marching behind him like a vengeful spirit, rigid and radiating intent, as if sheer force of will might erase him from existence.
Seijiro risked a glance back; she didn't glare at him, she incinerated.
He turned forward immediately, swallowing the uneasy laugh that was threatening to escape him; he knew if he let it out now, she would end him for good. "Kaoru," he tried, "is it really necessary to stay behind me like that—"
"You will not leave my field of vision, Seijiro," she cut in, final and absolute.
Ah. Right. His smirk twitched despite himself as he sighed, tugging his haori into place again. Metaphorically speaking, he still had a sword at his throat. Fine, he could work with that. "So," he forced casual back into his tone, Six Eyes sweeping ahead, "this thunderbrat of yours. Not a cursed spirit, then? Are you sure?"
Kaoru scoffed. "Of course I'm sure. Just a street rat. And he is not mine."
Seijiro arched a brow, glancing back at the singed fabric of her Kamishimo. "You sure he's not here for Hideyori-dono? Because, no offense—" he gestured vaguely behind him, "—he doesn't sound like some lost peasant, if he managed to trash you—"
"He didn't trash me," she snapped. "I let him go."
Seijiro smiled because the proud Zenin heir was finally back. "Is that so?"
Kaoru didn't rise to it; instead, she exhaled loudly. "He was only…" She trailed off. She had let the boy go. Why?
Seijiro slowed half a step. "Only what?"
Scared. Kaoru pressed her lips together; those scared and feral cyan eyes, the ragged breathing, the way the boy had fought not to win, but to get inside and survive the cold, maybe eat after days spent without real food. He was only trying to survive the winter. Nothing else. And, unbidden, a thought rose: is that how I looked back in the archive? Cornered and desperate? Her grip tightened on her katana as she scowled at Seijiro's back ahead of her; oblivious, he ran a hand down his throat again, smearing the last traces of blood as if it meant nothing. He hadn't mentioned it, hadn't pressed, hadn't looked at her like anything had changed, after that. Her cheeks heated. Damn it. There was no time for this; the boy was still loose, and whatever had happened between them in that archive did not matter now.
"What's the warmest room in the castle?" Kaoru asked.
Seijiro didn't even slow. "Warmest?" he echoed, and then his expression shifted. "The innermost chambers—" Realization hit. "Ah. Shit." Kaoru met his gaze as he turned. "Damn it," he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.
The innermost chambers, Toyotomi Hideyori's quarters. Warm, insulated, and heavily guarded.
If the boy had any survival instinct at all, he'd head straight there. Seijiro didn't voice the rest, but Kaoru heard it anyway. And if Mitsunari and his vipers are worth half a damn, they'll let him pass, hoping to get rid of the child-regent without getting blood on their hands. They had both heard Mitsunari in the archive, the way he was planning to turn an unfortunate incident into a pretext to start a civil war.
They picked up the pace at the same time, and the closer they got, the heavier the air felt. At first, it smelt like burnt candles; then, beneath it, ozone and lightning clinging to the walls and dying slowly, leaving behind only an afterimage of burnt wood.
Seijiro stopped short too quickly, and Kaoru nearly ran into him; there, in front of Hideyori's quarters' shoji, bodies were littered on the floor. Guards; some unconscious; some... worse.
"Hell," Seijiro breathed.
Residual cursed energy resonated through the space, static crawling over stone and wood and their skins.
Kaoru knelt beside the nearest man, fingers brushing his armor. Dead. The lingering tingle raced up her arm. "This is his," she murmured. "Unstable and volatile, just like lightning." A smirk tugged her lips, and Seijiro wondered if she was even realizing it. "As I told you, thunderbrat's got potential."
"Oh, thunderbrat's got potential," Seijiro mimicked her grimly. "Just what we needed. Why are you even enjoying it?" His gaze lifted to the far end of the hall, where the doors to Hideyori's chambers stood slightly ajar; behind them, two cursed energy signatures. "He's inside," he murmured in deep focus. "...With Hideyori-dono."
Kaoru rose beside him, feeling the shift in him immediately. The teasing was gone; what remained was cold, focused, lethal. If Hideyori was harmed, Seijiro would kill the boy, pure, unrelenting protectiveness. It was almost startling.
She stepped into his line of sight just as he took a step forward. "We get Hideyori-dono out safely," she said. "But if possible, we do not harm the thunderbrat."
He squinted down at her. He really didn't need to ask, he knew already, but still he asked: "…Why?"
She met his stare evenly. Did he really have to ask? "Because everyone deserves a chance," she said simply. "Regardless of the circumstances of their birth."
A long silence stretched between them as neither backed down.
Then, frustration flashed across his face as he gave her a slow blink. Of course, Kaoru would say that. It was so like her; the one who had risked her life for a Gojo, the one who had let that thunderbrat go once already, and now, here she was, asking him to do the same. Thunderbrat was a problem, but her—Kaoru? She was an even bigger one. Still, he wasn't going to argue with her.
