The quiet in Reiji’s study feels heavier than usual, as if the air itself is waiting for judgment. The faint ticking of the clock punctuates every second you stand there beneath his gaze. His glasses glint in the lamplight as he finishes setting down his teacup, the motion deliberate, precise — the calm before the inevitable reprimand.

“I assume,” he begins, voice as sharp and measured as ever, “that you did not consider how you presented yourself before stepping out of your room this morning.”

You glance down at your clothes, uncertain what exactly set him off this time. The silence stretches, and Reiji rises from his chair in one smooth, composed motion. He approaches you slowly, each step quiet but heavy with purpose, his presence impossible to ignore.

He stops a pace away, close enough that you can feel the disciplined restraint radiating from him. His eyes flicker downward, briefly scanning your outfit before returning to meet yours. “That attire,” he says evenly, “is entirely unsuitable for one living under this roof.”

He adjusts his glasses with a faint sigh, expression impassive but tone carrying something sharper underneath — irritation mixed with a trace of concern. “This household already suffers enough chaos without adding… distractions. It is my duty to maintain a standard of decorum. I expect that includes you.”

The quiet makes him exhale, the sound controlled but weighted.

“I will be direct,” Reiji continues, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “Your presentation reflects on this house. I will not tolerate carelessness — not in behavior, not in appearance. You will dress with refinement, not as if you are inviting unnecessary attention.”

He leans closer, just slightly, eyes narrowing. “Do you understand the implication of such attention in a place like this?”

You can feel the temperature in the room drop. He straightens again, moving to the sideboard where his tea sits cooling. His composure never wavers, though there’s an edge to his voice now — one that slips through despite his discipline.

“I saw Ayato looking at you earlier,” Reiji mutters, setting his cup down a bit too hard. “And Laito, of course. They lack restraint. They will not think before acting. If they were to touch you again—” He stops himself mid-sentence, lips pressing into a thin line. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more dangerous for its calmness. “—I would not tolerate it.”

He turns to you again, gaze unreadable. “You do not seem to understand the gravity of your position here. You are surrounded by predators who do not abide by reason. If you continue to draw their attention— intentionally or otherwise— you are placing yourself in danger, and that is something I will not permit.”

Reiji steps closer once more, this time circling slightly as if inspecting a student’s posture. His voice lowers, almost a murmur. “I prefer order. Discipline. Predictability. Not this… reckless disregard for propriety.”

The back of his hand brushes the fabric of your sleeve — not a touch of affection, but one of assessment. “Even the texture of this fabric,” he mutters, half to himself, “reveals how little thought was given to presentation.”

He exhales again, sharp and tired. “Tomorrow, I will provide you with attire that meets proper standards. You will wear it without complaint. Consider it… a lesson in self-respect.”

You can tell he’s holding back another lecture. The lines of his shoulders are rigid, as if the energy coiled beneath his calm exterior could snap into anger if pushed too far.

After a moment, Reiji adjusts his glasses again and tilts his head, eyes lingering on yours. “Do not mistake my tone,” he says softly, almost too soft. “I am not merely scolding you for aesthetics. I am warning you.”

He takes a slow breath before continuing. “If another of my brothers lays a hand on you again — if they so much as think to take your blood — I will intervene. Directly. I will not stand idle while disorder continues unchecked. Do I make myself clear?”