It was summer break. That was the only reason Naoya remained at the Zenin estate instead of Jujutsu High.
But break or not, his days were anything but restful.
Every morning, after dragging Megumi through the most basic cursed technique drills—watching the brat fumble like a newborn—Naoya would return expecting silence.
Instead, he always found her.
Naraku.
His hatred for her was molten in his chest, never cooling. Not until he carved it out. Not until she yielded. He would go to any extreme. Humiliation. Control. Domination. He didn't care how far it went—just as long as he saw that fire in her eyes die out by his hand.
What's Naraku's motive to kill Naoya now, you ask?
Simple.
The veil barrier is a cage.
Naoya's control over her movements, his rules, his punishments, his commands—they all mirror the life she's spent trying to escape. Her father's fists. Orochimaru's needles. Everyone who's ever tried to define her by force. Naraku has only ever survived by breaking her chains. She won't allow another set to close around her throat—not again.
Every smirk Naoya gives her feels like a claim.
Every order, a brand.
Every moment of silence she allows, a betrayal of everything she's fought to become.
She's not Naoya's maid.
She's not his servant.
She's not his.
She'd rather die than wear another man's collar.
So, they danced. Every day. Every room. Every breath.
…
Attempt #1
She wore the uniform today.
Naoya glanced up from his notes as she entered the room, a tray balanced in her hands. Tea and rice, arranged to perfection. The morning light softened her sharp gaze, the porcelain trembled slightly as she set it down her lips parted in feigned innocence.
Naoya caught her wrist before she could pull away. His thumb brushed over her pulse.
"You're nervous," he murmured, tugging her into his lap. Her knees landed across his thighs, her back stiff with tension. "Is it guilt... or excitement?"
He picked up the cup and raised it to her lips, his breath warm against her ear.
"Share it with me."
She hesitated.
He didn't.
She'd laced his tea with a cursed neurotoxin—crafted from her blood and rare poisons she'd found in his own storage. It attacked the brain directly—something even RCT couldn't immediately purge (she thought).
But Naoya only smiled and took a sip.
"Poisons only work," he whispered, "if I stay poisoned."
Then he kissed her—deep, invasive. Forcing the toxin into her mouth instead. Her body stiffened as the curse took hold, convulsions overtaking her limbs as she collapsed in his lap.
He watched her writhe, fascinated.
Only at the last second did he activate RCT, burning the poison from her veins. (I'm not sure if RCT can heal poison in canon, but for the sake of this fic, it does.)
She coughed violently, then spit in his face. "I'll peel that smirk off your corpse."
Naoya licked her lips, slow and deliberate.
"Mmm," he said, pupils dilated. "Even your venom's intoxicating."
He set her limp body down like a toy and stood.
"Good luck next time."
…
Attempt #2
Moonlight spilled over Naoya's bare chest as he slept, his breathing deep and even. Naraku's shadow fell over him, blade in hand, her borrowed yukata slipping off one shoulder as she knelt beside the bed.
Her hand trembled—just slightly—as she raised the knife.
His hand snapped up, catching her wrist mid-strike.
In one motion, he rolled her beneath him. The blade clattered to the floor.
"You could've just asked for my attention," he whispered, knee pressing between her thighs.
She arched against him with a growl. "Tch."
He leaned close, lips brushing her ear.
"You don't sleep anymore, do you?" he murmured. "Neither do I."
He kept her pinned there until dawn—her back to his chest, his breath warm and slow against her neck as he whispered every way he could've killed her.
Every weakness. Every opening.
And every time her breath hitched, his smile deepened.
…
Attempt #3
Steam curled through the onsen as Naraku stepped in, her eyes fixed on his silhouette.
Naoya lounged against the stones, arms sprawled across the rim, his head tilted back, eyes closed. Vulnerable.
She slipped in silently, steam fogging the cedar panels behind her. A tanto was hidden in her towel, the fabric draped across her hips.
She moved closer.
Just as she raised the blade—
His hand lashed out, catching her ankle.
He yanked her into the water, clothes and all. The knife clattered to the tiles.
"Predictable," he sighed, dragging her onto his lap, pinning her back against his chest. Her soaked shirt clung to her skin, sheer and tight.