Seijiro groaned softly, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're a nightmare," he muttered. Seijiro rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck and already striding toward the door. "Aaah, fine. But if he tries to cook me—"
Kaoru shot him a disappointed glare.
"Fine, fine," he sighed dramatically. "I'll behave, I won't touch your precious potential kid." He took a breath and stepped forward. "You just wait here, Kaoru. I'll go in first, get Hideyori-dono, and handle the brat—"
"Wait here?" Kaoru's lethal tone cut him off. "And why exactly would I do that?"
"Why? Because you are—" Seijiro turned, frowning slightly—and stopped. His Six Eyes flickered to the rise of her cursed energy, and Seijiro had the sudden, devastating sense to stop talking, because Kaoru was glaring at him as he had just committed an act of high treason.
What was he even trying to say? Because you are a woman? Because I'm trying to be a gentleman and an idiot, apparently? He hadn't said it. Kami bless him, he hadn't said it, but she knew damn well he was about to, and she was daring him to try his luck.
Seijiro swallowed thickly, his mind blaring alarms at him not to be an idiot. Right. He'd been an idiot to think anything had changed; Kaoru Zenin wasn't fragile, wasn't delicate, and she definitely didn't need his protection. He had a cut on his throat that proved that. What she needed was his respect.
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing. Go on, Seijiro. Say it. Say it and die.
Seijiro chose life and did not say it. He cleared his throat, looking away first and scratching at the back of his neck. "Right," he muttered. "Forget I said anything."
"Glad we agree," Kaoru replied flatly, and then she walked past him without another glance, sliding the shoji open as if the conversation had never happened.
Seijiro stared after her for half a second. Murderous woman. Terrifying woman. Then, he followed.
He entered first, one fluid step through the sliding shoji, posture loose but ready, and Kaoru slipped in just behind him, soundless. Their eyes swept the room together, instincts aligned, looking for a hostage situation, an ambush, a trap.
Instead, they found—
Toyotomi Hideyori.
The regent-child sat in a perfect seiza on a silk zabuton, his formal robes slightly rumpled and his small hands folded neatly in his lap. Unhurt and unafraid, very much alive, and in that moment less the fulcrum upon which the fate of the country rested and more a child doing his best impression of one. And directly in front of him—
Thunderbrat.
The ragged intruder was crouched over Hideyori's dinner like a starving animal, shoveling rice and fish into his mouth with frantic and graceless urgency; small grains clung to his fingers, fish bones scattered across the tatami as his bare feet pressed into it as if ready to bolt at any second.
And Hideyori, the future of the Toyotomi... simply watched. Not with fear and imperious disdain as expected from a noble looking at a filthy and hungry peasant, but with open, earnest fascination, like a child who had finally coaxed a stray close enough to eat directly from his hand.
Seijiro's eyebrow twitched at the sight, and he couldn't help himself. "What the actual fu—"
That was as far as he got; the instant Thunderbrat registered them, the room snapped tight, his cyan eyes flared, his body coiled, and then he exploded. The dishes flew, scattering food and porcelain that shattered against the walls as the boy scrambled upright with a too feral snarl. Hideyori flinched with the first flash of true alarm crossing his face as a pulse detonated outward. Cursed energy surged from the boy's frame, a volatile, electrical, uncontrolled discharge that sent lightning cracking through the chamber, rattling the fusuma and scorching beams. It took only an instant before ozone permeated the air.
"Tch," Seijiro clicked. Just as Kaoru said. Annoying brat.
He moved instantly, and in two strides and a Blue-blink, Seijiro was already there, one arm sweeping Hideyori back by the collar of his robes, hauling him cleanly out of danger. Infinity snapped into place around him just as Thunderbrat lunged sideways with lightning crackling at his fingertips, but they slowed and hovered around Seijiro's Infinity.
Priority secured.
"Kaoru!"
"On it!"
Kaoru was already gone the moment Seijiro shifted to shield Hideyori; she dissolved, slipping into her own shadows like a small stain of ink. Thunderbrat twisted mid-air, trying to gain distance and escape—ord destroy, hard to say—the room, landing light on the balls of his feet. A low, animal sound tore from his throat as he reassessed, lightning crawling up his arms.
His instinct screamed run; too late. The shadows right behind him moved as Kaoru reformed at his blind spot. She struck low first, a sweeping kick meant to take his legs and his balance, and he barely caught it. But it was a feint; her real attack came as he tried to jump above her sweep, her other leg snapping up, heel cracking into his wrist just as he tried to discharge another bolt. His lightning went wide, sizzling into the tatami.
"Not bad," Kaoru said, breathless and pleased, already retreating as he lashed out again.
