The Zenin gardens were quiet this time of day—too late for training, too early for dinner. Pale shafts of sunlight bled through the cypress trees, brushing over gravel paths and the trimmed hedges like ghosts. You weren’t meant to be here, not exactly. But the hush of the place drew you in.

That’s when you saw it.

A rabbit, small and trembling, curled beneath a stone lantern. One of its legs was twisted at an odd angle. Its breathing came shallow and fast.

You knelt carefully, the hem of your sleeve grazing the grass as you reached toward it. It didn’t flee. That was worrying. You could see where the fur was slick with blood, just along the haunch—maybe a hawk or one of the Zenin’s hunting dogs had gotten too bold.

It must’ve crawled into the gardens to die in peace.

“Seriously?” Naoya’s voice was familiar in that way humidity is—unpleasant, inescapable. “You’re playing nursemaid to a rabbit?”

You didn’t answer. Just shifted your weight, shielding the creature with your elbow.

He didn’t move closer. His gaze dipped, lingered on the rabbit, then on your fingers stained with its blood. For a beat, his mouth twisted—not in mockery, not yet.

“…Tch. You always were like this,” he muttered. “Picking up useless things.”

There was a pause. Then, unexpectedly: “Let me see it.”

You hesitated. But Naoya had already crouched down, one knee to the gravel, hand outstretched like he expected obedience. Like it wasn’t a question.

When you didn’t move, he clicked his tongue and leaned in anyway—closer than necessary. His fingers brushed yours, a little too warm, a little too practiced.

“You’re holding it wrong,” he said, adjusting the angle of its head.

It would’ve been sweet, maybe, if it came from someone else. But with Naoya, kindness always felt like the moment before a slap.

“I had a rabbit once,” he added absently. “Didn’t live long either.”

He looked at you then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes—somber, perhaps. Or was it indifference?

“Don’t cry about it when it dies.” He stood up, brushing dust from his knees. “You’re not built for that kind of disappointment.”