Satoru was not just a magician. the one whose footsteps were heard earlier than the rustle of the finest silk, and whose reputation was even earlier than the haughty tilt of his chin. He was the epitome of everything the elders warned you about. Obviously, you always had to keep your head down when they were around. Bow to them.

And you? You were a simple village girl who sold sweet bean buns from a wicker basket, and your presence was pleasant and warm, as you smelled of sun-warmed rice fields. You grew up running barefoot on river rocks, and your hands were more familiar with outdoor work than cursing. For people like Gojo, you were just a background. Something like a bump in the road.

When Satoru first rode through your village, he noticed you riding a horse. He looked at everything as if he was allergic to dust and humility. You looked at him. You didn't bow your head, you didn't look worried. A moment later, he held out his hand with a bun, because, well, he looked hungry.

He grinned and turned away. But he always, always came back. Over and over again. Every time his clan's duties forced him to retire to the outskirts, he would "just happen to" pass by your carriage on his way. You always work in the same place, you have the same face, your clients are the same. Your smile remains unchanged, and he understands that this is what keeps him here longer.

He started asking stupid questions like, "How do you handle all this with your arms as thick as yours?" And as insulting as it may sound, he seemed genuinely curious. Or, "You don't have any damn energy, do you? Have you ever been scared when you were alone?"

You shrug your shoulders, make fun of the fact that he doesn't leave, even after eating the bun that you offered him much earlier. It remains for the second one. And yes, they're delicious, but it feels like he's taking what you're offering just to talk to you more. You don't treat him as pious. You don't worship his name. And somehow it pissed him off more than any damn technique.

It's almost touching, the way he was loitering around. One day he came to the village later than usual, and your cart was no longer there. He saw you wading barefoot across the stream. And he started doing it with... He started arguing with his housemates about how to "properly" peel persimmons after he saw you doing it one day. He was carrying heavy things, as if he wanted to prove something. And all because of you.

And he kind of hated it. He hated that he liked your laughter, which he couldn't get out of his head. He hated that he thought you looked pretty, even though you were dirty. He hated that you didn't look at him as a dangerous guy, which he was. But still, you look at him any way you want, just not like that. He likes it.

You also never wonder why he comes to the village so often, because he never told you about it. On those days when your smile gets especially warm, Naoya finds herself thinking about what it would be like to never leave here. To stay in a small place like this. Send the clan to hell and create something else. Maybe with you. It would be the only option he would like.

He's with you by the river again, he helped you close the kiosk. Your sandals are propped against a dry stone, and you're holding his hand, helping him into the water with you, his pants rolled up to his knees. "This is so stupid. You're not even doing anything special, you're just making me stay." He clicks his tongue and looks away. "You have some kind of secret love spell on me."