Thunderbrat didn't fight like a trained sorcerer; there was no discipline, no structure, but kami, he was fast. Erratic and dangerous, but good instinct, a real ungrounded storm, and Kaoru felt it thrill through her bones. Oh. You're interesting. Bright, reckless potential still untouched by any form or doctrine. And that was a problem, because she liked it deeply.
She slipped between his strikes, redirecting instead of blocking, letting his momentum carry him off-balance, not really trying to overpower him as much as testing him.
"This one," she muttered, a smirk creeping in uninvited, "is mine."
From across the room, Seijiro had already maneuvered Hideyori safely behind him and was now standing like a bored kami overseeing a very stupid spar between mortals. He didn't interfere, there was no need, and Kaoru was perfectly capable, but oh, he had opinions, and he decided to air them loudly.
"You know, Kaoru," he called mildly, "I could stop him whenever you want or...whenever you're done playing."
Kaoru ducked another reckless lightning-charged swipe that ruined the room. "Not yet."
"Kaoru," he huffed, "I don't know if you've noticed, but he's throwing lightning at you."
"I noticed."
"...And?"
Kaoru exhaled sharply. "Just—trust me with this one."
Seijiro scowled; he hated following orders. He had never followed a single order in his entire life, absolutely despised it. And yet—now? "...Fine."
Thunderbrat struck out again, aiming to grab Kaoru's arm, but she was faster. She waited—waited and waited—then moved at the last second, hands darting forward, redirecting his strike, twisting, pivoting—
She grabbed his wrist.
Partial Summoning. Nue.
Lightning ran through Kaoru's fingers and stayed there, absorbed, stabilized, fed back into itself, and Thunderbrat barely had time to register what she'd done before his body convulsed, nervous system overwhelmed as lightning traveled from Kaoru's fingers, directly into it from where she was still grabbing his wrist. Kaoru twisted his arm, forcing his balance to collapse beneath him, and Thunderbrat dropped to the floor, his body temporarily under the shock and unable to move.
He snarled, thrashing, but Kaoru landed beside him, knee dropping into his back, one hand locking his wrist behind him to the edge of dislocation, the other pressing his head to the tatami. "Enough," she commanded, cutting through the haze of his fear-driven attack.
The boy struggled once more, then slowed; his breath came shallow and ragged as his body shook from the backlash. Kaoru stilled, above him, as she took him everything: bruises, old ones and new ones, too many.
"…Are you hungry?" she asked, and her voice softened.
His head jerked, cyan eyes glaring up at her before—briefly—landing on the scattered remains of the meal he had thrown.
Kaoru exhaled slowly. "Cold?" she added.
A pause. Then—barely there—a frantic nod.
Her grip eased just a fraction because his frame was too small for the grip she was applying. "You have no family." It wasn't a question.
He shook his head once, almost imperceptibly, and Kaoru exhaled through her nose in irritation; of course he was an orphan off the street, Kaoru had imagined that much, but seeing him confirm it still left a bitter taste in her mouth. Probably irritation of seeing someone with potential, valuable, and worth saving, being left to rot in the gutters. She had told Seijiro he's not mine. Now—
She looked down at him, malnourished and unkempt, too young for those wild, feral eyes, and tried to suppress the smirk that was blooming on her lips in real time. Well. He could be.
Seijiro, who had been crouching near Hideyori, ensuring the child was unharmed, lifted a brow, running a hand through his hair, and exhaled loudly and dramatically. She didn't need to say it; he already knew what she was about to do. And sure enough...
"Come with me," Kaoru said. "Become my ward."
Confusion flashed across the Thunderbrat's face. Or maybe fear, or both. The concept of someone wanting him to follow along was apparently foreign to him.
Seijiro sighed. "Kaoru," he drawled. "I really hope you're not collecting strays."
Hideyori tilted his head, curious rather than concerned. "Zenin-sama wants to keep him?"
"Apparently," muttered Seijiro.
Hideyori, with all the certainty of someone raised in a world where power dictated morality, frowned slightly. "He didn't seem bad," he murmured. "He just wanted food."
"Yeah, I know," Seijiro muttered, ruffling the boy's hair in a gesture that was really not appropriate for the regent of the Toyotomi.
Kaoru, meanwhile, met Thunderbrat's gaze again. "Don't misunderstand. This isn't kindness. But my clan values skills like yours. You'll have to work hard to secure your place, but if you manage, you will be trained, you will be educated." His eyes lifted to meet hers, and Kaoru felt the moment he relaxed slightly beneath her. It wasn't surrender or trust yet, but it was the beginning of something similar. "You will not freeze," she added. "And you will not go hungry."
