the fruits

ZENIN NAOBITO'S FIRST MARRIAGE WAS ARRANGED BY HIS FATHER, HIS SECOND MARRIAGE WAS ARRANGED BY HIS CLAN, AND FINALLY — HIS THIRD WAS ARRANGED BY HIMSELF. His first wife had been named Toyoda Kimiko, a presumptuous name for an even more presumptuous woman. Naobito had hated her, hated the way she sneered at him, hated the way she talked — her high pitched whining grating his ears, he just hated everything about her.

Looking back now, Naobito supposed he hated her because she was the woman his father forced upon him and he couldn't take that hatred out on his father.

The first son married a woman from an old family — for lineage and prestige. Naobito had been a second son. And second sons married wealthy women to ensure their dowries filled the clan's coffers.

“You are a Zenin,” his father had groused, “and you will do your duty.”

Naobito, cocky and young and eighteen, had grinned and said. “I might have, old man — if you had done that yourself.”

Naobito had been dragged to the ceremony, his face caked in make-up to cover the bruises his father had left the day before. It was nearly faded by now, thanks to the healers, but it wouldn't do for a Zenin to appear less than perfect before the masses. So Naobito's elder brother had the servants smother his face using their dead mother's powder before the ceremony and a miserable woman sat in the place that was supposed to be their mother's seat next to his father.

Kimiko batted her eyelashes at him trying to play a coy and innocent maiden, this upstart who thought she was worthy of the Zenin name and Naobito resisted the urge to slap her before the crowd gathered to witness the marriage of the second son of the Zenin clan.

When they had been forced into the bedroom where they were supposed to consummate his marriage, Kimiko had begun to undress in a manner that her insipid self must've thought as sultry. To Naobito, she was just prolonging things.

Naobito had bedded his wife in a mechanical way, listened to her faked moans of pleasure, and in a fit of defiance — dumped the bloodied bedding right on top of his father's breakfast.

To this day, Naobito had no idea why the man had not murdered him for that.

Kimiko birthed a son not long after that, and Naobito thanked whatever god that existed for that. He didn't want to bed the woman anymore. He had done his duty and produced a son for the Zenin clan, regardless if that son had so little Cursed Energy he was almost a monkey.

His father had not been satisfied.

“I asked for a grandson, boy — not a monkey.”

“A son is a son,” Naobito had been 19 years old and he thought he was invincible, “maybe had you stopped at two, lord father, my mother might still be among us.”

His elder brother, Genji, had to restrain their father — lest he murder an already bloodied and unconscious Naobito.

What a pitiful coward, Naobito had thought, bedridden. He had sent the silly little lump he called a wife away to visit her clan, taking their monkey son with her.

“Must you provoke him?” Genji had asked, his beautiful face contorted into an expression of despair as he visited Naobito. Genji was the most powerful of them and the most beautiful, he was their mother's spitting image — delicate in a way no Zenin was. And because Genji wore a face that wasn't his own, their father tended to listen to him. “Our father grieves our mother deeply, you know that.”

“Our father died with our mother,” Naobito had corrected, turning on his side despite the pain it caused him, “that man is not our father.”

Naobito, even now, could remember the day his mother died clearly as if it just happened yesterday. Chojurou had awakened him in the dead of night, him and Genji both, a hand on each of their shoulders.

“My young masters, you have a brother — but Lady Zenin has passed alongside your sister.” Chojurou delivered the news with all the stoicness that was expected of a Zenin.

“Twins?” Genji had hissed, his mouth open in horror.

Chojurou nodded gravely. “Yes, but your sister has passed and now your brother is whole.”

Howls of despair echoed through the estate, and a young Naobito had thought that perhaps a wounded animal had made their way inside the estate. But when Chojurou had escorted them to meet their newest brother, the door to their mother's chambers had opened and they had seen their father kneeling on the floor — shoulders trembling, curled in on himself, gripping a pale hand like a lifeline.

The sounds of a wounded animal had been coming from their father, weeping and muttering the words; “No, no, no— why? WHY?!”

The Clan Elders, who were urging their father to get up, to rise — Zenins did not despair and the Clan Head couldn't be seen like this. The Clan Head shouldn't even be acting like this over a wife.

