"Nothing goes as planned in this cursed world," Naoya added, his voice low and flat, eyes fixed on the Inverted Spear where it lay on the table, still faintly gleaming with cursed energy.
Behind him, Naraku wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, her lips twitching into something half-smirk, half-sneer.
"You sound upset, Zenin-sama," she said, dragging the title like a blade across glass. "Did your little revenge not give you that warm, fuzzy closure you were hoping for?"
Naoya's eye twitched.
In a flash, his hand shot out. He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back with cruel force, making her neck strain under the pressure.
His face hovered inches from hers.
"Want me to kill you here, then?" he asked, voice low and dangerous. "Mocking me… even now, when you're the one on your knees?"
Naraku didn't flinch. Instead, she grinned wider, blood staining her teeth.
"You won't," she breathed, the words a challenge, a dare.
Naoya's grip tightened—not in rage, but something else. Something darker.
He hated her.
But her defiance, her refusal—it stirred something ugly and magnetic inside him.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then, with a scoff, he released her, letting her fall back to the floor. She caught herself on trembling arms, coughing as she glared up at him.
Naoya turned away, his back to her as he straightened his sleeves.
"I've decided," he said, his voice flat, final. "You're going to stay here. And you're going to be my personal maid."
Naraku blinked. Then let out a disbelieving laugh, the sound sharp as broken glass.
"Excuse me?"
Naoya didn't turn around. "You heard me. You'll work for me. Clean. Serve. Obey." His voice dropped, laced with quiet malice. "I'll show you exactly where a woman like you belongs in this world."
Naraku's fingers twitched toward the last of the ropes binding her, loosening them with a sharp tug. "Hah. And you think I'll just let you keep me here?"
Naoya finally glanced over his shoulder, his smirk cold,
"You're slow. Did you forget veils exist?"
"I can make one—strengthened by me—that lets anyone in or out… except you." His grin widened, predatory. "It's as simple as that."
He took a step closer, his shadow swallowing hers.
"Since you are a woman now, all my plans changed," he murmured, his voice a velvet-covered blade. "I decided that I'm going to break you."
Naraku didn't respond immediately. Her eyes dropped to the floor, then slowly rose to meet his again—steady.
"I'll kill you," she said softly. Not a threat. A promise.
Naoya chuckled as he walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence.
"Try," he said, glancing back one last time—his smile a thing of sharp edges and darker intentions. "I'll enjoy watching you fail."
"Oh, and one last thing," Naoya added as he stepped out. "Don't forget to wear the maid outfit."
…
The next day, Naoya ordered his clan to craft a veil object—something sturdy enough to manifest a stronger, steadier barrier for longer durations.
Once he was finished with the veil, he summoned Tsumiki and Megumi to the room.
"Now then, Megumi, you'll begin your training today. As for you, Tsumiki, do whatever you want—I don't really care," Naoya said, his tone sharp but indifferent.
Suddenly, Tsumiki raised her hand.
"Go ahead," Naoya said without looking.
"Naoya-san... I wanted to say this yesterday, but…. Megumi and I aren't actually blood-related," Tsumiki said slowly, eyes flicking toward Megumi.
Naoya blinked, confused for a moment, then realization dawned—and annoyance flickered across his face.
"Why didn't you say this earlier?" he said, stepping closer to her.
"What are you doing?" Megumi asked, stepping forward and blocking Naoya's path.
Naoya narrowed his eyes, still processing the information. "Kicking this monkey out of my estate," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He shook his head, thinking, How did I forget they're just step-siblings?
"If Tsumiki goes, then I go too," Megumi said firmly.
"Do you think you have a choice?" Naoya snapped, glaring at him.
But Megumi didn't flinch. His gaze locked onto Naoya's without a hint of fear.
Naoya sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Having your own ideas… that's good, I guess. Better than being a sheep following anyone."
Naoya's eyes flicked to Tsumiki, who stood quietly beside Megumi, her expression unreadable. He weighed his options—and then made his decision.
"Okay. You're not leaving," Naoya said coldly, voice firm. "Then you'll stay—and serve as a servant in the clan."
Tsumiki's eyes widened for a brief moment—but she said nothing.
Megumi's jaw clenched. "You can't be serious."
Naoya shrugged, smirking darkly. "I am. You both want to act defiant? Fine. But Tsumiki stays here. Her place is beneath us—as a servant of the Zenin Clan."
He stepped closer to Tsumiki, voice low but commanding. "This is your reality now. You serve the clan, or you leave."
Tsumiki met his gaze steadily, lips curling into a small, bitter smile.