Seijiro watched her fingers loosen, no longer restraining Thunderbrat, just holding. Ah. So that's how it is. Soft. Kaoru Zenin is soft. Wrapped in logic and strategy, pretending this is practicality when she's just being soft. Of course she'd take in a half-starved stray with cursed energy potent enough to send grown men sprawling. Somehow, that made him smile. He sighed, rubbing the back of his head, already resigning himself to whatever the hell this was going to turn into.
Kaoru released him, and he didn't run this time. He just sat there, his small fingers twitching against the tatami, staring at her like he still wasn't entirely convinced it was not a trap.
Kaoru took it as agreement; her lips twitched in an almost-smile. "Good. What's your name?"
The Thunderbrat gave her only silence.
"Ah," she realized. "You don't have one." She hummed, considering; then, without hesitation— "Fine. Hajime, then."
Seijiro let out a huff of laughter, rolling his shoulders. "Hajime? You named him already? You just made up a whole kid on the spot, huh?"
"Hajime? Like 'beginning'?" Hideyori asked softly.
Kaoru gave a slow nod. "Correct, Toyotomi-dono." Her gaze stayed on her newly acquired ward. "It is his first name, after all. Fitting." She let the offer settle between them and waited, without pushing for an outright answer.
Finally, slowly, Hajime sat up; his body remained tense, but his eyes had eased, still not trusting her fully, but he wasn't running either, which counted for something.
And just like that, the heirs of the Zenin and Gojo clans stood, one guarding a child destined for an empire, the other claiming a child abandoned by it.
Before anything more could be said, the shoji slammed open. Guards and retainers flooded the chamber in a rush of leather armor and katana, too many, too late if anything bad had occurred, blades drawn against Hajime, a threat that had in reality never been one. At the heart of their formation, framed perfectly by the shoji's frame as if the scene had been staged for him alone, stood Ishida Mitsunari. Impeccably composed and controlled, not like a servant whose precious child-regent had almost been assassinated. His brows immediately knit with fake concern to convey alarm without panic, trying to look every inch the loyal strategist rushing to his lord's side, the man who would later decide how this moment would be remembered.
Kaoru felt her body tense instinctively, and beside her, Seijiro's smirk vanished in an instant.
And Hajime—ever the feral street survivor—moved without being told; one smooth step, and he was slipping behind Kaoru's frame, half-hidden by her shadow in the reflex of a peasant child who had learned early that noble adults arrived and blamed whoever was closest to their interests.
Hideyori, however, lit up with joy and relief. "Mitsunari-dono!"
Seijiro clicked his tongue under his breath; of course Hideyori-dono likes the bastard.
Mitsunari's arrival wasn't surprising for Seijiro; the timing, however? That was damning. The so-called loyal retainers of the Toyotomi heir had come rushing in only after the danger had passed, after Kaoru and Seijiro had already secured the room, the child, and the situation. And exactly when there were two convenient targets to blame for the situation: Kaoru and Hajime. Mitsunari stepped inside, guards fanning around him as residual lightning and cursed energy still snapped along the beams, the smell of ozone still stubbornly permeating the room and mixing with spilled food.
Seijiro's hand remained loose on Hideyori's shoulders, fingers refusing to leave the child until the situation was clear on both sides; Kaoru's stance mirrored his, still an immovable wall between Mitsunari's eyes and the feral boy she had already claimed as her ward.
Mitsunari took in the scene with a single, precise sweep of his eyes: the overturned lacquer tray; the scattered meal; the ragged child half-concealed behind Kaoru; and, most critically, the two most dangerous young heirs in the country standing squarely between him and the Toyotomi heir.
Then his gaze landed on Hideyori, unhurt and bright, entirely unaware of how close he had come to becoming a political corpse and a trigger for a civil war.
"What," Mitsunari asked smoothly, feigning relief at the sight of the unarmed child, "is the meaning of this?"
A diplomatic way of saying What the hell is going on here?
Seijiro exhaled, tilting his head enough to acknowledge the ranks without conceding ground, wearing his best mask of the Gojo heir; arrogant, confident, and about to gut someone with words. "I would've thought it was fairly self-explanatory, Mitsunari-dono," he replied, tone on edge of insolence. "There was never a cursed spirit. Just a street orphan who wandered into Hideyori-dono's quarters because he was starving and freezing. Zenin-sama and I handled the situation accordingly."
Kaoru felt Hajime shift behind her, sensing the tension even if he didn't understand the shape of it; her fingers itched at her side as she resisted the urge to sigh. Seijiro. You just had to provoke him, didn't you?
Mitsunari's eyes flickered between them before lowering toward Hajime, interest caught. "A street orphan?" he repeated mildly with a vague disgust. "How does leaving him alive after he endangered our lord by turning his personal quarters into a battlefield count as handling the situation accordingly?"
Her fingers curled inside her sleeve; she could already see where this was going. "I assure you Toyotomi-dono was not endangered. The boy's hardly an assassin," she replied, unwavering. "he's alone, malnourished, desperate."