But their father had married their mother, a sickly woman from a disgraced branch of the Kamo Clan. And to do that, he had to defy the Clan Elders, because not only was their mother sickly, she barely had any Cursed Energy.

And yet that sickly woman birthed two sons with fine Cursed Techniques, and a third it would seem — with enough Energy to manifest one in the future.

“The young master's name is Ogi,” the nursemaid had said, holding out the ugly frog towards Genji.

Genji simply peered inside the swaddled. “What of our sister? She may be dead, but I'd like to hold her before she is burned alongside our mother.”

Another nursemaid entered, carrying a baby that was less uglier than Ogi and yet utterly still. Naobito peeked in, her face was blue and her lips were grey, and she did not move at all.

Genji handed Naobito their younger brother, and Naobito hated Ogi. The little frog scowled at him, no regret whatsoever for killing their mother.

Genji held their sister in his arms, gentle and soft as he had always been, and pressed a kiss to her cold head.

Their father had become colder after that. Gone was the stern man who had indulged his children, in his place was a man who was always the Head of the Zenin first before a father.

And so, as per their frigid father’s request - Naobito got Kimiko pregnant again. Two years after Nobuhiko.

And this time she birthed a son - Kouji, in honour of Genji - who while better than Nobuhiko, would be nothing more than a Grade 2 sorcerer. But Kouji’s birth was overshadowed by the birth of Jinichi - Genji’s firstborn with his wife Sayaka.

Jinchi was uglier than Ogi, a fat little twat with a layer of fat even on his tiny forehead. His face was all Sayaka’s father, who had an ugly mug. The boy had none of the sharp features of the Zenin, nor Genji’s delicate beauty. Just like Naobito’s own brats, Jinichi only inherited the worst from his mother’s side of the family.

Their father was thankfully, satisfied with Kouji so Naobito never had to see his tart of a wife unless it was for clan events. If their father was disappointed in Jinichi, he didn’t show it for even if the boy possessed substantial reserves which would propel him to Grade 1 - he was nothing impressive either. The great sorcerer clans were on a losing streak it would seem, for the Zenins - no Ten Shadows and for the Gojos - no Six Eyes. The Kamos, by far had the most consistent Blood Manipulation users but Blood Manipulation was nothing compared to the Ten Shadows or Six Eyes paired with Limitless. Quality over quantity.

On the day Zenin Toji was born, their father died.

The man had dropped dead right before Genji, while waiting for the birth of his second grandson from his eldest son. The autopsy ordered by Genji ruled it as a brain aneurysm, but Naobito had his doubts - it felt like his father was an empty husk.

Either way, Naobito had hoped the bastard burned in hell - never to be reunited with his beloved wife.

Zenin Toji was born without an ounce of Cursed Energy, and instead was given superhuman abilities. Perhaps it might’ve been useful, perhaps it wouldn’t. Either way, the Zenin had made their minds.

The lady of the clan had birthed a monkey instead of a sorcerer. And it was then that Naobito saw that what he had thought was gentleness and kindness in his brother, was in fact spinelessness.

Sayaka was beside herself, facing scrutiny from the entirety of the Zenin clan and the other sorcerer clans. There were whispers that she had had an affair, but as the boy grew - no one could deny that he was the son of Zenin Genji. Toji was the spitting image of his Zenin grandfather with Genji’s catlike green eyes and inky dark hair.

Eventually it all became too much for Sayaka and on the demonspawn’s sixth birthday, she hung herself in the room where Naobito’s mother had died. The rooms of the lady of the Zenin clan, a beautiful room with an engawa which opened to a sakura tree and a small koi pond below it.

Toji was the one who found her.

Jinichi, who was a far crueler child than Genji had ever been, dragged his brother to the Disciplinary Pit. Toji screamed and cried and pleaded, calling out for Genji who only frowned and turned his back away. Naobito had watched it happen with an impassive face, did Jinichi have to be so brutal? But the boy was angry, for although Sayaka had deemed him ugly, the woman was still his mother. And in his eyes, his silly childlike mind just as it had been with Naobito, his younger brother had killed their mother.

