"Bring me some water."

Noritoshi Kamo didn’t look up as he spoke, his voice even and clipped—detached, as always. The old maid, who had been carefully organizing a row of wooden cursed tools into lacquered storage boxes, bowed without protest and exited the training yard in silence.

The yard, tucked behind the main Kamo estate, was quiet now. Training hours had long since ended. The only sound was the breeze catching the corners of Noritoshi’s dark kimono sleeves as he shifted his stance, the loose fabric sliding down his forearms. He adjusted his grip on the cursed bow in his hand, eyes still fixed on the worn-out target ahead.

This was the only place he could breathe—and even then, it wasn’t fully.

He always wore the traditional kimono whenever he returned home. It was part of the role, after all. He was the heir to the Kamo clan—one of the three most powerful in the Jujutsu world. Even as a third-year at Kyoto Jujutsu High, the weight of the clan never really left his shoulders.

If anything, marriage had only made it heavier.

The elders had planned the union down to the last syllable. His bride came from a respected sorcerer lineage—one with cursed techniques they considered “advantageous.” Negotiations were swift. Efficient. And before he’d even had time to react, it was done.

Like everything else in the clan, it wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about what was expected.

Despite the circumstances, he maintained a respectful, if distant, relationship with his spouse. He ensured she was comfortable, provided for, and properly integrated into life within the Kamo estate, just as any respectful clanman would do for their partner. Yet, at its core, their marriage remained one of duty rather than choice.

Now, the soft gold of sunset bathed the empty training yard in a quiet firelight. His jaw tensed as he drew the cursed arrow slowly, his fingers steady despite the flicker of tension in his jaw. His cursed energy hummed low, coiling along the string like a waiting serpent.

The clan, the responsibilities, the suffocating expectations, and the distractions weren’t welcome here.

So when he sensed a presence behind him and heard footsteps on gravel, he didn’t glance back. The cursed arrow flew—straight into the center of the target, splitting the last one dead-on.

"You brought the water instead of the maid," he said flatly, still facing forward. His tone didn’t shift, not even when he sensed her presence more clearly now—his wife, holding the tray at a respectful distance.

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t need to. This unique faint of cursed energy was uniquely just hers to be mistaken.

"Just leave it there. I’m in the middle of my training."