.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
The journey had been—technically speaking—uneventful. Which meant no one was dead yet, and Seijiro hadn't thrown Kaoru off a cliff. Progress.
Kaoru and Seijiro rode at the front like unwilling newlyweds at a funeral, flanked by guards who looked seconds away from stabbing someone, ideally each other. They hadn't exchanged a civil word in days, just: words unsaid, glares exchanged, tempers simmering under perfectly pressed uniforms and decades-old grudges. By the time they reached the ridge where mist blanketed the trees in an unnatural hush, no one was pretending to enjoy the scenery anymore.
The forest around them darkened, and the oppressive weight of cursed fog blanketed the area. It loomed ahead like a wall, the abruptness of the fog's boundaries too defined to be a natural occurrence.
Kaoru dismounted first, always the model heir. Her boots hit the ground without sound and Harunobu appeared at her side in seconds, hand on the reins, eyes scanning the trees like he expected an ambush behind every leaf.
Seijiro watched her from the saddle, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against the reins. The discipline. The complete refusal to ever look anything less than immaculate. The way her hair, high ponytail, every strand perfectly in place, swayed like punctuation to her self-control, and the way she made silence feel like judgment. His expression stayed cool, but his Six Eyes were working overtime; everything about her bothered him.
No. Correction.
Everything about her bothered him specifically because it didn't slip.
And that was becoming a problem.
"I'll scout ahead," Kaoru announced to avoid another misunderstanding, raising her hands, murmuring a command.
Nue burst into the air from her shadow with a flash of lightning and static, wings cracking the air like a whip as it descended.
Show-off, Seijiro thought, without malice. Just fact.
He slid off his horse, handed the reins to Rensuke, and leaned casually against a tree like they weren't standing at the mouth of a cursed forest. He watched her rise into the air on her shikigami, small figure outlined against the roiling fog; her silhouette vanished quickly, swallowed by unnatural mist and the silence stretched.
Kaoru, on her shikigami Nue, had taken to the skies to scout the area from a vantage point. The region of Iga stretched out before her, a mix of rugged mountains and dense forests, now entirely shrouded in the fog. The stillness and the presence of cursed energy confirmed their suspicions.
A Kekkai, Kaoru thought grimly, her grip tightening on Nue's feathers as the shikigami shifted uneasily beneath her. "Easy," she murmured. "I see it too." Even Nue seemed reluctant to approach the fog's boundary, letting out a low, distressed screech as Kaoru nudged it forward.
"All right, boy," she leaned forward to stroke its neck soothingly. "Let's not push it." With a firm tug, she guided Nue into a descent, heading back to the group and Seijiro waiting below.
Rensuke, stood stoically at Seijiro's side, his half-lidddn gaze wandering between Nue and the kekkai as all of this bored him.
Harunobu stood sentinel near the edge of the clearing, hand always close to the katana and eyes always on Kaoru like she might vanish if he blinked.
Kaoru descended; Nue spiraled down in a swirl of dust and debris, forcing the men to shield their faces. Dust stung Seijiro's eyes; he squinted, coughing once, as she landed smoothly beside the group, patting the shikigami's massive feathered neck like it was a docile pony. Harunobu was the first to approach, immediately falling into step at her side.
Show-off, he thought again. But this time, the irritation had teeth. The Gojo heir pushed off the tree with his usual air of nonchalance, approaching with weary steps. His pale eyes lifted briefly to Nue, frowining as he kept his distance.
"So, Pretty Boy," he began, "what did you see from your majestic perch atop the pigeon?"
Kaoru shot him a flat look at the name, but didn't rise to the bait. "It's a barrier," she said, her tone all business. "A kekkai that covers the entire forest and valley. Strong. Nue wouldn't go near it." She straightened, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Her voice dropped to a more serious note. "If the Kamo Clan's information is accurate—"
"—then the area is crawling with curses," Seijiro interjected smoothly, stepping up beside in irritation, though whether it was at the situation or Kaoru herself was unclear. He looked down at her, expression momentarily serious.
She glanced up at him briefly, curious despite herself. "Do you see anything unusual?" she asked, suspecting his Six Eyes might offer insights her own perception couldn't.
Seijiro tilted his head as he squinted thoughtfully toward the barrier. "Oh, yes," he replied with exaggerated nonchalance. "Nothing but low-grade curses near the perimeter," he murmured. "Annoying, but hardly worth worrying about. Still..." His gaze darkened slightly as it met hers again. "This kekkai... It's muddling the reach of my Six Eyes. Whatever's deeper inside is obscured."
Kaoru turned her head to study him as he spoke, her brows knitting slightly. She had to admit—grudgingly—that when he put in some effort, he seemed more like the prodigy she'd been told to fear and less like the irritating fool she'd been enduring for days.
Her brow furrowed as she held his gaze. "If the barrier is this strong, it's likely powered by—" she began, her tone steady.
"—The Three-Star Spear," Seijiro finished for her, shifting so that his height allowed him to peer down at her with faint amusement, as if testing her reaction.
Or maybe, her leadership.
Kaoru frowned thoughtfully, placing a hand on her hip as her other fingers brushed her chin. He was likely right; the spear had to be the source of such a powerful kekkai. "This is Hattori territory and they're already suffering from this kekkai. We can't complicate things." She gave him a flat look. "We scout the perimeter and look for a weak spot. Rushing in gets us killed."
"Rushing in gets us the spear," Seijiro shot back with a scoff, followed by a dismissive laugh. "Why waste our time wandering around while the spear stays in there, guarded by only minor curses?" He gestured at the mist with a lazy wave of his hand. "End of discussion."
"It's a reckless plan. The barrier's too strong to be random," she said coolly. Her arms crossed, and she tilted her head just slightly to meet his gaze head-on. "If the Three-Star Spear is inside, then it's the anchor. Which means it's warded. Probably trapped. Maybe even cursed—"
"So dramatic," he interrupted incredulous, turning to face her fully.
"So impulsive," she replied.
Behind them, the guards shifted. Rensuke's face twitched slightly, like he'd heard this argument before. Harunobu remained utterly motionless, which for him was a sign of mounting irritation.
Kaoru turned toward the fog again, trying to ignore Seijiro's presence beside her or the way his cursed energy hummed static against her skin, the way his ego filled the space between them, too much, too loud, too close.
She felt him step closer.
"You're overthinking, Pretty Boy," he teased.
The words slid out of his mouth like they were meant to bruise. And they did.
Kaoru bristled. "And you're under-preparing," she snapped, not looking at him.
Her fingers twitched at her side. Just a little. Just enough that, as if responding to her mood, Nue growled low behind her. The air stirred, dust kicking up in a gust, straight into Seijiro's face. He coughed, again, swatted the air like it had personally offended him, narrowed his eyes at the shikigami, then back at Kaoru.
"Control your oversized chicken, Zenin-sama," he muttered as his fingers raked through his already unruly hair.
She arched a brow, her lips twitching in a smirk. "Why?" she said, almost sweet. "Don't tell me you're afraid of my bird."
Seijiro huffed, brushing the dust from his haori with exaggerated annoyance. "Afraid?" he repeated, a single brow arching as he leaned in closer. "Hardly. I'm more concerned by your excessive caution. I didn't think the great prodigy of the Zenin clan would be such an overthinker."
Kaoru's jaw tightened, but the faintest hint of a strained smile betrayed her irritation. "And here I thought you'd be grateful for caution," she replied. "I didn't expect the famed Gojo heir to have so little patience. Is that what they teach you? Rush in first, regret later?"
The smirk that followed was practiced, cruel, and entirely intentional. He stepped in again, not aggressive. Just... curious now. His eyes flicked to her cheekbone, then her collar, then to her mouth in a mocking gesture. She caught it; he knew she did, that was the whole point. "Only when I'm surrounded by people who take twenty minutes to name a direction."
