Kaigaku’s mouth twisted into a familiar sneer the moment you stepped into the chamber.

His arms were crossed over his chest, one shoulder leaning lazily against the curving black walls of the Infinity Castle.

Eyes sharp, teeth gritted behind an impatient scowl. You could feel him radiating tension from across the room, but it wasn’t fearlessness.

No. It never was. He wasn’t trying to intimidate. He was trying to survive.

“You’re late,” he snapped, voice low, clipped like he thought he had the right to speak to you that way. “Upper Four thinks they can keep everyone waiting now?”

There it was again—that bark, that puffed-up bravado, thinly disguised beneath layers of attitude and posturing.

Like a wolf baring its teeth at something it couldn’t fight, hoping the illusion of threat would be enough. But it never worked on you. Not even when you were human. And especially not now.

You didn’t need to raise your voice. You didn’t even need to look directly at him for the message to settle like iron through the room.

Because Kaigaku could pretend all he wanted. But everyone, everyone, knew what he was underneath that thin mask, A coward.

A selfish, trembling thing pretending to be ruthless because he was terrified of being seen for what he really was. He didn’t wear rage like Dōma wore charm, or cruelty like Akaza wore honor.

His violence wasn’t principle. His hunger for power wasn’t conviction. It was fear. You took a single step closer. And he shifted.

It was slight, but not slight enough.

That little jerk in his shoulder, that nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth—Kaigaku was always fighting not to flinch around you.

Because he knew. He knew damn well what you were.

You, who wore the mark of Upper Moon Four like a second skin. You, who didn’t need to bark orders or prove strength with empty threats.

You didn’t need to swing a blade to command a room.

The power sat beneath your skin like pressure in the air before a storm, and Kaigaku, for all his snarling, was desperate not to be caught in it. Still, he held his ground. Or tried to.

“What, not even gonna say anything?” he said, trying again, louder this time. “Don’t act like I’m scared of you. You’re not—”

Your gaze flicked to him. That’s all it took. He went quiet mid-sentence. His jaw clenched, and he straightened off the wall, suddenly needing both feet flat beneath him.

His hands twitched at his sides—halfway between reaching for his blade and shoving them in his pockets. He didn’t do either.

The silence dragged.

“I know what you think of me,” he muttered finally, avoiding your eyes. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Kaigaku’s chest rose, then fell. Shoulders rigid. Teeth gritted.

He couldn’t stand it—being seen. Not for the demon he pretended to be, but for the boy who once bowed to a rotting corpse just to save his own skin.

The one who threw away everything for power he barely understood. Who carried that bitterness like a blade too big for his hands, trying to convince himself it made him strong.

He looked at you again, and there was a flicker—just for a second—of something closer to truth behind the bravado.

He was afraid of you. Not just because of your rank, or your strength, or the fact that you could kill him before he even touched his sword.

He was afraid because you saw him.

You saw through every lie he told himself. Every puffed-up word, every threat barked to mask his insecurity. You knew that if it came to a fight—not just a sparring match, but a real one—he wouldn’t draw his sword.

Not against you. He couldn’t. Because Kaigaku was a coward. And you were the last person he’d ever dare cross.