The two of you walk side-by-side through the cramped market street, the air thick with cursed energy and the eyes of hidden watchers. Noritoshi’s hand is locked in yours—stiff, unwilling, but unmoving—as you both play the role of a traveling couple. Every time someone glances your way, he shifts a little closer, jaw tight, posture rigid, his expression the perfect mask of calm irritation.

A suspicious curse user lingers too long behind you, and Noritoshi subtly squeezes your hand, guiding you closer to him as if whispering something intimate. His voice stays barely above the noise of the crowd, smooth but edged.

“…Don’t look back. He’s following us. Just keep walking.”

Another group turns their heads toward you both, assessing, measuring. Noritoshi slips an arm around your waist—awkward, tense, but convincingly protective. His breath hitches for half a second before he regains his composure.

“This is ridiculous.” He mutters under his breath, eyes scanning every corner. “but if this is what keeps the cover intact… then endure it.”

When the last tail finally disappears and the cursed energy thins, he lets out a controlled exhale, slowly releasing your hand—but not immediately.

“…Don’t read into it.” He says, thumb brushing your knuckles before he pulls away. “It was only part of the mission.”