Too close now. They both knew it, still neither of them flinched.
That was the problem.
Kaoru didn't step back even as his height forced her to tilt her chin up slightly to maintain their locked gaze. The angle was humiliating, and he was fully aware, but she refused to tilt her head any further than necessary. Let him lean. Let him gloat.
Damn him. Seijiro's smirk deepened and he crossed his arms, as though he'd cornered her. "You always this cautious, Zenin-sama?" he asked, voice softening, dangerously close to genuine. "Or is it just when I'm watching?"
Kaoru's lips curved, just slightly. She hated the faint sense of diminishment, but retreat wasn't an option. "Depends. You always this reckless, or is it just for getting my attention, Gojo-sama?"
That caught him off guard. "I wasn't trying to get your attention."
"Oh," she said. "Could've fooled me."
Seijiro blinked, baffled. The silence that followed had teeth.
Rensuke gave Seijiro the subtlest shake of his head. Don't. Harunobu didn't move, but Kaoru felt his stare drilling into the back of her neck like a warning.
Then, Seijiro tilted his head toward the fog. "Leadership," he said, tone saintly, "is confidence. But I suppose that's something new for someone who looks more like a maiden and less like a clan heir."
Kaoru bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to look away even as her pulse quickened. She knew exactly what he was doing—trying to rattle her, to assert dominance—and she hated how effective it was. But she had dealt all her life with men like him; this was no different than confronting her father.
"Leadership is also strategy," she answered, calm as steel. "But I suppose that doesn't matter to someone spoiled since birth who cares for no one but himself."
That one hit harder than she expected. His smirk froze in real time, only for a second, before returning sharper, thinner. They stood like that for a long beat, opposites in everything but equals in intensity.
Then—
"Fine," they said. At the same time. Matching tones, matching scowls, matching bruises to their pride.
As their words collided, their gazes snapped back to each other, mutual irritation passing between them. Kaoru's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smirk, and Seijiro's grin softened just slightly, as if acknowledging the absurdity of the moment.
Then Kaoru looked away first, only because she was tired of the sight of him. "Fine," she repeated, straightening her crimson sleeves. "We'll enter the barrier. But we do it my way."
Seijiro, on contrast, was still looking at her. "Finally, something we can agree on," he drawled, stretching his arms over his head with an air of smug satisfaction.
She ignored his tone; she had bigger things to hate. "My men know the region. I know the Hattori leader. And frankly, your diplomatic skills are... non-existent."
"Rude," he said. But not wrong. His own reputation—and that of the Gojo—was anything but diplomatic. "The Hattori, hmm? Allies of yours, were they not?"
"They are, at least on paper," she admitted, voice guarded. "The previous Hanzo Hattori is dead, yes, but the clan still has ties to the Zenin. If we enter with my forces up front, there's a chance we won't be immediately skewered. Your men take the center. You scan both flanks."
Seijiro's eyes narrowed slightly, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment before returning with sharper edges. "So your forces surround mine while I light the way. Convenient." He hummed thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping the mist again. "And I'm supposed to trust this doesn't end with me gutted in the dark?"
Kaoru smiled sweetly. "Think of it as... insurance."
His smirk returned, lazy and lopsided. "And what's to stop me from flipping the table and using your men as shields the second things get messy?"
She stepped in, just slightly. "Because you'd rather die than let me be right about the Gojo being all bastards."
His grin vanished. There was a beat of silence, too long. Both of them knew the plan made sense; both of them hated that it depended from the other.
"Unebliavable," Seijiro muttered, under his breath, but he didn't argue as he stomped away from her, cursing the kami under his breath.
Kaoru, smirking, turned toward Harunobu, who had been standing nearby with his usual air of judgmental dread. "Are you sure, Kaoru-sama?" he asked softly, voice low enough to pass for wind. "The Hattori haven't spoken to us in over a year. If they see us as hostiles—"
"We'll know," Kaoru said, curt. "Seijiro Gojo's reckless, but his eyes see everything. Makes it difficult to catch him off guard."
Harunobu didn't flinch. "And if he throws us to the wolves?"
Kaoru's gaze flicked sideways, toward the other heir. Seijiro was conferring with Rensuke, hands in his sleeves, mouth still twisted in that horrible little smirk like he knew he was being watched. He looked at her, briefly, then looked away like it meant nothing. But it had felt like something.
"He won't," Kaoru said.
Harunobu's frown deepened. "How can you be so sure?"
Kaoru hesitated. How do I know? she thought, irritated by the lack of a concrete answer rooted in logic. "I just know," she replied, brushing past him without waiting for a reply.
Behind her, Harunobu exhaled through his nose and followed. He'd learned long ago that Kaoru often didn't make decisions based on certainty. And if this was a gamble, then she had already accepted the consequences.
Meanwhile, across the clearing, Rensuke leaned in close to Seijiro, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're putting us in Zenin territory. Are you sure about this, Seijiro-sama?"
"The spear is inside," Seijiro replied evenly, his eyes fixed on the misty kekkai at the horizon. "And this is the only way forward."
"And the formation?" Rensuke pressed. "If they turn on us—"
"They won't," he snapped.
Rensuke raised a brow. "How can you be so sure?"
Seijiro didn't answer right away. How do I know? he wondered, feeling an unfamiliar irritation gnawing at him. He scrunched his nose noticing that his eyes had drifted—unbidden—toward Kaoru again. She was speaking to Harunobu. Sharply, like always, with her sleeves that swayed with the motion, crimson against the gray light. She looked confident, unbothered, like she hadn't spent the last days being insulted, challenged, and undermined.
He didn't trust it, but kami, it was impressive. That nerve, the way she moved like she didn't need permission. He didn't know why, but something in the way she carried herself so prideful told him she wouldn't betray him.
"I just know," he muttered, flicking a hand dismissively as he turned toward the fog.
Because for better or worse, he was sure she wasn't bluffing.
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
The two heirs stepped forward in tandem, standing side by side. Not by design, just bad timing and similar mindset.
Kaoru moved with the poised rigidity of someone who had been told her whole life to stand still and speak with purpose or they won't listen. She didn't fidget, just let her eyes swept the group, briefly meeting the eyes of a few Gojo sorcerers before lingering on Seijiro at her side for the briefest of moments. Seijiro, by comparison, looked like he'd barely gotten out of bed with his haori slipping from one shoulder and his white hair falling across his forehead like it had lost a battle. Smirk fully loaded. Eyes half-lidded. He looked, Kaoru thought, like someone who'd slept through every etiquette lesson and still managed to come out smug.
She stepped forward first. "We proceed cautiously," she said, voice steady and carrying enough authority to silence the murmurs around her. "Zenin formation will take front and rear—"
"—while Gojo the center," Seijiro cut in smoothly sliding effortlessly into her cadence, stepping forward half a pace to align with her just to annoy. "Which means we'll rely on your people not to collapse under pressure so my Six Eyes can watch both flanks," he added, hands clasped behind his back like this was some kind of formal parade.
Kaoru didn't look at him, but her brow twitched; he'd timed it perfectly. "The Hattori clan may still hold sway in these woods," she continued, voice calm, though the faintest irritation crept in as Seijiro shifted beside her again. "If they choose to engage—"
"—unlikely, but not impossible," sure enough Seijiro interjected, flashing a smile that made at least three Zenin sorcerers visibly tense. "But sure, let's pretend we're that lucky."
She gave him a look, the kind that should have turned him to stone. Instead, he tilted his head and offered a smile, lazy and bright, like he hadn't just earned a dozen death glares from her faction. Kaoru resisted the urge to throw him into the nearest tree but annoyingly, his observations weren't wrong. Just… incessant.
