"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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Naoya Zenin's room was just like him: austere, immaculate, imbued with an almost rigid sense of order. Nothing was out of place. The air carried a faint scent of incense—woody, slightly bitter. A dark wooden wardrobe, a neatly folded futon, a low table where a fine porcelain teapot sat... Everything exuded a cold, controlled elegance.
But Chihiro, crouched on the floor, paid no attention to any of it.
Under a piece of furniture, she had found something strange.
A radio.
It was an old model, compact, its edges slightly worn. It looked out of place in a room like this, like a relic left behind. Her slender fingers hesitated before daring to turn one of the knobs.
A crackle. Then a metallic voice, an electronic beat. The catchy melody of "Cheri Cheri Lady" suddenly filled the closed space.
Chihiro flinched slightly, then, after a moment, brought the device closer to her ear. The music was strange, upbeat, a little childish. She barely understood the lyrics, but that didn't stop her from trying to hum along—clumsily.
It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate. It was...
...fun.
The suffocating boredom of her life faded, just a little.
Chihiro closed her eyes, gently swaying her head to the rhythm. A thought drifted through her mind: Does Satoru Gojo listen to this kind of music? He, who always seemed to defy conventions, loud, unpredictable. Maybe. Maybe he would even dance to it, exaggerating his movements with that defiant air that made him so unbearable to the Zenin clan.
The thought made her smile.
She didn't hear the door slide open.
Naoya Zenin was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. His golden gaze swept over his cousin's delicate form, sitting on the floor, clutching the radio to her ear, her pink lips awkwardly attempting to mimic the sounds.
It was an absurd sight.
Naoya despised the absurd.
He despised foolishness. He despised useless things.
And yet.
He said nothing. He watched. The soft afternoon light brushed against Chihiro's dark hair, casting a warm glow on her porcelain-like skin. She looked ridiculous. Ridiculous, but peaceful.
And that, more than anything, irritated him.
He could have slapped her, just to see surprise bloom on her overly docile face. Or knocked over the radio, silencing this pointless moment. He could have.
But he didn't.
Chihiro finally sensed something. She turned sharply, her gaze locking onto Naoya's. Cold. Piercing. Amused. Fear tightened in her chest. A silent gasp escaped her lips, and she fumbled to turn off the machine in a panic, but her fingers trembled. The radio crackled, resisting her.
Naoya stepped forward, slow and deliberate. His shadow slid over the pristine floor. Chihiro shrank back.
— Are you enjoying yourself, woman? His voice was lazy, mocking.
But not cruel. Not yet.
With fluid ease, he crouched beside her, his long fingers gliding over the radio's buttons. Instead of turning it off, he flipped through the stations until a new song emerged. A soft rhythm. A smooth voice. "Come" by Jain. He turned up the volume slightly.
— If you want to listen, do it properly. Don't press your ear against it like an idiot.
Chihiro didn't know what to say. She never knew what to say to Naoya. She stared at him for a moment, stunned. He was too close. She could see the faint crease at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, not quite a threat. Just... an observation.
She lowered her gaze, nodding slightly.
Naoya straightened up and moved to sit at the low table. He dropped into place with calculated nonchalance, his movements always precise despite their apparent carelessness. He reached for the teapot, noticed it was empty, and glanced at Chihiro.
— Pour me some tea. Then, after a pause: — Keep me company.
Chihiro blinked. Then, wordlessly, she rose and obeyed.
Naoya watched her. Silent. Delicate. Compliant. She had always been this way. He couldn't even remember ever hearing her speak. It was both irritating and... convenient.
A woman should be like that, right? Quiet, unproblematic. Not like those giggling maids in the halls. Not like those arrogant female sorcerers who thought they could rise to the level of men.
Naoya despised women.
But he tolerated Chihiro.
The tea cup was placed in front of him with exaggerated care, as if she feared a single sound might provoke his anger. He let her be. He let her sit across from him, the music lingering between them.
He didn't speak for a long time.
He simply watched her, absently tracing the rim of his cup with his fingertips.
He could have ordered her to leave. He could have dismissed her with a flick of his tongue, as he had done with so many others.
But he didn't.
He merely took a sip of tea, savoring its bitter warmth on his tongue.
Chihiro sat straight, hands resting on her lap, her gaze lowered to her own untouched tea. The music continued.
"And when the music is gone You're gonna feel alone..."
