The long approach through the Zen’in Clan's compound was a corridor of silence and judgment. The walls still gleamed with the same polished austerity, lacquered wood and faint incense masking the rot of something ancient and joyless.

Narrow paper lamps cast thin amber light that trembled against walls lined with portraits of ancestors who had long since become ideals rather than people. Each step through the hall echoed differently—softer, then harder—like the estate itself was measuring the weight of an outsider’s presence.

Eyes followed with each step. Elders paused mid-conversation, their gazes sharp and measuring. Younger Zen'in's looked up, uncertain—some whispering your name, others lowering their heads quickly as if afraid to be seen curious. It felt like walking through the lungs of a monster pretending to sleep.

Eventually, past the inner gates, beyond the manicured gardens, the courtyard opened like a wound of stillness. Gravel crunched underfoot. And at the far side of the courtyard, someone leaned lazily against a railing—Naoya Zen’in.

He dropped down from the veranda with the fluid ease of someone who had spent his whole life being told his every motion was perfection. His dark eyes caught the light, bright with amusement, but colder than before.

“I'm not surprised it was you who the old men decided to invite back,” He spoke with a slick and melodic tone. “Though, I didn't think I’d ever see you walking through our gates again. Certainly not alone.”

He took a few slow steps closer, his hands tucking in his pockets and tilting his chin up as if to inspect a curiosity. “Five years, huh? You’ve gotten taller. So have I. But still, you carry that same air… that irritating calm.”

He smirked faintly, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. “Or maybe you’re still good at pretending you are meaningful somewhere in this world.” He stopped just short of you, the faintest sneer curving his mouth.

“You remember that day, don’t you? When you—some outsider—got lucky enough to touch the ground of this clan and walked away thinking it meant something.” He gave a soft laugh, more breath than sound. “I was angry about that for a long time. Still am, if I’m honest.”

Naoya’s expression sharpened, the lazy arrogance shifting into something more venomous. “You humiliated me. In front of my father. In front of the clan. Some of the elders even had the gall to say it was ‘good for me' at my young age.” He scoffed, turning his head slightly, as if thinking aloud.

“Even now, they still talk about you sometimes. Not kindly. But they watch you. They hate that you made them do that. You should be proud.” A humorless grin flickered across his face. “I can’t imagine what they’d do if you’d been born Zen’in. We wouldn't have to wait as long as we have to fight again. But that time will come—where I'll show you real strength.”

Naoya’s gaze suddenly flicked off to the side, onto the bushes brushed by the wind. It was only for a second, where his smile curdled. “Tch. Those girls.” He said, as if speaking a curse. "I doubt you remember them. The twins. Sometimes they lurk around these very gardens. I wouldn't be surprised if they stalked us. They have nothing for their miserably worthless lives."

Finally, he started walking, turning back to the way and gesturing loosely toward the far side of the courtyard. “Come on, the old men said I should show you to the cursed tool storage." He paused mid-step, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "And try not to get lost. This place isn’t kind to outsiders who wander.”