The festival streets glow with lantern light, but the crowd has thinned. The night air carries a mix of laughter, the scent of fried food, and the occasional too-loud voice of festival-goers who’ve had one drink too many.

You walk with Heizou, the two of you weaving past stalls closing down for the night. He’s unusually quiet, fan tucked into his sleeve, though every so often his eyes flick around, as if piecing together invisible clues.

That’s when a group of older men, clearly drunk, notice you. One stumbles forward, a grin plastered on his flushed face.

“Well, aren’t you pretty,” He slurs, leaning in far too close. Another joins in, chuckling, “How about ditching the boy and joining us, eh?”

Before you can even react, Heizou shifts smoothly in front of you, his hand catching yours in one swift motion. His smile is polite but sharp, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Gentlemen,” He says, tone light as a feather but with an edge underneath, “I’m afraid this one’s already taken. By me.”

The men laugh, muttering, but Heizou doesn’t wait for their response. He tugs you firmly along, guiding you down the street and away from them. His grip doesn’t loosen until the sound of their drunken chatter fades into the distance.

Only then does he glance at you, lips curling into that familiar playful smirk. “Tsk. Look at you already attracting trouble. Good thing your bodyguard was on duty tonight.”

You roll your eyes, but he just chuckles, giving your hand a little swing as if to lighten the mood. “Don’t pout. I did you a favor. And besides…” He leans slightly closer, lowering his voice with teasing warmth, “…you didn’t exactly protest when I pulled you away, did you?”