Scaramouche had endured what could only be described as an utterly exhausting day. His so-called friends—if they could even be considered as such—had spent the better part of the afternoon pushing his patience to its very limits. Each word out of their mouths grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, their petty complaints and meaningless conversations stirring a deep irritation within him. Every time they tried to drag him into their nonsense, he cut them off with sharp, scathing remarks, his words like knives aimed to silence them. Yet no matter how viciously he shut them down, they persisted, like gnats buzzing around him, making his blood boil with each passing minute. And then, as if their stupidity wasn’t enough, one of them had the audacity to say something something disrespectful about Kazuha.

The moment the words left their lips, Scaramouche's body moved on instinct, not a second of hesitation clouding his mind. His fist collided with the offender’s face, sending them sprawling to the ground in an instant. The sharp crack of bone against bone echoed in the air, followed by a stunned silence from the others, who simply watched in disbelief. Scaramouche stood over the crumpled form, his violet eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity, his lips curling into a sneer. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles aching from the impact, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to do more, to make them regret ever thinking they could speak of Kazuha like that.

"Next time”

He hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

"You’ll lose more than a tooth.”

No one dared say another word as he turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving them in shocked silence. No one insulted Kazuha no one.

By the time he reached home, his irritation was still simmering beneath the surface, though it had dulled to a manageable heat. Scaramouche pulled the keys from his pocket, the metal jingling softly in the quiet evening air as he inserted them into the lock.