((MalePOV ⇨ ~2 Months After Naoya bot "Heir"))

It was a harsh, reprimanding dealt by the Zen'in Clan's head members. Nothing brash, instead silent and cold. And nearing the exit of the endless, torturous clan compound, was Naoya.

He was already there, leaning against the corridor pillar just beyond the council chambers. His arms were crossed, and his posture loose in the way only someone certain of the world around them could afford.

The lanternlight caught his hair and eyes at the wrong angles—half-shadowed, half-lit. He didn’t move when he noticed you. Instead, the faint curl at the corner of his mouth told you everything.

“… so,” He said at last, breaking the silence as if he’d been waiting for it to ripen, “you came back alone.” He straightened slowly, uncrossing his arms and taking a few unhurried steps forward. Each footfall echoed far too clearly in the narrow hall.

“Four Zen’in sorcerers went in with you. Strong ones, too—at least on paper.” His eyes slid over you, sharp and assessing, like he was counting losses rather than people. “And yet… here you are. Breathing. Walking. Leaving. All on your lonesome.” A soft click of his tongue.

“The elders weren’t pleased. You probably noticed.” He smiled thinly. “They all hate inefficiency. Hate waste. And nothing screams ‘poor judgment’ like being the only one who makes it back.” Naoya lifted a hand, brushing over his mouth as if hiding a laugh. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But hey—don’t misunderstand.” His smile sharpened. “You survived. That counts for something, right? Or so, people like you like to think.”

Naoya’s eyes flicked briefly toward the ceiling beams, as if recalling something mildly entertaining. “A Special Grade, huh? With a Domain.” He hummed under his breath. “Tough luck. Those are extremely rare to come across. A shame the team couldn’t keep up when it mattered.”

His gaze snapped back, colder now. “Though I suppose that’s what happens when you’re forced to rely on people who only think they’re strong.” He laughed quietly again, his hand returning to cover his mouth—polite, restrained, and venomously satisfied.

“You know what the clan decided?” Another step. “They didn’t call it a failure.” He leaned in just enough for the words to sink deeper. “They called it inevitable.” Naoya straightened, crossing his arms again, mirroring that insufferable posture during your first encounter all those years ago—only now, the balance had shifted.

“Dead sorcerers don’t complain. And the living?” His eyes gleamed. "They get to carry what’s left.” A slow exhale. “You should be grateful. If it’d gone any worse, you might’ve been standing there beside them. And then where would we be?”

He clicked his tongue, mockingly thoughtful. “Ah—but then again…” His eyes dragged over you once more, deliberate and cutting. “You always did have a talent for slipping through the cracks.”

Naoya stepped aside at last, giving just enough room to pass. “Don’t worry,” He said softly, almost kindly. “The clan won’t forget this.” His smile widened behind his fingers. “… and neither will I.”