"Enjoy the view?" she hissed, struggling as her wet shirt clung to her skin.
Naoya peeled the fabric from her shoulders, baring her chest above the waterline.
"Stay," he ordered, like he was giving a dog a command. "You'll dry faster here."
He closed his eyes again, letting her tremble in silence—humiliated, soaked, and defeated.
And just like that, it continued—day after day, a new attempt to kill him. A never-ending cycle.
…
Megumi pov:
The door shut behind Naoya with a soft click, but it echoed like a gunshot in Megumi's ears.
He stood in the center of the room, fists clenched at his sides. Tsumiki's fingers rested lightly on his forearm, a silent reminder to stay calm. To wait.
But how could he?
She didn't belong here. Not in this house. Not in this clan.
Not as a servant.
He swallowed hard. The taste of bile. The weight of shame.
He should've protected her.
He should've stopped Naoya.
But he hadn't.
He is very weak.
...
The estate was silent as he followed the servant through polished halls, each step echoing too loud. The Zenin household was pristine, precise—cold. Like a place built to choke people who didn't belong.
He didn't belong.
The courtyard was wide, open, reinforced with invisible cursed barriers he could just barely sense. The air shimmered faintly around the training floor.
And Naoya was already there.
Sleeveless gi. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable but soaked in smugness.
"You're late," Naoya said, voice flat.
Megumi said nothing.
"Still no manners," Naoya added, almost lazily. "I guess Fushiguro blood runs thicker than Zenin dignity."
Bastard.
"I didn't ask to be part of this clan," Megumi said, jaw tight.
Naoya smiled like someone about to crush something small underfoot. "No, but you'll act like it. If you want power, you need to stop sulking like a brat and start listening."
Naoya paced around him slowly, like a lion circling a cub.
"You don't understand cursed energy yet," he said. "So let me educate you."
Megumi didn't answer. He just watched. Waited.
"You know that cursed energy comes from negative emotions, yeah?" Naoya continued. "Anger. Fear. Guilt. That's all people are—walking batteries of misery. Most of them just leak it without control."
He raised a hand. Cursed energy flickered like smoke around his fingers—smooth, refined.
"But sorcerers? We shape it. Reinforce our bodies with it. Turn it into weapons. Techniques."
Megumi's fingers tightened around the training sword.
Naoya kept talking.
"Cursed techniques are unique. Personal. Some people can teleport. Others can cut you from miles away. Me?" He smiled wider. "Well, mine's a bit too complicated for your tiny brain to understand."
"Yours is called the Ten Shadows, right?"
"Then there's Reverse Cursed Technique," Naoya said, with mock boredom. "Turning cursed energy into a positive energy. Rare. Difficult. But useful—unless you like bleeding out."
"And finally—Domain Expansion," Naoya said, almost reverent. "You make your own space. Rules. Laws. In there, your technique always hits. No dodging. No mercy."
Naoya turned back to him, expression reset to something colder.
"But don't worry. You're not ready for that."
…
A week passed.
Naoya said he was teaching me, but it didn't feel like normal training. Most of the time, he just sat around watching movies—some with swords, others with monsters. He called it "culture."
Sitting next to him was a weird-looking cursed doll with button eyes and long, spindly fingers. It moved even without cursed energy being channeled into it—tilting its head, twitching like a bug… or punching me in the face.
Naoya said the doll would monitor my cursed energy and hit me whenever I lost control.
It did.
A lot.
I got good at dodging.
He said I was learning fast—"for a brat who leaks cursed energy like a busted faucet."
But I didn't care what he said. I just wanted to learn.
I wanted to get strong.
…
Today, I did something new.
I focused the way he told me. I kept my breathing steady, my cursed energy low but moving. It felt like trying to carry water in my hands without spilling forming a hand sign.
And then—they appeared.
Two little puppies.
Shadowy. Wobbly. One of them had ears too big for its head.
But they were real.
My shikigami.
Naoya didn't clap. Didn't praise me.
I couldn't help it. I smiled a little.
He just looked them over and said, "Your shikigami scale with your own power. Control, strength, body. The more you grow, the bigger they bite."
