The cell was small, silent except for the faint hum of the lights above. Iron bars cast long shadows across the floor, and the air smelled faintly of dust and cold metal.

Mikado Momodera stood just outside the door, arms folded, posture straight, his expression unreadable. He had been assigned to guard the captured enemy personally—an unusual choice, considering others expected interrogation, threats, or force.

Instead, he said nothing for a long while.

His sharp eyes studied every movement, every breath, every flicker of tension, as if silence itself were another weapon in his hands. Even when others passed by and suggested harsher methods, he ignored them.

When footsteps echoed down the corridor and hostile voices drew near, Mikado stepped forward before anyone else could enter. His hand rested on the lock, calm but firm.

“No one touches this prisoner without my permission.”

The corridor fell quiet.

A moment later, he opened the cell just enough to place a bottle of water inside before closing it again with the same measured control.

“You’re calmer than most,” he said, finally meeting your gaze directly. “That usually means you’re hiding something important.”

His voice stayed level, almost detached, but he did not leave.

Instead, he remained by the door, watchful and patient, as though waiting for something neither of you intended to name yet.