"And yet," Mitsunari said softly, "he breached the castle and entered Hideyori-dono's chambers. Had he been harmed, we would be discussing something far more… serious. It would be troubling if this were more than a coincidence. The Tokugawa faction has grown bold and a rogue element slipping through the guards so easily... one might mistake it for an attempted assassination. A warning, perhaps." A beat. "We should set an example of him. Discourage more attempts to Hideyori-dono's life, discourage peasants from thinking they can breach Fushimi Castle just because they're hungry."
Kaoru felt the carefully constructed blame instantly. There it was, the implication slid neatly into place: someone could have sent him, someone with motive, someone aligned with Tokugawa. Someone Zenin. Executing the boy under that pretense would only make that true. And that was the moment Seijiro shifted beside her, the smallest adjustment of posture that spoke volumes. She knew that movement; he was seconds away from eviscerating someone with words. His smile returned slowly, dangerously so.
"Or," Seijiro said lightly, "one might conclude that the capital has deteriorated so badly under its current administration that orphans are left to scavenge for food like wild animals." He used an almost pleasant tone as if he were reciting poetry and contemplating the landscape. "And now the capital has deteriorated to the point that people are seeking refuge right here in Fushimi Castle? What an embarrassment that would be. What would the other daimyo think?"
Mitsunari's eyes narrowed, hard.
Kaoru did not hide her smirk. "This matter ends here," she cut in smoothly as her hand landed on Hajime's shoulder with a possessive grip. "This is no longer an issue for Fushimi Castle. I own the child now. If you wish to discuss his execution, you'll have to discuss it with Zenin-dono, my father."
Silence fell, and Seijiro's smirk vanished again; that was bold, too reckless even for his standard.
"I will personally take responsibility for him," Kaoru went on. "He will leave Kyoto to never return. He will not be a problem in the future and will pose no threat to Toyotomi-dono."
It was not a negotiation.
Mitsunari studied her for a long moment, measuring what could be challenged and what could not. At last, he exhaled. "Very well," he said. "Then it is fortunate that Zenin-sama is so generous in his mercy for such a creature. I trust you will ensure his existence does not lead to... further complications."
"Of course," Kaoru replied without blinking.
The room held its breath. Perhaps they had pushed too far; perhaps they had forgotten exactly where they were, standing in the heart of Ishida Mitsunari's domain, in a place where even whispered words could dictate life or death. For one fleeting, unpleasant moment, Seijiro genuinely weighed the odds of having to fight his way out of Fushimi Castle with a furious Kaoru Zenin and one feral lightning-child in tow. The mental image was… complicated; if it came to that, his father would never let him hear the end of it.
He clapped his hands together lightly, the sound bright and infuriatingly cheerful, defusing the tension. "Well then! All's well that ends well, wouldn't you say?" he said, flashing a grin, gaze locked onto Mitsunari's. "Though perhaps... security around Hideyori-dono's quarters should be improved." His smirk went sharp as a blade with deadly politeness. "We wouldn't want anyone to think you don't have his best interests at heart, after all."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Kaoru didn't pinch the bridge of her nose, but it was a close call. You absolute menace. For a brief moment, she was convinced they would finally come to blows; Mitsunari's pride and nothing because he was not a sorcerer, against Seijiro's arrogance and Limitless. Now that would be really problematic for the country.
Instead, Mitsunari inclined his head with the grace of a seasoned politician. "Your concern, though unnecessary, is noted, Gojo-sama." He turned away, sleeves fluttering behind him as he faced Hideyori and inclined his head once more. "Toyotomi-dono, it is getting late. You should rest."
Hideyori nodded, still blissfully unaware of the political noose that had just loosened around the room, and glanced up at Seijiro. Both Kaoru and Seijiro exhaled at nearly the same time; it was over, somehow.
The tension unraveled just enough for people to move again, for Mitsunari to allow them to leave without demanding further explanations or consequences; all that remained was to get out of Fushimi Castle as quickly and quietly as possible before something could happen again.
As servants and guards moved to restore the chamber to order, broken porcelain vanished, tatami were straightened, and evidence of chaos was erased as if it had never existed; Kaoru had already turned on her heel.
"Hajime," she called over her shoulder. "Come."
The boy hesitated only a heartbeat before turning his head with a vaguely confused titl, clearly not used to have a name; then, he followed without questions or resistance.
Seijiro watched her go, watched how she didn't look back to see if the boy was following because she knew he was, didn't slow, didn't so much as acknowledge that she had just acquired an entire human being. With a small smile, he fell into step beside her, hands tucked into his sleeves and his usual bored noble swagger back in place now that they were almost free.
"So," he drawled, casting her a sideways glance, "what now?"
