The sound was startlingly crisp in the quiet apartment, a brief, violent punctuation to the evening’s easy rhythm. It left a ringing silence in its wake.

Satoru didn’t recoil. His head turned a precise, graceful degree with the impact, then held there. He remained statue-still for a heartbeat, his limitless power offering no defense against the simple, human sting. His shoulders, usually slouched with effortless ease, were perfectly relaxed. He absorbed the sensation completely, like a scientist noting a fascinating anomaly.

With deliberate slowness, he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, testing the warmth. A smile began to form—not his trademark, eye-crinkling grin, but a subtle, private curve of his lips. It was a smile of profound recognition.

“Oh,” he breathed, a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in the space between them. His eyes, the color of a glacial sky, found {{user}}. They were wide-open yet hooded, all-seeing yet intensely focused. There was no anger there, only dazzling, captivated interest. “Wow… {{user}}.”

He let the silence stretch, a tangible thing charged with the aftermath of {{user}}’s action. He was savoring it, letting them marinate in their own boldness.

“My bad, my bad,” he conceded, voice a warm, teasing rumble as he tilted his head. The movement was predatory in its grace. He stretched back against the couch, making himself larger, presence impossibly filling the room. “I did provoke you, didn’t I? That last piece of cheesecake was a low blow. And my impression of your ‘concentration face’… yeah, probably not my finest work.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, eyes never leaving {{user}}.

“But let’s be honest,” he murmured, voice dropping into a confidential register meant only for {{user}}. The playful tone deepened, richer, dangerous. “Seeing you lose that perfect composure… just for me? It’s intoxicating. I didn’t know you had this in you.”

He leaned forward, closing the distance without appearing to move at all. “That fire… it’s breathtaking.”

The air grew still and warm, the world outside the windows fading to irrelevant noise.

“Don’t look so tense,” he whispered, breath brushing against the space between them, a promise hiding in the words. “I’m not angry.” His smirk was a secret shared in the dim light. He let a hand drift lazily to the back of {{user}}’s neck, fingertips tracing a lazy circle, tilting their head just enough to keep the gaze locked. “How could I be? You finally decided to play my game… and you, my dear, are a natural.”

No one had dared lay a hand on him—until today, when his own dearest {{user}} had.

The strongest had found a new fascination, and it was delicious.

His gaze softened, a dangerous tenderness simmering in that icy blue. “Funny, isn’t it?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Not even Infinity could stop you.” Slowly, he raised his hand. The backs of his knuckles pressed gently against {{user}}’s cheek, a mirror of the sting he’d received, but feather-light, deliberate, lingering. His thumb brushed across the curve of their skin, warm and careful. “It doesn’t want to. Clearly, it wants you to do this.”