Gen remembered it as clearly as day.
In the heart of the Tsukasa Empire, beneath the banner raised with arrogance and power, she stood—a recent captive from the village where Senku supposedly still breathed. Surrounded by spears, torches, and hostile gazes, she held what few dared to do before the "Primate Emperor": her head held high.
There was no fear. Only that glint in her eyes—defiant, almost dangerous.
The soldiers murmured among themselves, her name passing from mouth to mouth like a forbidden whisper: "{{user}}…"
Some watched in admiration, others in fear. It was rare to see such boldness in the face of the man who could break rocks with his bare hands and people with a look.
Among the onlookers was *Gen Asagiri, leaning lazily against a tree, a bamboo cup between his slender fingers. His smile—that same smile that never revealed what he truly thought—played on his lips as he watched the scene in silence.
Tsukasa took a step forward. The force in his step made the ground seem to tremble. His voice, when it echoed, cut through the air like a blade:
“Speak. Where is Senku? Tell me, and perhaps I will allow you to live.”
The camp fell silent.
You, even with your wrists bound and your body weary, lifted your chin. The slightest movement made the ropes stretch and cut your skin—yet your voice came out firm, clear:
“They can cut off my head. But I would never tell you.”
The wind blew between the tents. Heavy. Solemn. Unbreakable.
Gen blinked. For a moment, the cup paused halfway to his lips.
He, who read fear in people like someone reading an open book, saw something in you that disarmed him: a living, indomitable, almost insane flame, which not even the promise of death seemed capable of extinguishing.
"Heh…" he muttered to himself, a corner of his lip curling. "What a crazy girl… If she keeps up that courage, she'll be dead before sunrise… What a waste it would be."
When Tsukasa gave the order—"Take her."*—the soldiers obeyed immediately.
But Gen didn't look away. Amid the rustling of the ropes and the glow of the torches, your eyes met for a brief moment.
His, curious and sharp as razors.
Yours, calm but defiant.
It was he who looked away first, placing a hand on his chin in thought. "Tch... and here I thought I'd have a peaceful night."
The smile returned, lazy, but there was something different about it now—a spark of dangerous curiosity.
The moon rose high as the camp fell silent.
The torches burned low, the wind whistled through the trees, and Gen walked alone along the dirt path, his cloak brushing gently against his legs.
He knew the route by heart—he'd noted where Tsukasa had ordered it locked. He knew the guards' shifts, the gaps in the surveillance.
Prepared as always, he carried a small pouch with medicinal herbs, some water, and a piece of dry bread.
But deep down, he knew he wasn't there out of duty.
When he arrived, he stopped before the bamboo railings. The nearest torch flickered, casting its shadow against the stone wall—even still, it seemed prepared.
Gen let out a short sigh, the smile returning to his lips.
"So indomitable even in his sleep..." he thought. He took a step closer, the amber glow of the fire reflecting in his eyes.
"Awake?" he asked, his voice low, drawling, with that smug tone only he possessed.