And yet, the men were listening. Even hers. Especially hers.
She continued. "If they choose to intervene, we do not engage unless provoked. And only on our command, no—"
"—no solo theatrics," Seijiro added pointedly, his eyes briefly flicking toward a particularly tense Zenin sorcerer. "No one dies being the hero. Not on my watch."
Kaoru's jaw tensed. Kami, does he ever shut up? she thought, before exhaling sharply. "Discipline," she declared, measured, directed at him, mostly. "No one acts without explicit orders from either of us. Any deviation could lead to chaos, or—"
"—or we all die beautifully," Seijiro added, his smirk sharpening just slightly. He turned to the men, his voice dropping a degree. "Wouldn't that be romantic, Zenin-sama?"
Some of the younger sorcerers cracked nervous smiles. His casual irreverence grated on her nerves, but she couldn't deny that his words had the desired effect; the men, both Gojo and Zenin, seemed slightly less on edge, the weight of his jest breaking through the tension.
Kaoru didn't thank him. But she didn't interrupt, either.
She stepped forward again, hands clasped behind her back. "Leave your grudges here," she said, eyes cutting through the group. "Once inside the barrier, we operate as one unit. Or not at all."
And for once, Seijiro didn't have a follow-up. He just tilted his head, watching the way she moved, precise, deliberate, used to holding a room's attention. She wasn't bluffing, and he hated that it worked.
"Interesting," he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, he folded his arms, eyes scanning the group with an almost lazy calm. "You heard the prodigy," he said louder. "Don't be stupid. Don't die. Let's get the spear, and try not to embarrass ourselves, shall we?"
The men exchanged glances, and for the first time, a faint murmur of agreement rippled through both delegations. The hostility, though not gone, had eased.
Seijiro turned, lips still curled. "We work well together, don't we?" he said, looking down at her like he already knew it would piss her off.
Kaoru side-eyed him like he was a splinter in her brain. "Let's hope your vision is more useful than your commentary, Gojo-sama."
He quirked a brow, his smirk returning with full force. "Let's hope your plans survive first contact with reality, Zenin-sama."
They didn't look away, not at first. Then they turned—together—back to the assembled sorcerers. "Move out," they said in unison.
A beat of silence. Then boots moved, cursed energy sparked, and for the first time since this whole mess began, the two clans marched under one banner.
Even if no one believed in it. Especially not the two in front.
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
The descent into the kekkai began in silence. Not the tactical kind but that itchy, skin-crawling silence you get before something breaks. The kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of one's neck stand on end and says: You shouldn't be here.
Fog thickened around them like wet cotton, the air turned metallic and the trees groaned.
The group pressed deeper into themist that surrounded the Iga region, their formation holding steady as planned. Kaoru led from the front, crimson sleeves cutting clean lines through the grey, while Seijiro rode in the center, exactly where he'd agreed to be and exactly where it made sense for his Six Eyes.
The crackle of cursed energy had long became a constant hum around them. The forest felt alive, small curses—crawling, slithering things that barely took form—darted out from the fog, almost mockery of what they used to deal with. These minor nuisances had been dispatched quickly by the lower-ranking sorcerers covering their flank, yet the further they ventured, the stronger the resistance became.
By now, even the lesser curses seemed emboldened, feeded by the unnatural density of the kekkai's cursed energy.
Kaoru kept her focus ahead, but she couldn't shake the awareness of Seijiro's gaze on the back of her skull, drifting now and again with that insufferable mix of amusement and political paranoia. Always watching her every move as if he expected her to stab him in the ribs, just so he could scream to the world, See? I told you so, the Zenin are the worst.
This time, though, something felt different. His stare was focused, deliberately so. She didn't have to look back to feel him slow his horse, raising a hand to signal a silent stop.
He must have seen something.
The group halted as if on a single collective breath, and the silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the shuffle of boots on earth and the faint rustle of foliage.
Her eyes swept their surroundings, her pulse quickening. Something was wrong. She dismounted first, her boots crunching softly against the forest floor; Harunobu was already moving, katana drawn catching the flebile light faltering through the canopy of the forest, eyes sweeping the underbrush. He didn't ask if something was wrong. He knew it was. If Kaoru was concerned, there was every reason for him to be ready without her asking.
Kaoru adjusted her ponytail—ritual, focus—and dropped into a half-kneel. With a single seal, the Divine Dogs flared into being: black and white, snarling softly, cursed energy rippling from her shadow. She ran her hand over the black one's head before sending them forward into the haze, watching their figure disappeare into the fog.
Seijiro saw the glow first, then the shapes, faster than even his eyes liked. He raised a hand, fingers twitching slightly as his Six Eyes worked to dissect every single shifting energies around them
At his side, Rensuke adjusted the tantō strapped to his back, his narrowed eyes scanning between the front and rear of the group. "The Zenin heir summoned two shikigami. Wolf-type," he reported in a cautious voice. Gone was the lazy edge of his posture, as it always did when a fight was about to take place.
"Good instinct," Seijiro murmured to himself, his hand didn't lower. "He's not wrong to summon them. He's just early, or maybe he's just always this early."
"What do you see, Seijiro-sama?" Rensuke's asked, tugging his black mask up to cover half of his face.
Seijiro squinted through the fog. His tone dropped. "Too much." A beat later, he dismounted in one fluid movement, tossing his haori onto the saddle without ceremony and reaching back to adjust his disheveled hair, the loose ponytail falling messily over his shoulders. The chill didn't seem to bother him. "They're coming. From all sides." He turned to the Zenin in the rear, grinning. "Eyes open. Watch your flanks and try not to get in my way."
Kaoru caught his movement. His gaze snapped forward and their eyes locked across the clearing—hers steady, his focused. She nodded once. He smirked in return.
Then the swarm hit.
The stench of decay filled the air as the curses came in waves. They didn't shriek, that would've been merciful; wings that sounded a dissonant hum like bones grinding, legs like blades slicing through branches as they closed in on the group from every direction. Locusts curses—each the size of a dog, some larger, too many and too fast. While individually weak, the number of them created a disorienting and overwhelming force, moving like a living tide, darting and swarming with erratic but coordinated precision.
The sorcerers of both delegations moved into action. The first clash was fast, steel on carapace, cursed energy snapping in place around weapons and limbs. A Zenin sorcerer launched a series of punches, reducing five to ashes. A Gojo fighter followed with an area shockwave that shattered another dozen momentarily.
It wasn't enough.
The swarm bent and shifted, coming back around in arcs, looking for weaknesses. One Gojo man misstepped, his cursed energy waning as a locust latched onto his arm, mandibles slicing into muscle as he screamed in pain.
Rensuke was there a second later descending from the canopy, concealing his cursed energy. His blade cleaned through the curse and air, blood spattered the ground as he pulled the wounded man behind him. "Get up," he snapped, not looking back. "Or die quiet."
The mist swallowed most of the sounds, but not the screams and roars of cursed locusts piercing through, reaching the front. Somewhere behind her, someone yelled for backup as Kaoru moved. Clean, fast, relentless. Her kosode billowed in arcs of crimson as she stepped over blood-slick roots and one broken Gojo body, Harunobu was at her side, his katana raised and infused of cursed energy, taking down any cursed thing stupid enough to get near her.
Another curse lunged. Harunobu cut it down before it even reached her personal space. Kaoru never looked back; she trusted him to keep pace as he always had, the kind of trust you didn't have to look back to feel.
In one swift motion, Kaoru drew her katana and plunged it into her own shadow. The blade vanished into the dark to the hilt—and erupted from the shadow of a crouching locust a few paces ahead onto the Gojo sorcerer that had called for backup, skewering it through the chest. It screamed once before it burst in a hiss of cursed energy.
