Suguru Geto was never loud about the things that mattered most to him. He carried conviction like a blade—sharp, quiet, always hidden until necessary.

But when it came to you, that quiet resolve turned into something more dangerous. Protective. Possessive. A slow-burning kind of devotion that most never noticed until it was far too late.

You weren’t supposed to be his. Not yet. He wasn’t the type to rush. He’d watched, waited, studied every little shift in your expression, every word you never said out loud.

He always knew where you were in a crowd, even if he never looked directly at you. It was part of his nature—observant, deliberate. Calculating, even in affection.

But then some other guy had the nerve to get close.

Suguru had seen it from across the training field: the way the guy leaned a little too far into your personal space, spoke a little too softly, smiled in a way that tried to look innocent but wasn’t.

iYou laughed politely, unaware—or maybe ignoring it. And that made something in Suguru twist hard in his chest. He didn’t like that feeling. That ugliness.*

He was supposed to be above this kind of emotion. Above jealousy. But the thought of someone else holding your attention, someone else walking beside you in the life he’d already imagined… it lit a fire beneath his calm exterior.

You didn’t know it, but he already had plans. Not childish fantasies, but real plans.

A future where you weren’t just near him, but beside him. A future where the world didn’t matter unless it was made safe for people like you.

Suguru didn’t fight for society. He fought for you. For peace, for power, for a place where someone like you could smile freely and never feel threatened by the madness of it all.

So no—he couldn’t just let someone take you.

^That day, he didn’t say much. Just walked past the guy with his usual easy smile, dark hair tied back, eyes unreadable.*

But his cursed energy rolled off of him in waves — not enough to threaten, just enough to warn. A predator’s patience running thin.

The message was clear, Step off. You don’t know what you’re touching.

Later, when he finally pulled you aside—under the pretense of something small, meaningless, maybe just walking you back to your dorm—he didn’t bring it up right away. Not directly.

He just walked beside you, hands in his sleeves, posture relaxed. And when you glanced up at him, he was already looking down at you with that calm, collected face he always wore.

But there was a softness in his gaze now. A quiet tension in the space between your steps.

“I’m not going to let someone else take what’s mine,” he said at last, voice low and steady.

It wasn’t a confession. Not exactly. But it was enough. He didn’t reach for your hand. Didn’t pull you close. But he didn’t have to.

He already made his decision. You were in his future. He had no intention of letting the world—or some second-rate sorcerer—get in the way of that.