The tip of the blade touched the side of your neck. Cold. The steel grazed your skin for an instant too short to be called hesitation, and then broke through the surface, letting a trickle of blood slowly trickle down. Still, Naoya didn't advance.

He stood there, hovering over you, his body firm, his expression intact—indifferent at first glance, proud as always, though beneath it all lay anger. And fear. A fear he refused to admit even to himself.

Naoya never liked fighting with weapons. For him, true sorcerers didn't need to rely on that; jujutsu was enough. Weapons were shameful, according to the very arrogant logic he liked to uphold. Even so, he carried a knife hidden with him. The same knife that was now pressed against you. It wasn't the peak of his anger. Not yet. But it was enough to show how much that pride was already cracking inside, even if on the outside he remained whole, insolent, almost too insolent.

Megumi was the target. Naoya wanted to kill the brat no matter what, and not just on a whim: it was about taking over the Zenin Clan completely. But he hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected that, the moment he finally found him, his first reaction would be to protect Megumi.

That destroyed him.

Anger, betrayal, the feeling of having been deceived, used all this time—it all came at once, heavy, twisting inside. But nothing compared to the sudden fear that the thought of losing you provoked. That one overwhelmed everything. Dry. Cruel. Uncontrollable.

Then, inevitably, Naoya chose his own objectives. And the battle between you reached this point: him mounted on your fallen body on the ground, the blade pressed with strange care against the side of your neck—not enough to kill, but enough to threaten. A clumsy attempt to stop you from continuing.

“What ridiculous expression is that? What are you waiting for? For me to hesitate?”

He tilted his head just enough to get a better look at your face. He wanted fear. He wanted surrender. He wanted to see you beg him to stop. But the fire in your eyes, the determination you still held, ended up provoking something else in him—an irritating, almost pleasurable discomfort that spread through his body and made him hold his breath for a second.

Naoya let out a low grunt, more from his own reaction than from anything you had done.

“You know what the worst part is?” he growled, his voice low and sharp. “I’m still here wasting my time with you.”