She pulled the sword back through the ground, wiping the blood from the blade without ceremony. Cheap trick. Always worked with brainless curses.
"Next," she muttered, already moving again.
Harunobu closed distance with her again, katana piercing through two locusts in a single arc.
Kaoru spotted a group of Zenin sorcerers isolated near the treeline, their formation broken. One of them screamed as two locust curses pinned him to the ground, their jagged legs slicing into his flesh and mandibles tearing hungrily. Blood quickly pooled around him, staining the damp earth. She formed a quick seal and pointed toward the group and the white Divine Dog at her side merged into its shadow; seconds later It reappeared beneath a fallen tree on the far edge of the clearing, jaws clamping down on two curses pinning the Zenin sorcerer to the dirt. One of the sorcerers, clutching his bleeding wound, glanced toward Kaoru with a quick look of gratitude.
She gave a curt nod in return, focus already back on the battlefield. She didn't need thanks, she needed this to end. Her mind was already moving forward, scanning the fractured line of the formation. It had split—unsurprising. The Gojo and Zenin fighters still clung to their own sides, covering their own comrades, refusing to act like a single unit. Predictable. Stupid. Dangerous.
And then—Seijiro.
Kaoru caught sight of him through the fog, and for one brief second, she forgot to be angry.
Seijiro moved like he'd done this a thousand times before, like he was thinking through a problem, unbothered while people screamed and bled around him. His haori had been discarded somewhere along the way, white hair unbound and slighty damp. He walked slowly, lazily even, two fingers raised skyward in a sigil that projected his famous invisible and impenetrable barrier around him.
Curses hurled themselves at him: none reached. Infinity shimmered around his shape as they slowered, hovering useless just out of reach. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a steely focus that was almost terrifying; he was effective, disturbingly so, but he fought like the battlefield was his disposable playground.
Kaoru watched as he exhaled with his unsettling calm—and a wave of blue cursed energy rippled outward, spiraling inside out in a gravitational pull the swarm ahead of him, reducing them into a mess of distorted angles.
And the trees behind them.
And half the godsdamned hillside behind the forest.
Another blast. Another five curses gone; also two pines, a boulder, and—Kaoru's eye twitched dangerously—a wounded Zenin sorcerer's sleeve, narrowly missed.
"Fucking idiot," she muttered under her breath biting her lip in frustration.
Harunobu's katana sliced another locust out of the air just above her head. She didn't duck.
"This is all collateral to him," she spat, watching another of Seijiro's blasts tear through a chunk of forest dangerously close to where two wounded men were crawling for cover—one Zenin, one Gojo.
Both bleeding. Both screaming under the onslaught of locust curses tearing into their flesh. Blood soaked their clothes as the curses feasted, mandibles slicing through muscle and sinew. Her eyes flicked back to Seijiro; they were right there, less than ten paces from him, close enough to see. He had seen them,.he had to have seen them.
And yet, he didn't look, didn't turn, didn't lift a finger. His focus remained locked on the swarm ahead, his cursed energy gathering for another blast, oblivious—or worse... Indifferent. Those men needed help, and Seijiro was prioritizing the fight over their lives.
Kaoru stared, disbelieving as her pulse thrummed in her ears. You saw them. Are you... ignoring them? she thought, stunned. You won't do anything? She sucked in a breath between her teeth as her stomach turned, and a second later her voice cut loud through the air. "'Nobu," she snapped.
She had seen enough. If Seijiro wouldn't act, she would.
Across the clearing, Seijiro stood still in the haze, cursed energy humming low in his skull. The fog still pulsed around him, painted blue by the low glow of his cursed technique, and his head throbbed behind the eyes—overuse. Again. But the Six Eyes did their job.
The battlefield unfolded like a grid: cursed energy lines, points of impact, trajectories. Predictable, if one could process fast enough; and he could. In his mind, the perfect angle for his next attack materialized, a sweeping arc-strike to obliterate a large portion of the swarm and buy their forces precious time to exorcise the remainings.
And to his left—screaming.
One voice, then another, raw and ugly, and already losing vital strength. His gaze flicked that way, just a reflex. Two sorcerers: one Gojo, one Zenin, both pinned and sprawled in the dirt, their bodies writhing beneath a wave of locust curses. They covered them as mandibles tore flesh from bone in a sickening, rhythmic motions. Blood—too much—pooled beneath them. The Gojo's eyes were already unfocused, the Zenin was still twitching, but just barely.
Seijiro could reach them, probably, but they were dead. Not yet, but soon, there was no saving that much blood. His jaw locked but he didn't move. A second of hesitation, the kind that would've gotten a less famous sorcerer killed, before he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus on the real battle. His expression didn't change. Mercy, he thought. Strange word. Better to let them go fast.
"Too bad," he murmured under his breath, closing his eyes briefly before summoning his cursed energy.
In the palm of his hand, a radiant blue sphere began to form, pulsating with gravitational force. He lifted it, channeling the energy—and just as he was about to blast it, there she was: Kaoru, crimson and far too close, just at the edge of his damn line of fire.
Seijiro watched it all unfold in slow motion. Oh. Slowly, very slowly, he adjusted the angle, just a few degrees wider. It would still hit the swarm. It might hit her, too. A Little cruel smirk formed on his lips. How tragic.
But hey, whoops. Not like he meant to, but she had no business surviving that blast.
And then, with an expression so neutral it bordered on smug, he let the cursed energy crackle between his fingers.
Goodbye, Zenin prodigy.
Seijiro released his energy with a final flick of his wrist, sending a Blue that cleared the locusts in his path. The forest ruptured as the blast roared through trees, curses, earth, an entire section of the battlefield flattened in a second, drawn away by his Blue. Sorcerers dove out of range, one Gojo retainer nearly lost an arm.
And Kaoru, just as the blast approached her—
—disappeared.
A white flash exploded at the edge of his vision: Kaoru's Rabbit Escape technique.
For one ridiculous second, gone was Kaoru and the battlefield bloomed into shikigami rabbits. Dozens of them, translucent and absurd, kicking up dirt and cursed energy in wild, fleeting hops.
Seijiro blinked, stunned, just as he realized her intention.
Shit.
She used his shadow; Kaoru materialized in front of him, emerging from the shadow.he was projecting on the ground under his feet, furious, katana already mid-arc. He pivoted just in time to feel her cursed energy rush past him—sharp, pissed-off, focused. She didn't even look at him, just dove into the mess he'd left behind, slicing into the locusts gnawing on the sorcerers he'd abandoned.
The first curse burst on contact with her cursed-energy infused katana. The second clipped her, tearing through her kosode and drawing blood; her shoulder shook but she just dropped straight to her knees beside the two dying sorcerers like she hadn't just dodged a blast strong enough to turn half the forest into powder.
Seijiro didn't move, he just turned more annoyed than anything, watching her try to save them. That idiot, he thought. He actually tried.
His gaze slipped briefly to the clearing where she had been standing: flattened earth, blackened roots, scorched trees. Blue would've flattened her too, if she hadn't moved. His smirk twitched, his wrist still tingled from the force of his last blast.
She could have died. He knew that. He'd meant that.
Yet, she was still breathing, still standing, still Kaoru Zenin; bleeding, brilliant, surrounded by fucking rabbits shikigami like a cursed fairytale gone completely sideways.
Seijiro's fingers curled unconsciously. What was that feeling? Discomfort? No—annoyance.
Kaoru hadn't even looked at his blast. Had she even seen it coming her way? Had she even cared about the fact that he was actively trying to get rid of her? No. She had just cared about trying to save those two already-dead sorcerers.