Kaoru exhaled some of the tension. "Now we return to the council and report this whole mess," she muttered, clearly done with the place. The entire visit had been a series of disasters on top of one another, and she had no intention of testing their luck further.
Then, as if something had just occurred to her mind, she slowed. "Ah. Right." She stopped, turned to face him, perfectly serious. "Seijiro."
He blinked down at her. "Hm? What now?"
She tilted her chin slightly upward. "Your haori."
"It is very beautiful." His brows drew together. "What about it?"
She jerked her head toward Hajime. "Give it to him."
Seijiro stared blankly at her, at Hajime, back at her. Then, his expression shattered. "Oh, for—You can't be serious," he muttered, voice climbing half an octave in offense.
Kaoru merely lifted a slow, impassive brow. Oh, she was very serious. "He cannot travel through the snow dressed like that," she stated, as if she hadn't just asked him to surrender his dignity and his haori to a feral street child.
Seijiro groaned, raking a hand through his silver hair with more flair than necessary. "Oh, for the love of—Kaoru, do I look like a charitable institution to you?" He gestured vaguely at Hajime, whose feet were still blue on the toes from the cold, whose yukata was barely holding together. "I mean, sure, he looks pitiful—maybe—but—"
Kaoru just looked at him; that look. Not commanding, not even asking, just expecting him to follow her order, expecting him to behave. Seijiro cursed under his breath loudly, feeling defeated and utterly ruined.
With an exaggerated sigh, he tore off his haori, shook it out with unnecessary violence, and shoved it toward Hajime. "There, there. Happy now?"
"Happy," she said quietly.
Kaoru's lips twitched, not really a fond smile but close enough to be dangerous, and Seijiro's mind catalogued it without a doubt as one. That was worse; to his horror, warmth crept up Seijiro's neck. He looked away before he could ruin himself even more. Hajime accepted the haori hesitantly, clutching the fine fabric with none of the care required for luxury silk and noble robes; Kaoru's gaze softened just enough for Seijiro to be deeply annoyed that he noticed.
Seijiro cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't lose it," he muttered. "It's expensive. More than you."
Hajime stared up at him with the solemn, unreadable expression of a child who absolutely would lose it and won't feel sorry for it. Then, slowly, his brow lowered in what was a small glare directed at him, and Seijiro swore he could see a small lightning jumping between his cyan hair. Ugh—great, he's already glaring like Kaoru.
At the door, Seijiro paused to bow to Hideyori and caught the boy's insistent, expecting stare; Hideyori's gaze flicked between him and Kaoru, hesitant, as if wrestling with a thought he wasn't sure he was allowed to voice.
Seijiro considered, then stilled mid-bow. Ah. Right. He straightened and leaned toward Kaoru. "Kaoru."
She tilted her head. "What?"
He leaned closer, lips near her ear, lowering his voice. "Hideyori-dono wants to ask you something." He grinned, barely holding back laughter. "He wants to see the rabbits."
Kaoru pretended not to notice the way her skin prickled as her head snapped toward him, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove that amusement and that her summonings were not for child entertainment—only to see Hideyori fidgeting, cheeks flushed, clutching his robes with small hands.
"…Zenin-sama?" the boy asked softly. "Can I... Can I see the rabbits?"
Kaoru's mouth betrayed her, twitching, while Seijiro, beside her, was beaming. She inhaled slowly, jaw tightening. Damn him, damn his smug little smile, damn Hideyori's hopeful child-eyes. With a long, resigned sigh, she lifted her hands and formed the seal.
Cursed energy rippled as her shadow stretched outward beneath her feet. Then—
White fur exploded across the room.
Dozens of white, fluffy, and fat shikigami rabbits bounded over the tatami, noses twitching, ears flicking. Hideyori laughed—literally laughed out loud—pure, unguarded delight lighting up his face as the shikigami brushed against his robes, flooding the room in cuteness.
Seijiro folded his arms, smirking at her with all the satisfaction of a man who had just won a very petty battle. Oh, she's soft, he thought smugly. He knew it. And now, she had proved it. I knew it.
Kaoru felt warmth creep up her neck and refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was interested in the child's happiness.
Mitsunari—who, unfortunately for all involved, could see absolutely none of this—froze in place and slowly turned toward the room again. He did not speak; he simply stood there, eyes darting across the room and the expression on Hideyori's face, with the profound sense that something deeply undignified was happening somewhere around him. Ultimely he turned sharply out of the room, muttering a "Damn Onmyōjis," under his breath.
And Hajime—
Kaoru caught the movement instantly from the corner of her eye; she slapped her palm down over his wrist before he could grab a rabbit shikigami darting near them. Hajime blinked up at her, guilty but unrepentant as he retreated his hand, a small frown forming on his face, looking like the innocent child wanting to pet a cute animal.
Kaoru narrowed her eyes, feeling not bad at all. Yeah, sure; he wasn't going to pet it, he was about to try eat it raw.
