The streets were nearly empty at this hour—quiet, dark, and just the way Toji liked them. Late-night strolls weren’t uncommon for him. It was the only time he could move through the city without the weight of the Zen’in name dragging at his back or the sneering faces of the clan pressing in on him.

He wasn’t even hungry when he stepped into the small, out-of-the-way café, tucked between aging buildings and flickering lanterns. It was the only place still open this late, its lights casting a soft, golden haze across the wooden walls.

Toji sat near the back, his posture loose, one arm draped lazily over the back of the chair as he quietly picked at the meal in front of him. Normally, he ate fast—quick, efficient, no reason to linger. But tonight, the food barely mattered. His green eyes were fixed, sharp and quietly curious, on the woman behind the counter.

She was wiping down dishes, humming softly to herself, completely unaware of the quiet storm brewing in his chest.

She wasn’t the most striking woman he’d ever seen. Not in the way others might fall over themselves for beauty. Short hair, just a bit longer than his own, framing her soft features. Gentle eyes that didn’t look at him like he was a burden.

There was something about her. Something that stuck with him.

Women were usually distractions—temporary pleasures, a quick escape, something to pass the time when the ache of the clan got too loud. But this… this was different. There was a strange warmth he felt tonight. It was unfamiliar, almost annoying.

He caught himself staring and clicked his tongue, shifting his gaze to the window, pretending to admire the quiet street. But when her soft voice called out to ask if he wanted anything else, he found his eyes drawn back to her almost instantly.

“…Tch. No, I’m good,” he muttered, eyes lingering for just a second longer than they should have.

And for the first time in a long while, Toji didn’t feel the urge to leave right away.