For a second, guilt crept up the back of his spine; not because he tried to kill her, but because she hadn't acted like he expected of a Zenin, like someone worth killing. He shoved the guilt down hard and kicked mental dirt over the grave; she'd thrown herself into a death zone for two men already half-digested, she deserved the wound, not the guilt. He should feel right, instead, here he was feeling like a hypocrite with blood on his boots.
What kind of prodigy does that? No—worse, what kind of idiot heir does it?
Seijiro had spent his entire life being told his survival mattered, that he was the asset, the legacy, the symbol. He who had been taught to calculate risk not in lives but in distance from his skin—he had just watched Kaoru Zenin fling herself into death for two already-dying men.
No, he thought. The only thing I should feel guilty about, is missing the chance to kill him.
He dragged a hand through his whitehair, cursing inwardly, smirk twitching back into place like an armor. The real mistake, he decided, was ever thinking she was a prodigy. She wasn't. She was stupid and fragile and emotional and naive. A spoiled courtly prince with something to prove and—
And ugh, fine. Maybe I tried to kill the only person who's actually trying to collaborate. Figures.
"Let's call it poor coordination," he murmured, almost amused with himself as he wiped the dirt from his palm on the sleeve of his black kosode. "Or... fate."
The fog settled slowly around them, revealing a battlefield emptied of curses and littered with the wreckage of their clash. Sorcerers from both sides limped through the aftermath, tending to wounds in the hush that follows when too many people have almost died at once.
Straightening, Seijiro dragged his gaze away from Kaoru, breath steady as his eyes roamed the battlefield one last time, ensuring there were no lingering threats; only when he was satisfied did he let his shoulders relax with a small exhale, as if he had just done everyone a favor.
And then—thunder. No, footsteps. Kaoru's. Apparently, she wasn't yet feeling diplomatic.
She stormed toward him stomping her feet, crimson sleeves flaring behind her like war banners. Her black eyes locked on his, murderous, like she was preparing to take his head. Seijiro didn't even brace for it, just tilted his head and patiently waited to be yelled at.
Kaoru stopped just short of him, her katana still bloodied, drawn and trembling in her grip. "You—absolute—fuckwit," she spat, voice shaking with restrained rage.
No preamble. Just straight to verbal assassination.
Seijiro blinked. "Beg your pardon?"
She bit her lips, raising her voice, gesturing toward the two dead sorcerers on the ground. "You ignored two dying men. You were right there, and you ignored them! One of them yours, Gojo-sama," she hissed, her anger worsening as Seijiro looked at her genuinely confused. "Kami, one of them yours! Do you even know his name?"
The two stood toe-to-toe as Seijiro's gaze followed her gesture without much urgency. The corpses: yes, still dead. He settled back on her face, impassibile like she was the one being unresonable. "They were already dead," he stated flatly. "Saving them would have wasted time and cursed energy. That blast," he added, nodding toward the now-cleared and obliterated battlefield, "saved the others. Including you."
"You could have tried!" Kaoru shot back, voice rising.
"I did," he said dryly. "I saved the ones who weren't already halfway into the afterlife."
"By blasting half the forest while those two were—"
"—were already dead!" Seijiro now snapped, his smirk vanishing. "Don't waste my time pretending your tantrum is grief, it's entitlement."
Her breath caught and her face cracked just a little at the edge. "Try saying it one more time," she hissed, stepping in and lifting her chin in defiance. "I dare you."
He mirrored her motion and stepped in to face her, lowering his eyes on her; she didn't move at all. "I will, Zenin-sama, because it's the truth. You're not even angry because they died, you're angry because it made you feel helpless. You bought them maybe ten extra seconds of screaming, and for what? So you could feel righteous about it?"
Kaoru's voice cracked. "So I could do something. Unlike you."
Seijiro scoffed at that. "You want something? You want to know what really would be stupid?" his voice rose with a brethless chuckle, matching her fury. "If I die in this mission because of your foolish act. You're the only one half these people trust, especially the ones I don't trust. Do you think I have the luxury of not surviving this mission?"
Her voice came quieter now. "Then maybe you shouldn't have tried to kill me."
Seijiro shrugged, a little too fast to be innocent. Ah. So he noticed after all.
"Didn't know you were there," he lied, as smoothly as he'd been trained to lie since he could talk.
Kaoru laughed, short and humorless. "You have the Six Eyes! Isn't that why your father brag about you being the honored one?"
Oh. That struck a nerve. Seijiro froze; his icy eyes didn't move, but something behind them stilled. And then—like a bowstring—his hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of her crimson kosode. One almost effortless tug and Kaoru stumbled forward, off balance, onto the tips of her boots, barely upright as he pulled her flush to him, face dangerously inches from his.
Not smug this time.
Angry.
Kaoru stared up at him, startled not much by the gesture but by the fury behind it. Her blade didn't rise, she just froze—eyes wide, breath caught—long enough for him to see it, and that was enough.
Harunobu reacted instantly, stepping forward with his katana lowered and ready, eyes locked on Seijiro in warning. Across the clearing, Rensuke mirrored him, one brow raised like he was already sick of this conversation. The surrounding sorcerers, both Gojo and Zenin, froze in place, their earlier murmurs turning into a hushed tension; the scene between their leaders played out like a private war, but the ripples of it were felt by all. Some exchanged wary glances, others whispered quietly, speculating on what would happen next while treating their injuries.
This wasn't political anymore; this was something personal.
"What if you'd died, huh?" Seijiro spat, voice low. "What then? Who's going to leads your men? The next idiot with a Zenin surname? You think I want to explain to your men that you died because you tried to save a Gojo sorcerer?"
"I can handle myself just fine," she said, but the conviction had cracked, her throat tightening.
"You're bleeding, you clearly can't!" he snapped, frustration rising with every word. "You threw yourself at two corpses and nearly became a third."
Kaoru's eyes widened slightly at that. She hadn't considered it, not fully, and the realization stung more than she cared to admit; the last thing she needed was giving credit to his words, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew there was truth in them.
"You made your point, now let me go, Gojo-sama." She raised a hand to push him away, gripping his wrist tightly.
Seijiro held his ground, leaning closer to better deliever his point. "Don't give me that proud martyr face," his grip tightened just slightly, and his cold gaze bore into hers. "You're not a tragic prince, Zenin-sama. You're an heir. You lead, you don't die pretty in someone else's place. Pull yourself together, Pretty Boy."
Kaoru's eyes locked onto Seijiro's as her next words died in her throat. And that should've been the final blow. Her jaw tightened as her grip on his wrist steadied; she opened her mouth again but stopped. Not because she agreed, but because her chest suddenly felt… wrong.
Loose.
Her bindings.
The bindings that concealed her secret. She couldn't feel them anymore.
Oh, no.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, panic bubbling beneath her fury. Had it come undone? The wound, the movements, Seijiro's grip on her kosode—oh no. Was it visible? Her gaze flicked down just enough to catch it: the fabric disturbed, the knot strained, the faint gap, just a sliver of bare skin between blood-damp kosode folds and some very unmistakable shapes that did not screamed "man".
He'll see, she thought, horror flooding her veins.
Her eyes snapped back up to Seijiro's, always scanning, always calculating with his damn Six Eyes. And sure enough, as he tried to prodess the change in her demeanor, his gaze followed her downward toward the gap in her kosode—almost imperceptibly, automatic, in a slow curious movement.
Oh hell, no—
Her face burned, the flush rising unbidden and infuriating. Without thinking, her palm cracked across his hand and the sound echoed across the clearing.
Like karma.
Seijiro quickly released her, more stunned than injured, blinking like someone had thrown water in his face. Confusion flashed across his face, softening his earlier frustration as he tried and failed to process her retreat.
