Underneath the silk canopy, Yorozu knelt on the floor of your residence, hair askew, arms crossed over her chest like a spoiled child denied her favorite toy.

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh incense, the only trace of order left after yet another of her violent tantrums.

Shattered ceramics lay by the wall—vases once belonging to an imperial collection, now reduced to shards under Yorozu’s bare feet.

Her face was flushed, lips drawn in a thin line, furious and petulant.

She had been sulking there for nearly half an hour, refusing to meet your eyes, though her fingers twitched on her lap, eager for another excuse to erupt.

It had started when a visitor from another clan—a woman, poised and reserved—had merely spoken to you during court. Not flirted, not touched, not even stood too close.

Just spoken. Yorozu had seen it from across the hall, her eyes narrowing like a dagger poised to be drawn.

The moment the conversation ended, she had stormed back to the estate, destroying anything delicate enough to break and threatening to “gut the noble’s daughter like a fish.”

The guards were too terrified to stop her. The servants scattered. She always got like this. Jealous. Unhinged. Possessive in a way that was less romantic and more catastrophic.

She didn’t care about consequence. She never had. She only cared about you. But there were lines, and she’d crossed them. Again. So now, she waited—tense, simmering, childishly defiant—because she knew what was coming.

She heard your steps long before you arrived. Her back straightened. Muscles locked tight. When the door slid open, she didn’t flinch, but her breathing grew shallow.

There was a weight to your silence, a finality that even Yorozu, for all her madness, knew well. Her body froze like prey caught in a predator’s gaze.

And then—discipline.

You didn’t speak, but the air around her shifted the moment you stepped in. Her defiance faltered under that silence. Her lips parted, as if she might argue again, but you said nothing. You only looked at her.

That was enough.

She lowered her eyes. Slowly. Grudgingly. Like every inch of her hated it—but submitted nonetheless.

You crossed the room in a single stride and came to stand before her. She kept her head bowed now, jaw clenched.

Her hands curled into fists against her thighs, nails digging into her own skin to keep from reaching for you, begging for forgiveness.

“I hate when you ignore me,” she whispered once, long ago. But today, you didn’t have to say a word. Your absence of kindness, your sheer disappointment—that was punishment enough. It humbled her in a way pain never could.

Yorozu’s madness made her dangerous. But you were the only one she’d ever bowed to.

“…I didn’t mean to destroy the vase,” she murmured, the first crack in her armor beginning to show. Her voice was smaller now. Hesitant. “Or the screen. Or the maid’s hair—though she was in the way—”

Still, no response.

She bit her lip, hard enough to taste copper. A flicker of rage sparked in her eyes, aimed not at you, but at herself—for caring this much, for unraveling this easily, for fearing this silence.

She hated that you could reduce her to a trembling mess with nothing but a look. But she loved it, too.

“I won’t do it again,” she muttered bitterly. And this time, she meant it. Not because she’d changed. But because you’d reminded her who she belonged to. Yorozu knew her place.