Then he glanced at me sideways, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"That is... if you live long enough to grow. Without offing yourself every five minutes."
I ignored him. Mostly.
Because for the first time since arriving at the Zenin estate, I felt something stir inside me that wasn't bitterness.
It was pride.
Small. Quiet.
But real.
…
Later, Naoya called me over in the courtyard.
Two girls stood beside him. Twins. They were older—a whole year, maybe more. I could tell.
They looked nothing alike beyond their faces. One had fire in her eyes. The other looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.
Naoya looked amused.
"This is Maki and Mai," he said loudly. "The biggest failures in the Zenin clan."
My stomach turned.
They didn't flinch. Didn't cry. Just stared at him—like they were used to it.
I looked at them and felt something strange.
Maki looked at me next, eyes sharp. Like she was trying to figure out if I was worth her time.
Mai didn't even bother.
Naoya clapped a hand on my shoulder hard enough to jolt me.
"Maybe you'll all grow up to disappoint us together," he laughed.
I stayed quiet.
Like always.
But in my chest, something buzzed. Something tight and quiet and angry.
They don't know me. Not really.
Not Mai. Not Maki. Not Naoya.
But one day, they would.
But then—
Naoya said something that shocked the three of us.
"This is Megumi Fushiguro," he said, voice casual, like he was announcing the weather. "And he has the best cursed technique in the Zenin clan."
He glanced down at me, grinning like it was some inside joke.
"Potentially the strongest in the world."
Silence.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
Maki's eyes narrowed. Mai finally turned to look at me, her face unreadable.
I didn't know what to say.
Strongest? Me?
The words didn't feel real. They just… sat in the air, heavy and wrong, like a coat that didn't fit.
But I could feel it—the way everyone was staring now.
"With this treasure I summon—"
…
Another training session ended with my body aching all over. My hands were red from gripping the wooden sword too tight, and my shoulders burned from blocking Naoya's blows.
I didn't say anything. Just breathed through the pain and waited for his next command.
But instead of shouting at me again, Naoya looked past me.
Soft footsteps echoed behind me—slow and deliberate.
Naraku.
His personal maid.
She always moved like she owned every room she entered, even the ones that hated her. Hair perfect. Clothes spotless. Face like ice. Eyes like she was constantly unimpressed with everything around her.
I glanced at her as she approached, and sure enough—there it was again.That look.Like I was nothing more than trash someone dumped in their way.
She didn't even try to hide it.
"A maid called Kuroi is asking to meet you," she said to Naoya, her voice cold and sharp.
Naoya didn't answer right away. He just tilted his head, smirking slightly.
"Oh? Is it Amanai?"
I didn't like Naraku. Not really.But I couldn't deny I admired her.
Not for her disdainful gaze or the way she treated people like they were beneath her.No, I admired her because she talked back to Naoya.
No one else did that.
She'd argue with him in front of everyone. Sarcastic. Snide. Sometimes even bold.She always lost, of course—Naoya would shut her down with words that got crueler every time.
But she still kept doing it.
The past couple days, I saw them together more often. She'd be standing behind him during meals, next to him when he sparred, cleaning weapons that didn't look like they needed cleaning at all.
Always close.
But never warm.
Naraku didn't seem to like anyone, honestly. Not even the higher elders. One day, I remember, she rolled her eyes at something an old man said during a family meeting. Just a look. Just a tiny scoff.
But it was enough.
The elder raised his voice. Stepped forward. I thought he was going to curse her—or kill her.
He tried.
Naraku barely managed to dodge the strike. Her sleeve tore. Her hand bled.
But she didn't fall.
She stood tall. Chin up. Glaring back at him like she wasn't afraid.
And then…
Naoya moved.
He was as Calm as ever.
He didn't just defend her.
He beat the crap out of the elder into the floor.
Not just once. Again and again until the courtyard went quiet and no one dared speak.
After that, no one touched Naraku.
Not even with their eyes.
But I still didn't like her.
Even if she was strong—even if she was smart—she looked down on people too much.
And I hated that.
Because I already had one Naoya in my life.
I didn't need another one in a maid uniform.