Naobito wondered then, had Ogi’s twin lived and either he or the girl was like Toji, would their mother have still loved them?

Kimiko died on one sunny Tuesday afternoon, a bad case of food poisoning. Naobito could believe that, but he also knew Ogi was searching for a wife and with Sayaka dead, the only person stopping him from having power over the Zenins’ domestic affairs was Naobito’s wife.

Good riddance.

Neither Naobito or his brats cried at Kimiko’s funeral.

Zenin Genji slit his own throat in front of Zenin Toji when the boy was just eight years old. And just like that, the 25th Head of the Zenin clan died, and per his will - Naobito rose as the 26th Head of the Zenin clan. Jinichi was too young and his Cursed Technique not as polished as Naobito’s Projection Sorcery and the boy had no supporters among the Elders. Who else would’ve been chosen? Ogi? Fat chance, the little frog’s Cursed Technique was nothing.

Zenin Naobito was now at the top of the Jujutsu world. He, a second son who had only his wife’s dowry, was now in control of the most powerful clan among the Three Great Clans. He would’ve been content to live out his days as Clan Head, let his sons and nephews squabble over power later when he was dead. None of them were worthy anyways.

The worst part was, the Elders realized this.

And so, at the age of 32 years old - Zenin Naobito married again. This time, to a woman selected from a branch of the Zenin clan - Zenin Mariko.

“Pureblood,” the Elders had crooned, “to produce the Ten Shadows technique.”

Naobito thought the Elders were clinging onto a bygone age, the Golden Age of Sorcery had long passed - Zenin Yoshikado and the other legendary members of the Zenin clan were dead. And the last time two great powers were born at the same time in Zenin Ienaga and Gojo Shingen - they killed each other. Perhaps it was for the best, that they had all moved on from the past.

And so Naobito and Nariko had another two sons, just as unremarkable as Naobito’s first two. Obito was the elder with sub-par Cursed Energy that would never make a Grade 1 and Ogai was the younger without any Cursed Technique.

Just as he had with his first two children, Naobito left them to their mother and to the servants. He had no intention of fostering weaklings, his parents had had two talented children to supervise who were guaranteed to reach Grade 1.

Mariko was as plain as Naobito’s stepmother had been, meek and as quiet as a mouse. Her voice was even more high pitched than that tart’s, Kimiko.

At least Naobito’s stepmother had had the good grace to understand her position as the lady of the Zenin Clan. Mariko had no such proclivities, she walked around as if in a daze, ditzy in an unamusing way.

His father had made his stepmother walk three paces behind him and Naobito did the same with Mariko and their children. Perhaps that was the fate of second wives, doomed to walk three steps behind their husband because the position beside their husband was reserved for the dead first wife.

Unlike his father, however, Naobito had no such fantasies. He made Mariko walk behind him because that was what he was used to.

His stepmother was still around, last Naobito heard. Genji had tolerated her presence and allowed her the luxuries the dowager lady of the clan entailed, but that all came to an end when Ogi had caught the woman trying on their mother's kanzashi and kimonos. The kanzashi were priceless heirlooms, given only to the chosen consorts and daughters of the Zenin Clan.

Ogi had had their stepmother booted out into a Buddhist temple, to live out her life in a cloistered environment. And as per usual, spineless Genji did nothing and Naobito only watched.

Technically, as lady of the clan, it would be Mariko's prerogative to wear them or gift them to members of the clan. But Naobito had not given her access to the treasury, which held these prized hairpins. If Mariko could not handle daily household matters without seeming like a clutz, there was no use gifting her anything of substantial value.

Ogi was pleased that Mariko was incapable, it paved the way for his wife.

Saki managed the domestic affairs with the competence and elegance demanded of her position. The staff respected Saki, but they did not admire her as they did Naobito's mother. How could they? When they knew that behind closed doors, the strict and professional woman was lower than a servant in the eyes of her husband. In their eyes, she was to be respected as a more superior servant than anything else and not as a lady married to the main line of the Zenin clan.

In the end, stupid Mariko fell and cracked her head open on the hard wooden floor.

Nobuhiko was with her.

Whether or not Nobuhiko was the one who killed her didn't matter to Naobito, what mattered was that the bitch thrown at him by the Elders was dead and he would never have to take another wife again.

