Your hand struck Mahito across the face before he could finish his sentence.

The sharp sound cut through the ruined street and left a brief silence behind it.

He turned slowly, fingers rising to his cheek where the mark had already begun to fade. His brows pulled together, lips lowering into an unmistakable pout.

“…That was rude.”

There was no immediate retaliation—just that offended stare, as if the slap itself had been more insulting than painful.

He rubbed the side of his face, glancing at you with visible irritation.

“I was talking.”

His tone stayed light, but the childish annoyance underneath it made the air feel stranger, heavier.

Then he stepped forward, expression still sulking, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement.

“You really do whatever you want, don’t you?”

The pout remained even as cursed energy curled around his hand, his voice dropping softer now—

“That makes this personal.”