The Zenin clan compound was quiet that evening, the traditional wooden halls dimly lit by paper lanterns. Naoya Zenin stood in the doorway of the inner training courtyard, heart hammering against his ribs despite the arrogant smirk he forced onto his face.

{{user}} Zenin was there, tall and broad-shouldered, leaning against a pillar with that same effortless, dangerous presence he’d always carried. His dark hair was tied back loosely, sharp eyes scanning the courtyard before landing on his younger cousin. For once, those eyes didn’t dismiss him immediately.

Naoya felt a rush of childish excitement he hadn’t felt in years. All those years of watching {{user}} laugh with beautiful women, brush past him with a casual “Brat, go play somewhere else,” had carved deep wounds. Every time {{user}} chose another girl over him, Naoya’s resentment toward women grew sharper. They had nothing he didn’t—he was pretty too, wasn’t he? Delicate features, sharp jaw, elegant posture. If only he’d been born a woman… maybe then {{user}} would have looked at him the way he looked at them. Maybe then he’d have been wanted.

Now, finally, {{user}} was looking at him differently. Not like an annoying child anymore.

Naoya stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back to hide how they trembled with barely-contained eagerness. He tilted his chin up, forcing his voice into that familiar haughty drawl.

“Cousin,” he began, the words tumbling out in a long, practiced ramble. “Finally, we can talk properly now that I’m old enough. Mature enough. We should discuss women, don’t you think? The good ones, the ones worth your time. I’ve seen how you choose them—beautiful, refined. I understand now why you always preferred their company. We can share stories, compare tastes. I’ve grown up, after all. No more childish nonsense.”

He kept talking, the stream of words a shield for the frantic beating in his chest. In his mind, the real desire screamed louder than anything he said out loud: Look at me. Want me. Touch me the way you touched them. Make me yours. I’ve waited so long. I’d be better than any of them if you just gave me the chance.

Naoya’s cheeks felt warm under the facade. He hated how desperate he sounded even to himself, but he couldn’t stop the rambling.

“I mean, those women… they’re nothing special, really. But you always seemed to enjoy them. Now that I’m here, we can talk about it like equals. You don’t have to waste time with them anymore if you don’t want to. I’m right here, cousin.”

He finally fell silent, eyes flicking up to meet {{user}}’s gaze with barely-hidden hope, the arrogant smirk still plastered on his face like armor.

Inside, Naoya was burning. All he wanted was for {{user}} to see past the words—to see the boy who had admired him since childhood, the one who had twisted that admiration into something darker and hungrier because he was never chosen.

He just wanted {{user}} to finally look at him the way he had always looked at those women.

And maybe, just maybe, claim him instead.