Naobito had been so pleased, he wore yellow to her funeral, unable to hide the jubilee he felt at her passing. Mariko had done one good thing for him and that was dying before he did despite him being 10 years older than her.

Their marriage had lasted almost 10 years and Naobito popped open a disgustingly expensive bottle of sake at the news of it ending.

Naobito would have never expected that in less than two years, he would marry again.

This time to a woman of his own choosing.

Oda Yukina was bright-eyed and ambitious and vicious. Even watching her in the Jujutsu High Goodwill Event, it was easy to see that the young woman was exactly the kind of person that would step on others to move forward in life.

The looks of shock and betrayal her classmates would shoot at her as she used them to propel herself to victory and stand out in the eyes of the Higher Ups was amusing to watch.

The only person she seemed to have an ounce of regard for was the boy who could create Cursed Dolls with his technique. And even then, it was obvious it was simply because she thought the boy's dolls cute. Such was the brain of a young woman, Naobito supposed.

Silly softness or not, Naobito was drawn to her. She provided him with an endless amount of entertainment, watching her wittingly causing a stir among both the Kyoto and Tokyo Jujutsu High with her duplicitous behaviour. She was a refreshing breath of fresh air among the young, up and coming sorcerers. A person that knew what she wanted and would stop at nothing to get it.

Her Cursed Technique of Shadow Manipulation was also nothing to scoff at, it was better than even most of the techniques within the Zenin clan.

Yes, Oda Yukina would be a fine young sorcerer for the Zenin clan to sponsor.

But would that satisfy her? Somehow Naobito knew it wouldn't.

Oda Yukina had a hunger to her, she desired more than to be a powerful sorcerer — she wanted power to manipulate their world. Naobito saw the same hunger in her as he saw in his stupid frog brother Ogi. But Oda Yukina was clever, she was not trapped in her own fantasies of greatness as Ogi was.

It was why she smiled prettily at Gojo Satoshi and made the young man's pale face colour with warmth in his cheeks, regardless if he was already affianced to the winter maiden in Gojo Fumia. The Gojo brat was the only heir to the Three Great Clans close to her age, and Naobito supposed that he could've betrothed her to Nobuhiko who was useless, or to Kouji who preferred girls much younger than him — but no.

If Oda Yukina wanted power, then Naobito wanted to see if she could handle it.

So he approached her parents who were useless, spineless fools easily swayed with money and the allure of potentially being the grandparents of the Zenin heir. If this was what she has grown up with, Naobito could understand why she wanted more. Her clan was neither wealthy nor powerful and they were utterly content in their position. Complacency bred laziness and that was what Naobito saw in the Oda, content to bask in the shadows of their formidable ancestor — Oda Nobunaga. But Oda Yukina was not like that, no she desired to break free out of the shadows and to become something greater. Naobito could respect that.

Her parents had all but wrapped her up as a pretty gift and delivered her to him.

And Oda Yukina was seething. She smiled at all the right places, gave respect to everyone that deserved it — but Naobito could tell that on the inside she desired nothing more than to flay them alive for daring to take her youth and potential away from her.

Naobito almost laughed in her face, perhaps he was wrong about her and she really was deluded about her own greatness as frog Ogi was. And so Naobito ignored her, drinking away his disappointment in the confines of his chambers, only doing the bare minimum of his duty towards her.

That was until she brought Toji to heel.

Toji, the demonspawn, the stain of the Zenin clan. He was a stain, a sin that Genji was all too ready to leave behind for Naobito to deal with. Toji, whom everyone avoided because they could never sense him coming and who could kill all of them if he so chose to. He had never bothered with the clan after Jinichi had shoved him into the Disciplinary Pit and they had all looked away, partaking in his abuse as if he was a punching bag.

Naobito learned that he had tea with Yukina on an almost daily basis, sitting on the engawa before the sakura tree where his mother had hung herself out of shame for birthing him.

And later, when Yukina announced her pregnancy to the clan — Toji had congratulated her before all the high ranking members of the clan, offering a toast for the babe that yet rested within Yukina’s womb. The two had smiled at each other, offering well-wishes.

