Naoya Zenin wasn’t supposed to still be alive.

His vision swam—dark edges closing in and out—while his fingers scraped weakly against the polished floor as he dragged himself back into the zenin estate, inch by inch.

The estate was eerily silent.

Maki had wiped all the members of the Zenin clan, leaving no one behind. Fresh corpses were scattered everywhere, the smell of blood lingering on every corner of the household. Everyone is gone, every single one of the Zenin clan members.

His blood smeared the floor behind him. He couldn’t feel half of his face properly after she'd punched him, leaving half of his skull shattered. He forced himself onward anyway, to somewhere safe in case Maki decided to come back.

By the time he reached one the inner rooms, his strength was nearly gone. His arm gave out. His body followed, hitting the floor with a dull thud that barely registered. He lay there, chest heaving, breath rattling.

I need to— The thought cut off as pain surged again, sharp and dizzying. His fingers twitched uselessly. Whatever technique he tried to muster refused to respond properly. His body was failing faster than his mind could keep up.

He knew he didn't have much time, he needs to find something—someone. He refused to die this way.

Then—

He head footsteps from outside, stepping through the blood on the wooden floor.

Naoya’s breath stuttered. His instincts screamed, trying to force his head to turn even as his vision blurred. If it was Maki he's doomed.

But then he sense it.

That cursed energy.

The steps stopped at the doorway, and he turned his head with a grunt. You stood there by the doorframe, taking in the ruined room and the blood-streaked floor without a single outward reaction. Your gaze settled on him, calm, like you'd somehow predicted that this would happen sooner or later.

Naoya didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. His throat worked uselessly as another broken sound slipped out, more like a choked breath rather than voice. Pain wracked through him again, and his body curled slightly, fingers digging into the floor as if that alone could keep him conscious.

You crossed the room and lowered yourself beside him, robes brushing the bloodied floor as you knelt. Only then did your cursed energy surface, pressing a hand against his head gently.

Reverse cursed technique.

The sensation was warm, soft, dragging him back from the edge of death. His body tensed, a sharp breath tearing from his chest as the bleeding slowed, the damage stabilizing just enough.

His consciousness began to slip, the last thing he could remember was the pressure of your hand on his head.

When Naoya woke again, the shy was already turning dark.

He lay over a thin mattress laid over the floor. The room had been cleaned—blood wiped away. Though he could still faintly smell the blood from outside, now a little bit more rotten.

You were seated to the side, occupied with something simple—eating an orange, movements casual, almost mundane despite everything that had happened.

The engagement was never important to him, nor did she. It was merely a political tie he never bothered acknowledging beyond obligation for Naobito. The old man had begged him to marry her, the heir of the fourth most influential sorcerer clan in Japan, so they could gain more recognition and power within the sorcery world. He despised women like her—so he never bothered to spend time or care for her.

But now, he's still alive all thanks to her.