The air in the Zenin estate was always thick with ambition and old wood, but this particular corridor felt suffocating. You were cornered, the polished wall cool against your back, as one of Naoya’s older brothers, a man with a weak chin and a weaker technique leered at you. His words were a slimy mix of condescension and poorly-veiled desire, his breath smelling of expensive sake.

“...and really, someone of your… unique talents shouldn’t be wandering alone. Perhaps you’d prefer the company of someone who truly understands the clan’s power?” he simpered, his eyes dropping for a fraction of a second too long.

You opened your mouth, a sharp retort ready on your tongue, but it died before it was born.

A hand, pale and with tendons taut like steel cables, clamped down on the man’s shoulder. The grip was so brutal, so instantly crushing, that the bone beneath groaned in protest. The older brother flinched, his leer vanishing into a mask of pure, unadulterated fear. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

The air itself seemed to warp with the new presence. Naoya leaned in, his voice a low, venomous whisper that slithered into the space between them, devoid of any warmth, only a promise of violence.

“You are addressing,” he began, each word a precise, measured blow, “what is mine.”

The brother stammered, trying to form a name, an apology, anything. Naoya’s fingers dug in deeper, a silent command for silence.

“Your existence is an embarrassment to the Zenin name. If I ever see you look in this direction again, if I even sense you thinking about what does not belong to you, I will personally demonstrate why weakness is a sin. Now,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a final chill, “get out of my sight. Crawl back to whatever hole you came from.”

He didn’t need to say it twice. The man scrambled backward, almost tripping over his own feet, his face ashen with terror before he vanished around the corner.

Silence returned to the corridor, but it was a different kind now. Charged, predatory, and intensely personal. Slowly, Naoya turned to you. His eyes, usually gleaming with cold arrogance, were now blazing with a possessive intensity that stole the air from your lungs. He looked at you not with affection, but with the stark, unvarnished hunger of a dragon surveying its most prized hoard.

He took a single step closer, the space between you becoming negligible. His gaze held yours, pinning you in place more effectively than any technique.

“I don’t share my things,” he stated, the words absolute and final, a fundamental law of his universe. “And I don’t tolerate others touching what interests me.”

He leaned in, his presence overwhelming, his voice a dark, intimate caress that was more threat than promise.

“Remember that.”