Kaoru recoiled fast, yanking her robe shut with jerky, graceless movements and shaky hands.
Harunobu was at her side instantly, placing himself between them with all the quiet dignity of a man ready to commit murder under protocol. "Kaoru-sama," he said quietly, his tone a little too insistent, "we should assess the injured."
She didn't meet anyone's eyes. Her face flushed, her chest tight, her hands fumbling at the knot like it was a lifeline. She cleared her throat to appear composed. "We'll discuss this later." Her voice, when it came, was lower. More masculine. Barely hers. "Reassess the injured. Secure the area. We camp here for the night."
She turned quickly, her retreat as hasty as it was dignified, her men closing ranks around her as she disappeared into their midst. Harunobu lingered a moment longer, the eyes fixed on Seijiro more dangerous than the katana still in his hand, before following his master.
Seijiro kept staring after her like the answer might come walking back out of the trees, eyes squinting and a faint frown blooming onto his lips. His hand was still half-raised where he had grabbed her. His wrist still stung faintly.
Did that really just happen?
That had definitely been a slap. And okay, maybe he'd definitely deserved it.
The way the Zenin's heir face had flushed left him unbalanced, and for a moment—just a moment—he'd been more curious than annoyed.
Across the clearing, Rensuke stepped beside him, eyes half-lidden, voice dry. "You're letting him walk away with that? That's a first."
Seijiro blinked, slow, still staring. "He hit me." he said, incredulous. "Slapped me in front our men and ran off. Like I was the one being unreasonable."
"Seijiro-sama. You grabbed him in front of two clans. Threatened him. Nearly undressed him. And—" Rensuke pointed, dryly and tired, "—tried to kill him earlier. You do remember that part, right?"
That finally earned a reaction. Seijiro turned toward him sharply and flinched, just barely visible across his cheek, before he scowled. "I didn't know he was there."
"You did," the shinobi cut in, calm as ever. "Arc radius forty-five degrees. Impact zone placed exactly where Zenin-sama was crouched, mid-rescue. I checked. Your trajectory could've shifted left but it didn't." A pause. Then, he added, "Don't worry, no one noticed except me. "
Seijiro scowled.
"I'm not criticizing, Seijiro-sama I'm just trying to keep you alive," Rensuke tilted his head. "If you're going to feign innocence, at least have the decency to not smirk about it, and next time make it less obvious."
"I wasn't smirking," Seijiro replied, indignant. "He was going to get himself killed for a corpse. The oh-so-perfect Zenin heir's not supposed to do that," he said quietly, almost to himself.
That—yeah. That was the problem.
"He was doing his job," Rensuke continued. "You were doing… something."
Seijiro turned away from him, half amused, half offended. "Why are you taking his side?" he muttered dragging a hand through his already-messy hair.
"I don't like him, if that helps," the shinobi shrugged. "I'm just pointing out that you tried to kill someone who was actively saving your clan."
"It would've been clean," Seijiro muttered.
Rensuke stared at him.
"But I wasn't aiming to kill," the Gojo heir added, very unconvincingly.
Another pause. Then Rensuke spoke, with that same maddening calm. "You're upset because he tried to save one of yours."
"I'm not upset."
"You're upset," the shinobi continued, ignoring him. "And now half your men think you got rejected with a slap."
Seijiro scoffed, his mouth opened like he might protest, something smug, something flippant, but nothing came. Instead, he looked down at his palm, flexing his fingers like maybe they could explain it better than he could.
Right. The slap.
His brow furrowed slightly as if trying to remember how the last twenty seconds had gone so thoroughly sideways. "He…" He trailed off, nose wrinkling slightly in disbelief. "Did you see that, Rensuke? The... blush?"
"...The what?" Rensuke asked, sounding like he regretted asking.
Seijiro turned slightly, squinting through the trees where she had vanished behind a wall of red sleeves and Zenin scowls. "The prodigy," he said, gesturing vaguely. "He—he blushed. Like some… bashful palace maiden."
Rensuke made a neutral sound, the kind that sounded like judgment if you knew him long enough.
"Don't give me that look," Seijiro said, eyes narrowing. "It was very obvious. Right after the slap. Or right before... Somewhere in there."
The shinobi's skepticism became more evident. "Perhaps it was the bloodloss," he offered blandly.
"No, no," Seijiro snapped, spinning on him. "I know the difference between a blush and a hemorrhage. I mean—I didn't blush, right? Did I blush?" He turned, vaguely defensive and horrified now.
Silence stretched between them. A few Gojo sorcerers lingered nearby, pretending not to listen with the kind of devotion only seasoned eavesdroppers had.
Seijiro looked down at the ground, fingers tapping idly against the hilt of his katana, irritated. "The Zenin prodigy. All righteous fury, screaming at me like a half-drowned noble," he muttered, "then the second things heat up—he just… blushes. It was... It was..."
Rensuke prompted, curious. "It was?"
"Pathetic. It was pathetic."
Seijiro glanced at his men who were now pretending to be very interested in their wounds or weapons, then rubbed the back of his neck, scowling again. Kaoru'd run into a storm he'd created—and nearly died—for a pair of men he'd already written off, one of them his... And somehow, she was the one who walked away humiliated?
The way she'd slapped him so fast it hadn't felt like anger—it had felt like fear. No, that didn't make sense. Kaoru Zenin should be the only one not afraid of him. He didn't like that. Not the slap, not the fear. And especially not the fact that he felt… weirdly responsible for it.
"Maybe... I overdid it," he murmured under his breath, running a hand through his hair and ruffling it further.
"You think?" Rensuke deadpanned.
A beat.
"I think—" Seijiro said again, more to himself than anyone else, a small genuine smirk tugging at his lips. "—I've figured out the Zenin prodigy's little secret."
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
Kaoru paced.
More accurately: she stomped the cramped tent like a caged animal, barefoot, fuming, and radiating so much heat she could've boiled water. The fire outside cast shadows across the canvas walls, slicing her expression into restless flashes: mortification, fury, disbelief. Her long black hair, usually bound, now hung in damp after a clean up attempt by Harunobu, tangled sheets down her back, clinging to her cheeks and neck.
Her chest bindings were back in place, tighter this time. Too tight. She felt them with every breath, every shift of her spine but the discomfort was useful. It gave her something else to focus on, something immediate, concrete, excruciatingly controllable. Unlike, say, the memory of nearly flashing her secret to her mortal enemy while shouting in his stupid face about morality and leadership.
She paused mid-step. Closed her eyes. Let her forehead drop against one tent post with a thud.
Outside, the camp sat in brittle silence. Five dead and just as much wounded, and on top of that, the aftershocks of her and the Gojo heir's spat had left both delegations in a quiet that wasn't reverent so much as stunned. Even Seijiro had been subdued, well, his version of subdued: scowling into his rice bowl like it owed him money and flicking death glares at her every time someone coughed.
She hadn't looked at him, not once. Which, of course, meant she hadn't stopped thinking about him for hours.
"Damn it," she muttered, dragging both hands down her face. "Damn him."
Harunobu stood just inside the flap of the tent, arms folded and back against the pole like a man waiting for the rain to pass. When Kaoru finally turned to glare at him, flushed and visibly spiraling, he didn't even blink.
"Do you think he noticed?" she blurted, the words escaping in a rush, voice a little higher-pitched than intended.
Harunobu didn't ask who or what. Instead, he tilted his head back and sighed through his nose. "Kaoru-sama," he said, calm as moonlight, "if the young Gojo heir discerned your identity from a half-second of neckline panic, allow me to offer my immediate and honorable seppuku."
Kaoru groaned and buried her face in her hands. "You're not funny, 'Nobu."
"I assure you, that wasn't intended as humor." His mouth twitched just a little.