"Understood, Naoya-sama"
Megumi's fists tightened, but he said nothing.
Naoya's smirk deepened. "What's with that look? You really want to kill me, huh? Don't worry. As my first student, you get privileges. Just for you, I'll guarantee that monke—your sister—no one will bother her."
Megumi's eyes darkened, his whole-body tense like a coiled spring. He glanced at Tsumiki—her calm, almost resigned expression only fueled his frustration.
Naoya waved a hand dismissively, his tone casual and mocking. "You both can still go to school if you want. Not that it matters—it's a waste of time, if you ask me."
Tsumiki lowered her gaze, processing the words. "We'll go," she said quietly.
"I'll have someone escort you," Naoya added. "Can't have you running off and doing something stupid."
Then he turned his back to them, walking toward the exit with deliberate ease.
"Come, Megumi," he said over his shoulder. "Let's begin your first session."
He paused. "Oh—and Tsumiki?"
She looked up.
"Wear the clan outfit from now on. You're part of the household now, after all."
Tsumiki gave a faint, bitter smile. "Of course… Zenin-sama."
The door slid shut behind him, and silence returned.
Megumi finally exhaled, fists still clenched.
"I'll get us out of this," he muttered.
Tsumiki rested a hand on his arm, her voice soft but certain. "I know."
…
After teaching Megumi the basics of jujutsu—given he knew nothing to begin was annoying with that—Naoya dismissed him and returned to the main estate. He slid open the door to his private study—and then he saw her.
Naraku was perched on the edge of his desk, legs crossed at the knee, shamelessly flipping through one of his scrolls. Afternoon light streamed through the shoji screen, casting gold over the curve of her cheek, the crisp white shirt that clung to her torso, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow. The top buttons were undone, revealing just enough of her collarbone to feel intentional. The shirt was tucked into high-waisted black shorts that clung to her waist, the hem riding high on her thighs as she swung one leg lazily.
Not the maid uniform.
Of course not.
Naoya stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a slow, deliberate click.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
Naraku didn't look up. "Quite." She turned another page, fingers trailing across the inked lines of Naoya Domain expansion scrolls as if she could actually read them. "You scribble a lot for someone who thinks he knows everything."
His eye twitched. She couldn't read the formulae or the cursed theory scrawled across those pages—she didn't understand Domain Expansion, not really—but she acted like she did.
In three strides, he was across the room, snatching the scroll from her hands with a sharp flick of the wrist.
"Did I give you permission to touch these?"
She finally looked up. That smirk—mocking, deliberate—curled at the edge of her lips.
"Did I need it?"
Naoya's hand curled into a fist.
"What about the uniform?" he asked, cold.
Naraku tilted her head. "I don't do uniforms."
"Interesting choice," he murmured.
Then he moved.
In an instant, he was behind her. One hand fisted in her ponytail, yanking her head back just enough to break her smirk for a single heartbeat. He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.
"You do now."
Naraku reacted instantly—an elbow driving back toward his ribs, her leg sweeping low to knock him off balance. But Naoya anticipated it. He twisted her arm behind her back and forced her forward, pressing her against the desk. Her chest met the cold wood with a thud, hair spilling over her shoulder.
"You had one rule," he growled, his grip tightening. His free hand slid down her spine, slow and deliberate. "One simple rule."
Fingers curled into her collar—soft cotton bunched in his fist—and ripped. The sound cut through the air, sharp and brutal. Buttons bounced across the polished floor. The shirt fell open, hanging in jagged halves. Her bare back was exposed to the chilled air, the lines of her muscles tensing under his touch.
"No bra, huh?" Naoya muttered, a cruel note of amusement in his voice.
He leaned down, his breath hot against her skin.
"Since you refuse to dress properly," he murmured, "you won't dress at all."
His hand moved possessively over the exposed skin, tracing the line of her spine.
"For the rest of the day, you'll serve like this. And every time you disobey..." His teeth grazed her shoulder, just enough to raise goosebumps. "I'll take another piece."
Naraku's fingers curled into the desk edge. Her voice was low, but steady. "You're enjoying this."
Naoya chuckled darkly, straightening just enough to admire the way the torn fabric slipped off her shoulders.
"Oh, Naraku," he said, "you have no idea."
Then, with maddening ease, he let her go and stepped back.
"Now," he said, casually, "my soda."
Naraku turned slowly, the remains of her shirt clinging loosely to her arms, slipping further with each movement. But her eyes—burning with defiance—met his without flinching.
This wasn't over.
Not even close.