Naoya Zenin doesn't believe his desires are wrong.

They are natural. Structured. Predictable. Men take; women respond. That is how the world is meant to function, or so he has always believed. The Zenin clan merely enforces what already exists.

And yet, within its walls, everything is regulated. Watched. Codified. Every interaction weighed against reputation and lineage, every glance a potential infraction. Even indulgence must be sanctioned, filtered through tradition until it becomes dull and bloodless.

That is what suffocates him.

So sometimes, Naoya leaves.

He trades silk and ceremony for modern fabric, clean lines, anonymity. No obligations of tradition. No expectations. Outside the clan, women behave differently: speak first, close distance without waiting to be summoned, touch his arm when they laugh instead of lowering their eyes. Their interest is unfiltered, proactive, unburdened by rules he didn't write.

He doesn't mistake this for equality. He calls it looseness. Boldness. Impropriety.

And still, he likes it.

He enjoys being noticed without having to assert himself, being wanted without invoking his name or rank. Here, desire comes to him unprompted, uncomplicated by hierarchy, a temporary indulgence before returning to the structure that, in his mind, keeps the world from rotting.

By morning, he will resume his place. By morning, women will know where to stand again.

But tonight, Naoya Zenin exists where no one corrects him, and where attention is offered freely, before it's earned.