"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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Blood trickled down slowly, tracing dark rivers on the metallic floor. Strips of flesh clung to the elevator walls, and the control buttons were almost unreadable under the thick layer of blood coating them. The scent of iron saturated the confined space—pungent, cloying.
Naoya Zen'in, however, remained pristine.
Not a single drop on his haori, not a single stain on his hands. He observed the mutilated bodies of the guards at his feet for a moment before exhaling slowly, amused.
— What a bunch of useless trash...
Killing them had been nothing more than a formality. He had slipped between them like a shadow, taking their lives before they even realized what was happening. A clean strike, a fluid motion, and they had collapsed—disjointed puppets drained of their essence.
Naoya absentmindedly wiped off a splatter from his sleeve before picking up the access cards from their corpses.
— Honestly, you could've at least tried to entertain me.
He pressed a button, and the elevator resumed its descent. Lower. Always lower.
He had come here for one thing.
Chihiro.
His toy.
His property.
The doors slid open onto a cold, dimly lit corridor. He stepped out, searching for another elevator to reach the deepest cells. That's when he saw her.
Leaning against the wall, her legs stretched out before her, Shoko Ieiri gazed at him with a disconcerting nonchalance. Her coat was in tatters, her arm smeared with blood, and a deep gash marred her side. Yet, her expression remained perfectly indifferent, and a faint amusement shimmered in her tired eyes.
— Oh... she murmured, squinting slightly. The prince of assholes decided to show up?
