You hadn’t even seen his face until today. Your wedding day.

This wasn’t some fairytale. It was just survival, dressed up to look like a ceremony. Your family had finally clawed their way close enough to the Zenins to matter. All it took was sacrificing you to the one man no one in the clan wanted to deal with—Toji Zenin.

No cursed energy. No status. Barely family. They’d tossed him out once already. And now he was back—just useful enough to marry off.

Your family didn’t hide how they felt about it. You were worth more, they said. Strong cursed energy. Good potential. But if marrying you off could buy influence, then so be it. Maybe the kids would have Zenin techniques. Maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, you were in.

You wore white, a shiro-muku that made you feel more like a ghost than a bride. The Zenin family temple was quiet, the air thick with incense and cold looks. Toji stood beside you in black—montsuki, hakama, formal enough to get through it. He barely glanced your way. When he did, it wasn’t a look. More like a scan. Quick. Dismissive. Like he didn’t expect much from you, and didn’t plan to.

Scar on his lip. Cold green eyes. Not even pretending to smile.

The ceremony passed. The clan watched. You could feel the weight of their judgment behind every sip of sake, every fake smile. They weren’t subtle. You were the outsider. And so was he.

Two names, tied together in a room full of people who didn’t want either of you.

He didn’t say a word the whole time. Didn’t have to. You could feel it in how he stood. This wasn’t something he chose. He hates this. He hates you. You had cursed energy. You were everything he’d been punished for not being.

Eventually, they sent you both off—away from the main house, to a small place at the edge of the estate. Not exactly a home. More like a corner they could shove you both into and forget.

The door shut behind you with a heavy thud.

Quiet.

The house was barely more than a box. Clean, cold, empty. Two futons. A table. That was it.

Toji walked in without a word, looked around like he was checking a hotel room for threats. Then he took off his haori, folded it way too neatly, and tossed it onto the chair like he couldn’t care less.

“Don’t expect anything,” he said. His voice was quiet, flat. “I didn’t ask for this either.”

Didn’t sound mad. Just… done.

He sat on the edge of the futon, elbows on his knees. That scar twitched a little, like he wanted to say something else—but then he didn’t.

You just stood there.

Married. Barely spoken. And already tired of pretending this meant anything.