Hajime scowled, rubbing his wrist; then, after a long, grudging pause, he nodded.
Good, Kaoru thought. Training and education would begin immediately. "These aren't food."
The boy pouted, a full lip pout—briefly, subtly—quickly masked beneath his usual wary expression and an irritated scrunch of his nose, but Kaoru saw it; Seijiro saw her see it. And because he was Seijiro Gojo, he laughed, knowing damn well the lightning boy was definitely going to cause them trouble in the future.
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
The Kamo residence lay in stillness under the snow, as the night swallowed the capital; nothing like the living, volatile air of Fushimi Castle, where politics slid through corridors in whispered breath. Here, every tatami was aligned with an obsessive ceremonial precision, every fusuma placed as part of a larger composition; here, power did not need to announce itself. It waited, assumed, endured.
And endured, Akiteru Gojo had for a very long time.
Akiteru sat now opposite the head of the Kamo clan; the older man's spine had curved with age, but his will remained as keen as the diplomacy and balance he guarded. He gave Akiteru an expression that was a careful study in deference, as between them rested a tray bearing several small and black sakazuki. Akiteru's gaze lingered on them for a heartbeat before drifting away again; his thoughts were already ahead, already retracing the reports Rensuke had delivered over the past days, each a confirmation of a large design that had been forming for over twenty-five years.
His son, Seijiro. Reckless, naïve, slipping away every night from watchful eyes, spending his time in dangerous proximity with Kaoru Zenin of all people, covering himself and the Gojo's name in ridicule, even conspiring behind his back.
Akiteru almost scoffed. Pathetic. Not surprising, just disappointing.
Seijiro Gojo and Kaoru Zenin, two foolish heirs daring to imagine a future in which their clans were not locked in mutual blood feud, mistaking defiance for vision. Whether Seijiro realized it or not, he was allowing himself to fall into a rhythm with the Zenin heir, forging something that looked uncomfortably like trust and loyalty.
Thinking the blood feud was something that could be stopped now, or that it was something Akiteru had ever agreed on starting? Did Seijiro truly believe a Zenin would stand beside him when the moment came?
This was not the heir Akiteru had forged, not the weapon he had honed over the years. His son was an idiot; he was softening. There could never be peace with the Zenin, not after what they had done to their family; the only way for peace to exist between their clans was for the Zenin Clan to be wiped out entirely. And yet, it was his blood running through Seijiro's veins, his name that Seijiro carried, his legacy that Seijiro would one day command.
That was not something Seijiro was permitted to forget; still, Akiteru had no intention of stopping him yet. No, this was better.
He had allowed Seijiro to act under the comforting illusion of secrecy, had watched him embarrass himself openly, making himself predictable, making himself... usable.
Love was too strong a word. But loyalty? Loyalty could be used and turned. And now, thanks to that loyalty, Seijiro would act when the time came, exactly as Akiteru needed and wanted him to, believing with absolute conviction that he was doing so for Kaoru Zenin's sake. And Kaoru Zenin? The Zenin heir would now act in Seijiro's interest too.
Which, really... in the end, would be Akiteru's interest.
The old Kamo Patriarch broke the silence, voice sweetened with mock, manufactured concern. "Tomorrow will decide much about the future of our society," he murmured, swirling the sake in his own sakazuki, not one from the tray, of course; he was not suicidal. His gaze lifted toward Akiteru. "Are you certain, Gojo-dono?"
Akiteru did not look at him; his eyes remained fixed on the untouched sakazuki on the tray. "I do not doubt," he replied, with the calm certainty of a man who had already seen the end of the game. "The Gojo had never stood on the side of the losers. Not once."
Yes. The Gojo would lose the debate; they would not claim the spear tomorrow; that much had been obvious from the beginning. But that was fine, because it had never been about the Mitsuboshi No Yari, not really. The Zenin were the real problem, and problems, Akiteru knew, required long-term solutions.
"Hm. And if they claim it?" the Kamo Patriarch pressed mildly.
Akiteru's lips curved, thin and humorless. "When they claim it," he corrected, not if but when, gesturing at the waiting cups, "these will be used."
The Kamo Patriarch's gaze lowered to the tray, smile deepening with a tilt akin to satisfaction. There had always been a certain inevitability to this path; Akiteru had always despised Takahiro Zenin; not the hollow resentment of political rivals, but the deep, enduring hatred of men who understood one another too well. They had been at war for decades, and for all his bluster, Takahiro had been clever enough to keep his clan intact and safe from the full escalation that Akiteru clearly wanted. But it was only a matter of time.
Akiteru's mouth twitched.
Still, the kami had a sense of humor. Twins? Takahiro's prized only heir, the prodigy of the Ten Shadows and the cornerstone of the Zenin future, had been born a twin? Twins were ill fortune; everyone knew that. What a bad omen, to be punished with twins right after killing my firstborn and destroying my family.
