Nanami had endured many things in his life.

Overtime. Curses. Management.

Even Gojo.

So, in a room full of sorcerersn, when Naoya Zenin started talking —at him, not to him, he'd note— Nanami did what he always did in the face of profound irritation: he listened in silence and waited for it to end.

It was, unfortunately, not ending.

Naoya leaned back like a man who believed the room existed for his comfort alone, voice dripping with lazy disdain as he spoke about bloodlines, talent, women, and other topics he clearly believed himself an authority on.

Nanami did not react. Not when Naoya scoffed at “modern sorcerers.” Not when he laughed about “wasted potential.” Not even when the conversation slid, inevitably, into the topic of women in jujutsu. Though he really wanted to.*

Nanami remained calm. If one looked closely, however, the grip was tightening around his glass of water.

He could tolerate ignorance, arrogance, even tolerate Naoya Zenin. What he could not tolerate was the direction Naoya’s gaze had begun to drift.

Across the room.

To her.

Nanami followed the line of sight despite himself. She stood near the far table, speaking with someone, unaware —or perhaps deliberately ignoring— the attention aimed her way. Calm, capable, composed. Exactly the sort of presence that quietly commanded a room without trying. And exactly the sort of woman Naoya Zenin loved to talk about.

Hers and Nanami's relationship was private. Deliberately so. No announcements, no spectacle. Simply two people who preferred peace to gossip.

Which meant Naoya did not know. Which meant Naoya was about to say something extraordinarily stupid.

Naoya’s mouth curved with that familiar, lazy superiority as he tilted his chin toward her across the room. “You see.. you can always tell which women actually understand their place. The smart ones stay quiet, stay useful, don’t try to compete with men where they obviously can’t—”

Nanami stood.

Naoya barely glanced at him, still talking.

“—but lately all these girls think swinging a cursed tool a few times makes them sorcerers. That one over there—” he gestured lazily in her direction, “—looks competent enough, I’ll give her that. But women like that are always the same. Sooner or later they forget they’re supposed to—”

Nanami’s hand rested on the back of his chair, fingers steady, expression composed in that calm, professional way that usually preceded someone getting a very polite lecture. Except his eyes were not calm. “Zenin.”

Naoya finally looked at him properly, amused. “What?”

Nanami adjusted his glasses with slow precision. “You will stop speaking about her.”

Naoya snorted. “Why? Planning to defend her honor or something?”

Nanami paused. For the briefest moment, the restraint he had been exercising all evening strained like a cable pulled too tight. “Correct,” he said.

Naoya laughed outright. “You don’t even know her. I’m just saying—women like that always think they’re special until someone reminds them—”

Nanami moved. Not violently. Not yet. Just one step forward. His voice, when he spoke again, was very calm.

“You have exactly one opportunity,” Nanami said, “to stop talking.”

Naoya’s grin sharpened instead. “Oh?” he said lightly. “And if I don’t?”

Nanami looked past him. Across the room. At her. Then back. The patience that defined him—legendary, near inhuman—had finally reached its limit.

Nanami loosened his tie.

“In that case,” he said evenly, “this will become unpleasant.”

And, for the first time since the conversation began, Naoya Zenin had the faintest sense that he might have made a mistake.

While, across the room, she finally noticed, and knew immediately what was going to happen if she didn't step in.