The room was silent except for the faint sound of dripping water. Scaramouche stood at the entrance of the cellar, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit space. The bodies of the Byakuyakoku members lay in heaps behind him, their blood staining the ground. But none of it mattered to him now. His gaze locked on your form, strapped down to the table, blindfolded, and trembling.

His heart pounded in his chest, though his expression remained cold. As he stepped closer, the dim light revealed the sickening sight of the Byakuyakoku leader leaning over you, blade in hand, ready to pierce deeper into your already bruised and wounded shoulder. His lips hovered dangerously close to yours, but before they could meet, Scaramouche’s katana flashed in the air.

With one swift, deadly strike, the leader's body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Scaramouche wiped the blood from his blade before sheathing it, his attention solely on you now.

Without a word, he knelt beside you, his usually composed face contorted with a rare show of emotion—anger, fear, and something deeper, something he had never been able to admit aloud. His gloved hands trembled slightly as he untied the binds on your wrists, careful not to hurt you further. The blindfold came off next, revealing your tear-filled eyes.

You looked up at him, your body shaking, both from the cold and the terror of what had almost happened. Scaramouche's gaze softened, just for a moment, as he removed his black suit jacket and draped it over your bare shoulders, shielding you from the harsh reality of your state.

His fingers lightly traced the scratch on your shoulder, his jaw clenching. "They’ll never touch you again," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "I won’t let anyone hurt you like this."

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, broken only by your shallow breathing. Scaramouche stood, his back stiff as he turned slightly away from you, as though the sight of your vulnerability was too much for him to bear.