Meanwhile, Akiteru had been blessed—not once, but twice—with sons bearing the Six Eyes. What did that say? Obviously, the kami favored his cause, supported his war against the Zenin. Takahiro could posture all he liked, could speak proudly of Kaoru's talent, but the truth clung to him like rot, and his clan's greatest weapon was also its greatest shame.
Akiteru did not need to destroy Kaoru Zenin yet; given time, Seijiro would do that willingly. Akiteru would make sure of that, and the child was already cursed by birth. The heir could wait; Akiteru needed to aim higher, at the head.
The Kamo Patriarch's voice softened further. "So. I trust your clan's promise of cooperation is not merely empty words, either."
Akiteru exhaled, unmoved. "I am patient," he said. "I've been waiting for decades; I can wait a little longer."
A hum from the other man. "The Zenin's growing influence threatens my clan as much as yours. I have no desire to watch their power flourish unchecked." A beat. "And what if your son does not act as you expect?"
For the first time, Akiteru's jaw tightened. "He will," he said flatly. "Even when he believes he is choosing for himself, he always acts as I expect him to."
Yes. Seijiro acted on instinct, on desire, on will, and Akiteru understood those impulses better than anyone, and tomorrow, that reckless instinct would lead him exactly where Akiteru had always intended. Because he was his, whether he liked it or not.
"Tomorrow, when the moment comes," Akiteru continued, fingers ghosting the rim of his sakazuki, "he will act to protect Kaoru Zenin.. He will do exactly what I require without even realizing it. And in that moment, he will remember where his true loyalty lies."
"And the Zenin heir?" the Kamo Patriarch asked softly. "If he does not act as expected of him, it'll be the end of the Gojo Clan."
Akiteru paused. Then, with the satisfaction of a man envisioning his victory: "Kaoru Zenin will protect my son. That loyalty between them will be his undoing, as it will be the undoing of the Zenin clan."
Patience, he thought. He had waited years. Let them claim the spear, let them believe they have won. Kaoru Zenin was loyal to a fault. And now, apparently, irrational as it was, that loyalty belonged to Seijiro. It was almost laughable.
"A single drop of blood," the Kamo Patriarch mused. "That is all it will take, and the effect will be immediate. I will see to it that everything is prepared for tomorrow."
Akiteru inclined his head and rose, smoothing his robes. His gaze lowered once more to the untouched sakazuki before the faintest movement beyond the shoji attracted his attention.
"Enter," he said.
The shoji opened without a sound, and a black-clad figure stepped inside, bowing deeply, awaiting the inevitable question.
"Rensuke," Akiteru asked, without concern. "My son? Has he returned from Fushimi Castle?"
Rensuke did not move from his crouch, head bowed. "Returned to his quarters," he replied. A beat too long. "Injured."
Akiteru did not react. "How injured?"
"Superficial wounds," Rensuke said. His jaw tightened, his fists briefly clenching at his sides before he forced them to relax. "Scratches. Nothing more. Fortunately."
Akiteru's brow twitched. "Fortunately," he echoed, mocking. "Good."
Rensuke did not speak again; he had served Akiteru too long, had watched the machinations of the Gojo clan from too close a vantage point to ever interrupt. And he knew to the heart that Seijiro's injuries did not matter to that man.
The Kamo Patriarch remained seated, watching as the Gojo head and his shinobi turned toward the shoji. Akiteru did not look back; no farewell, no unnecessary ceremony. Left alone, the Kamo Patriarch toyed with his sakazuki, a low chuckle escaping him.
He was an opportunist first, a strategist second. He had spent years cultivating the perfect balance of feigned deference and self-serving cunning.
And this? This was all so terribly easy.
War was not fought and won on battlefields alone, it was won in whispers, in rumors, in letters and secrets, in a well-placed staged ambush, in a convenient neutrality, and in spears... conveniently misplaced just out of reach. Wars were won by letting enemies destroy each other while you stood very still.
Gojo Akiteru and Zenin Takahiro were fools. It took only the subtlest of nudges to push two great beasts into tearing each other apart. They had spent years sharpening their hatred for one another, for their clans, for the legacy they each sought to protect, and in their blind enmity, they had done exactly what the Kamo Patriarch had needed them to do.
They were walking willingly into a war.
And when they did, when it was over, when the dust had settled, and their clans lay bleeding on the battlefield—
The Kamo will remain.
Oh, Toyotomi Hideyoshi may have been the Unifier of Japan, but when this bloody war between the great sorcerer families finally reached its inevitable conclusion, when Gojo and Zenin had destroyed each other, when their great houses lay in ruin—
The Kamo clan would rise from the ashes. And in the end, he would be the one to unify the sorcerer world.