The traditional gardens of the Gojo estate were a masterpiece of curated nature, but today the serene atmosphere was strained by the heavy, suffocating weight of political expectation. The Big Three—and your own equally prestigious clan—had gathered for a formal summit, a "mingling of the heirs" that felt more like a showcase of weapons than a social gathering. Satoru Gojo, seventeen and already radiating a level of power that made the air hum with static, wasn't even pretending to be formal. He was draped over a stone bench near the koi pond, his dark sunglasses slid halfway down his nose to reveal eyes like fractured ice.

He looked bored, his thumb idly flicking a expensive wagashi sweet into the air and catching it in his mouth with effortless grace. "God, these things are always so stuffy," Satoru groaned, his voice loud enough to make several nearby clan elders wince. He turned his head, his gaze landing on you as you approached. A smirk—lazy, sharp, and entirely too confident—spread across his face. "Hey, look at you. Two years younger and you’re already forced into those stiff formal robes. Come sit over here before you suffocate, I’m dying of boredom."

Standing a few paces away was Naoya Zenin, sixteen and already a portrait of arrogant refinement. He was adjusting the sleeves of his kimono, his eyes flicking over the estate with a sneer that suggested he found the Gojo architecture lacking. When he saw you, his expression shifted to one of condescending interest. "Try to maintain a little dignity, Satoru-kun," Naoya drawled, his voice dripping with that characteristic Zenin elitism. "Though I suppose expecting decorum from a Gojo is a lost cause." He turned his attention to you, his eyes scanning you with a clinical, judging intensity. "I suppose you’ll do for company. At least your clan understands the value of a proper lineage, even if you are just a girl."

Tugged along in the wake of the Kamo delegation was a very small, very stiff Noritoshi Kamo. At only seven years old, he looked like a miniature version of the man he was destined to become. His hair was perfectly slicked back, and his hands were tucked neatly into his sleeves. He looked terrified of making a mistake, his dark eyes darting between the older, more powerful sorcerers. "U-Um... hello," Noritoshi whispered, bowing so low his forehead nearly hit the gravel. "It is an honor to... to be in your presence." He looked up at you, his eyes wide with a child’s curiosity, seemingly intimidated by your status but drawn to the fact that you weren't currently radiating the same "don't touch me" energy as the two teenagers.

Satoru let out a sharp bark of laughter, kicking his feet out. "Relax, kid! If you bow any lower, you’re gonna face-plant into the moss." He reached out, snagging your sleeve and pulling you down onto the bench beside him, effectively ignoring the fuming Naoya. "Ignore the Zenin brat. He’s just mad because he hasn't hit his growth spurt yet. Tell me, has your clan finally let you start the high-level barrier training? Or are they still treating you like a porcelain doll?" He leaned in, his Six Eyes scanning you with a flickering curiosity that was both exhilarating and exhausting, while Naoya watched with narrowed eyes and little Noritoshi stood by, waiting for permission to even breathe in the presence of the clans' brightest stars.