She gave him a lethal glare from between her fingers and flopped onto a cushion, muttering something about cursed bloodlines and cosmic humiliation. Harunobu didn't move, but his gaze followed her with the measured precision of a man cataloging symptoms of something far more troublesome than war.
"You want to talk about it," he said, not asking.
Kaoru let her head thunk back against the tent wall. "Not really."
Harunobu waited. Kaoru lasted three seconds.
"I made a scene," she mumbled chewing at her thumbnail, furious at the nervous habit and more furious that it wasn't helping. "I lost my temper. In front of everyone. I sounded like some spoiled clan boy throwing a tantrum about honor and duty and—ugh. He looked. Down. He paused."
Harunobu finally pushed off the post, stepping forward. "Kaoru-sama," he said, tone slipping into that calm, slow cadence that meant a lecture was coming, whether she wanted it or not, but that she desperately needed to hear, "if I may offer some perspective?"
"No," she muttered. "But you're going to offer it anyway."
Pushing off the tree, Harunobu moved closer. "For all his arrogance—and believe me, he has it in excess—Gojo-sama wasn't entirely wrong."
Kaoru rolled her eyes and turned her back to him with a huff. "I know, I was pathetic and—"
"That's not what I meant," Harunobu interrupted firmly. "You risked your life for two men who were already beyond saving," he said, voice low, not unkind. "And I say this with all respect, Kaoru-sama It was reckless, foolish, and entirely beneath you."
Her shoulders slumped, her expression shifting into a small, guilty pout as she half-turned to face him. "I know," she admitted quietly. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not saying you were wrong to care," he added. "But you're the future head of our clan. If something happens to you, there is no one to replace you. There's no glory in dying first."
Harunobu gestured for her to kneel, his stern expression resigning just a fraction. Kaoru hesitated but complied, folding her legs beneath her as he knelt beside her and began redoing her ponytail, fingers tugging through the knots like someone who'd been doing this since she was small.
In fact, he had. Still did it every morning.
"But," he continued, tying off the knot, "you also reminded both clans that your title isn't ceremonial. You move first. You draw steel first. That matters."
Kaoru didn't reply for a long moment. Then, quietly: "He made me feel like an idiot."
"You have nothing to prove, Kaoru-sama," he added, voice quiet. "Not to your late mother, not to your father, not to the Zenin clan. And certainly not to him."
Kaoru tilted her head slightly, trying to catch his expression over her shoulder. Despite the small pout still on her lips, there was gratitude in her gaze. Harunobu was nothing if not her constant. "I'll keep that in mind. Anything else?"
The samurai tightened the last strand of her hair and stepped back, with and expression of wry amusement. "I'd like to avoid the indignity of finding myself agreeing with that arrogant heir of the Gojo clan again."
He extended a hand to help her up. She took it with only minimal grumbling.
Kaoru laughed softly, standing and brushing nonexistent dust from her kimono. "Duly noted. Seriously, 'Nobu, I don't know what I'd do without you."
Harunobu arched a brow, his composure unshaken by her attempt at flattery. "Likely get yourself killed in some misguided act of heroism, Kaoru-sama. And I'd have to drag your corpse back to the Zenin estate. I'd prefer not to. Now," he added, gesturing toward the campfire outside, "we should probably address the tension still radiating off our soldiers before someone, probably Gojo-sama, decides to settle it with a duel."
She smirked, brushing past him as she stepped outside into the misty night air. "Don't think I'm not grateful for your eternal vigilance."
"I wouldn't dare, Kaoru-sama," Harunobu called after her, shaking his head but allowing the faintest trace of fondness to break through his stoic exterior.
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
The delegation resumed their march at first light.
Not that it made a difference; the mist hadn't lifted, and the sun filtering through the fog was more rumor than reality. No glow, no warmth, just a vague, indifferent smear in the sky. The world remained a palette of white and grey, the horizon swallowed by clouds that clung to the earth like a bad omen. Still no curses; small mercies.
They moved in formation: boots crunching damp undergrowth, hooves squelching, the occasional snort from a horse or sigh from a human breaking the silence. It wasn't peace, it was prelude.
Seijiro rode near the center of the group. His gaze, however, was fixed squarely on Kaoru's back. Every so often, she glanced over her shoulder with the express purpose of glaring at him. Every time she caught him staring, her brows drew together like storm clouds and she turned back around, chin high, spine straight. Offended. As if she had any right to be offended.
The nerve.
Seijiro's frown had settled into his face hours ago and was beginning to feel permanent.
Eventually, Rensuke broke the silence. "Seijiro-sama," he said, voice low, tone flat, "you've been staring at the young Zenin for approximately eight ri. I'm beginning to worry for your jawline," he muttered. "Your face might freeze like that. Perhaps you should consider another expression."
Seijiro scoffed. "You think this is about a pout, Rensuke? This is righteous indignation. Principled indignation. I'm being stonewalled over a minor misunderstanding—" He gestured vaguely toward Kaoru. "I'm telling you, this cannot continue. A petty spat between men, and now I'm being punished with the silent treatment like some lovesick concubine? It's undignified. Look at our men. His men. They can't even meet our eyes without thinking we're lunatics! They'd all rather be anywhere else."
Rensuke, ever the picture of patience, allowed his master to vent without interruption. "You did say it yourself, Seijiro-sama," he replied smoothly. "You overstepped yesterday."
"That's not the point." Seijiro waved a hand as if swatting away common sense. "If you're angry, say it. Throw a punch, curse my name, I can take it. But this brooding silence? It's petty. It's beneath us."
"It's hard to throw a punch when your cursed technique makes it impossible," Rensuke quipped dryly.
"That's not—" Seijiro let out a sound between a groan and a sigh. "Fine. I'll fix it."
"Please don't," Rensuke said instantly.
But it was too late. The decision had been made. His gaze swept the mist-drenched woods, Six Eyes scanning for threats. No cursed signatures. The path was clear. Perfect. Time to act. "Hold formation," Seijiro said curtly, nudging his reins.
Rensuke gave a sigh that might have doubled as a prayer. "Of course, Seijiro-sama. I'll keep the formation intact."
Seijiro nudged his horse forward and began weaving through the line, ignoring the curious glances and the sudden stiffening of postures. He reached the front just in time to be met by Harunobu's glare, sharp, flat, and unwelcoming. The man's hand twitched instinctively near his katana at his sudden appearance beside Kaoru's horse.
Seijiro raised an unimpressed brow. Get over it, his expression seemed to say, wholly unimpressed, before turning his attention to Kaoru.
Then came the second glare, from Kaoru this time, which had slightly more dramatic flair, what with the high ponytail whipping around like a banner of war. "What," she hissed through clenched teeth, "are you doing, Gojo-sama? I thought we agreed on the strategy—at the very least."
Seijiro stretched leisurely in his saddle, like they were on a pleasure ride through some idyllic countryside and not, in fact, deep in cursed territory. He looked offensively comfortable. "Relax, Zenin-sama," he said, smirk locked and loaded. "The area's clear. Trust the Six Eyes—I can see everything from here." He gestured vaguely at the tree line, casual and smug in equal measure. "And besides…" His voice dipped just enough to make her want to punch him. "Thought we could chat."
Kaoru's hands tightened around her reins. Seijiro's infuriating proximity was the last thing she needed. "Chat?" she echoed, incredulous. "We're in cursed territory. This isn't the time for idle conversation."
"Well it's not idle conversation," he offered, tilting his head toward her with feigned innocence. His gaze flicked—just briefly—to her side, the one that had been torn open not a day earlier, smirk faltering for a sigle second. "Important matters only. Like your injury. How's the side?"
