"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐰." - 𝑵𝒂𝒐𝒚𝒂 𝒁𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏
⟶ He was born a king, and he reigned as a god. Gojo didn't walk-he crushed. His laughter slapped the w...
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The sunlight poured like honey across the beams of the old Zenin estate. Cherry blossoms swayed gently in the courtyard, and their sweet scent drifted into the kitchen. Not a servant in sight. Only silence — soft, calm — and the delicate rustle of Chihiro's hands.
She kneaded a tender dough slowly, focused, her fingers dusted with flour. A small, discreet figure in a high-tied apron, strands of brown hair tucked behind her ears. She was preparing seasonal sweets — black sesame mochi, round dorayaki, flower-topped sugar cookies. The scent spread like comfort, almost maternal.
Chihiro, always silent. Always invisible.
She was mute, but never absent. Every gesture spoke louder than a shout. Every glance, every tilt of her head, revealed a quiet softness, almost ethereal. She arranged the sweets one by one on a bamboo tray. A pot bubbled softly. Spring infused every corner of the room.
And then—
BANG.
– I swear I'm gonna die of hunger.
Haruto burst in, wide as a barn door, gi torn, sweat dripping from his temples.
– Chihirooo, got anything to eat?
Behind him came his brother, Daiki, even taller, even dumber.
