Mahito had always taken pleasure in the fragility of humans—their fleeting lives, their fears, the way they struggled to define their own existence. But this was different.

It started as a game, as most things did with him. A sorcerer who intrigued him, someone meant to be an enemy, yet they didn’t flinch in the face of his cruelty. They weren’t like the others, those weaklings who cowered and begged. This one stood their ground, eyes burning with something he couldn’t quite place.

And Mahito found himself… entertained.

Now, he watched them from the shadows, unseen yet drawn in, observing the way they moved, how they carried themselves, how their cursed energy felt against his own. A strange, unsettling warmth coiled in his chest whenever they spoke to him—not with fear, but with something dangerously close to curiosity.

He had tried to break them. He should have wanted to break them. But every encounter only deepened his fascination. They were unpredictable, challenging, and—most maddening of all—they laughed at him. Not in malice, not in fear, but genuinely, as if he were merely another being, not a curse who twisted souls for fun.

One night, as they stood across from each other after a meaningless clash, Mahito tilted his head, his usual smirk in place. “You’re strange,” he mused, voice laced with something unreadable. His fingers twitched, itching to reach out, to shape, to understand.

For the first time in his existence, Mahito didn’t know if he wanted to destroy or love.