She blinked, thrown off-balance by the shift in tone. Her eyes darted to him, lips parting before she caught herself. "Fine," she said curtly, stiffening in her saddle. It came out more defensive than intended.
"Really?" he asked, too smoothly, and leaned just a touch closer. "Did your men patch you up, or was it your own work? Not judging, but it looks a little… rushed."
Her eyes narrowed instantly. "It's fine," she snapped, sharper now, her gaze cutting. A part of her registered the almost-concern under his barb—and she hated that she noticed that maybe—just maybe—he was trying to make up for his auctions of the previous day.
Or perhaps he was just a pompous idiot. Either way, she wasn't going to let her guard down that easily.
From her left, Harunobu shifted his stance, walking beside her horse like a shadow with teeth. "Kaoru-sama is fine, Gojo-sama," he said, every syllable cold steel wrapped in polite silk. His eyes lifted to Seijiro with badly concealed disdain. "Your concern, while noted, is unnecessary."
Seijiro gave him a sideways glance, amused. "Good to know you've got such vigilant guardian." His smirk returned at full strength, though his eyes flicked back to Kaoru, watching her a little too closely.
Kaoru pulled her reins hard, halting her horse and wheeling it toward him with theatrical exasperation. "Alright, Gojo-sama. What do you actually want?" she snapped, turning sharply to face Seijiro "You're disrupting formation, undermining strategy, and generally behaving like an insufferable mosquito."
Seijiro tilted his head, feigning wounded pride. "What I want?" he repeated. "Zenin-sama, I'm ensuring team morale. You know—cohesion." He paused. "For the mission. Naturally."
Kaoru didn't even blink. "Naturally," she said flatly, voice dry as bone. "You have an odd way of ensuring cohesion—breaking formation, undermining strategies, tying to kill me on the field and…" She trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward him with a hand. "Just... existing like this."
His chuckle was low and smug, clearly reveling in the verbal sparring. "And yet, look at us—talking civilly. Ish." Then, quieter: "Let's call it a truce, Zenin-sama. Or would you prefer punching me? I'd understand. Might even let you if you ask nicely."
She studied him warily. A truce? From him? It sounded too convenient, too flippant. But the mission required cooperation, not petty disputes. After a moment's pause, she inclined her head curtly. "Fine," she said after a beat, voice tight. "A truce. Does that include not screaming in my face or nearly tearing off my kosode?"
He gave a theatrical wince, placing a hand over his chest. "Ah, you wound me. But fair enough, Zenin-sama. I admit I may have... overstepped, yesterday. Just a little."
"Just a little?" Kaoru echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief, though the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.
"Let's not dwell on semantics," He leaned back in his saddle, stretching. Then, with a tilt of his head and a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, he added, "By the way, hiding behind those rabbits to shadow-step me? Smooth. How many shikigami do you currently have, exactly?"
Kaoru raised an eyebrow. "Why would I tell you, Gojo-sama?" Her lips curled into the barest semblance of a smirk, though her tone remained neutral. "What about that fancy barrier of yours? Is it always on, or do you just pretend you're untouchable?"
He chuckled, leaning back in his saddle. "Why would I tell you, Pretty Boy?"
Behind them, a few of the sorcerers—Zenin and Gojo alike—glanced around, surprised to see their clan heads not actively trying to throttle each other. Some even looked cautiously relieved. Harunobu, ever the sentinel, didn't speak, but his posture eased a fraction.
Naturally, Seijiro couldn't leave it there.
He shifted, guiding his horse closer, lowering his voice just enough that only Kaoru—and, more pointedly, Harunobu—could hear. "So... are we good? About yesterday?" A flicker of something like sincerity passed behind his eyes, just long enough to be suspicious. "I mean. You can rest easy, Zenin-sama. Your little secret is safe with me."
Harunobu tensed instantly, one hand brushing the hilt of his katana. Kaoru's breath hitched.
He knows?
Her pulse spiked. Did he see? How much? The possibilities snowballed through her mind—her father, the clan elders, death, for her, worse for Harunobu and his family—
She forced her voice steady. "What secret... Gojo-sama?"
His grin spread like spilled ink, equal parts amusement and threat. "Why, the fact that you're—" he drawled, milking the pause, "—an eunuch, of course."
Kaoru blinked. "…Come again?"
For a full second, her brain outright refused to process the words. Then Harunobu—stoic, restrained Harunobu—made a suspicious coughing sound and turned his face discreetly away.
Seijiro looked very pleased with himself. "I mean, it fits, doesn't it?" he went on, clearly enjoying every second and radiating triumph. "The pretty face, the modesty, the dramatics, the fact that you flinched when I mentioned what you might—or might not—have between your legs? Obviously, I struck a nerve."
Kaoru stared utterly dumbfounded. He was serious. He was actually serious. There were worse things than being found out, she decided. Like being misdiagnosed by the dumbest genius in all of Kyoto. He's an idiot. That was the only explanation. An actual, certifiable idiot. Should she be relieved that her real secret was still safe or offended that he'd leapt to such an asinine conclusion?
She inhaled slowly, her gaze forward to avoid laughing in his face and hiding the faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Believe whatever helps you sleep at night, Gojo-sama."
"Oh, I'm sleeping very well," he said cheerfully, his grin growing impossibly wider. "You can trust me. I mean, this is practically the highlight of my life. The perfect Zenin heir, incapable of producing an heir himself? Delightful. I'm positively thrilled—no offense, of course."
Kaoru ignored him with the force of a thousand suns, though the corners of her lips twitched involuntarily. "None taken," she replied flatly. Just let him keep thinking that, she told herself, for all our sakes.
It would've been almost funny.
Almost.
It didn't last long.
Seijiro's smile faltered. "Zenin-sama," he said, lower this time. Serious.
Kaoru's shoulders tensed. The change in his tone wasn't theatrical, it wasn't smug. It was… alert. And that, more than anything, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She forced herself to keep her eyes forward, but her grip on the reins tightened. The steady clop of her horse's hooves against the damp forest floor seemed unnaturally loud in the suffocating silence of the fog.
Seijiro's eyes, unnaturally and gleaming even in the muted light, flicked quickly between various points in the swirling mist with terrifying focus. His silver hair, tied back in its signature messy low tail, for once didn't make him look disheveled—it made him look dangerous.
Kaoru swallowed, keeping her breathing steady, her body tensing as she wondered what his Six Eyes was seeing. "What is it?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his eyes narrowed, his smirk tightening as though measuring his next words carefully "Remember what we discussed," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "About a possible Hattori response."
She scanned the mist. Nothing, not a movement, not a sound. Just the creak of saddles and the muffled steps of hooves on damp ground. Too quiet for a cursed forest. The kind of quiet that didn't stay quiet for long.
Too quiet... Shinobi.
"Unlikely..." she said, evenly.
"...But not impossible," he finished grimly for her. He straightened slightly in his saddle, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper. "Don't stop. Don't look. Act like nothing's wrong."
Kaoru gave the faintest nod, tightening her grip on the reins.
Harunobu caught the shift instantly. His posture changed, subtle, one step closer to her horse, one hand casually resting on his katana's hilt. His eyes scanned the horizon without moving his head. Seijiro's gaze flicked to him, met his, before setting back on Kaoru.
"How many?" Kaoru asked softly, just loud enough to carry over the fog-damp air.
Seijiro let out a breath that could've passed for a laugh. "At least a hundred arrows aimed at our faces," he said lightly. "Maybe more."
Kaoru didn't blink. "Great."
"Oh, they're very hospitable," he added, still smiling, but now every muscle in his body radiated readiness.
She adjusted her grip on the reins again, slower this time, looser, as if relaxing. "Strategy?"
"Smile like you didn't just get called an eunuch."