Naobito had never been so entertained. He had looked up at his standing wife from his seat and realized he had never seen something so beautiful as Oda Yukina smirking in triumph.

It was then Naobito had looked at her and truly seen her. Her inky dark hair like shadows was pulled back into a bun, offsetting her porcelain pale skin and her eyes were a brown that might've been called warm if it weren't for the coldness locked beneath its depths. Her lips were painted a red that made it seem like she had been drinking blood just not a moment ago and she wore pale blue paint on the corner of her eyes, which only served to make the cold gleam within them clearer.

She always dressed in black kimonos, as dark as funerary ones with the only colouring being the golden and red embroidery depicting cranes at flight with a blood red kosode peeking through.

Zenin Yukina dressed as if she were a widow who was back on the marriage market and Naobito was already long dead.

And yet he couldn't find himself in him to muster up any offense.

And so Naobito raised his cup to her, prompting the rest of the clan to do so as well as they toasted to the child within Yukina's womb.

Yukina was hoping for a son, Naobito knew, but the doctor who reported to him as soon as he finished checking up on her reported to Naobito that it was likely to be a girl.

A daughter. Naobito didn’t know how to deal with daughters, though perhaps his father might have. Perhaps had the female twin survived instead of Ogi, their father might not have grown so cold and angry at the world. He had been disappointed that Naobito had come out a boy, Chojurou had once said he had been hoping for a daughter that looked like his lady wife. Genji was the spitting image of their mother, but Genji had been a boy and the coveted heir.

What would Naobito do with a daughter? He wondered. Would he think her insignificant, would he have sold her to the highest bidder? The latter was likely, because that was the fate of all daughters in the Jujutsu world. Yukina, who had been quite the talent, was not exempt from that fate. Naobito liked to think that if he had a daughter, he would’ve at least given her to someone who would treat her well. Someone worthy of the Zenin blood in her veins.

But on a cold autumn evening, starlight casting shadows upon the world - Yukina had strutted in, slightly pale from birth though no less put together as she always was, carrying a bundle.

She held out the bundle towards Naobito and smiled as a serpent baring her fangs. “Husband,” she called out, she had never called Naobito ‘husband’, “you have a son.”

Naobito must’ve gaped at her like an idiot.

The clan members all twittered that he must’ve been in shock to have received a son with such a great amount of Cursed Energy, it was palpable. Indeed, the child’s Cursed Energy seemed to roll off the bundle like liquid shadows waiting to be formed. Naobito saw that the shadow cast by Yukina’s figure almost seemed to move as if something was going to emerge from it and he felt nothing from Yukina, the woman’s Cursed Energy dormant and awaiting his response.

Naobito smiled then, dazed from the sheer gall this woman had to lie so blatantly to him, to the entirety of the Zenin clan.

Zenin Yukina, like any other woman, had no balls to speak of and yet in that very moment, she was certainly more ballsy than any other man Naobito had ever faced in his life.

Naobito had grabbed the bundle off of her hands and peered into the face of the sleeping baby. Chubby and soft, everything about the child was nothing like the frog Ogi or Genji’s spawn had been.

Naoki had looked like a cloud, soft and almost ephemeral.

Naoki. Naobito had to admire the audacity of Zenin Yukina naming this child after herself and Naobito. But nevertheless, the name stuck and Naobito found himself visiting the child when he had a moment to spare.

Naobito would loom over her crib, staring at the strange creature who was apparently quiet for a baby. Naoki would look up at him with kitten-like hazel eyes and though she was but a baby, Naobito knew that she would be beautiful one day.

When Naoki manifested her technique while training, Naobito had popped open another bottle of expensive sake. He had hit the jackpot, the Ten Shadows Technique had finally returned home to the Zenin clan.

Naobito sat the boy down in front of him, his Divine Dogs still small but no less fierce. Yes, a boy. A girl with the Ten Shadows would’ve been married off as soon as she bled by the Elders, in hopes of her passing the Cursed Technique down to a son. But a boy - a boy would have no such pressures and Naoki had been promising even in his physical training and Naobito knew that soon Yukina would enlist Toji to help with Naoki’s training.

It would have been a shame if such a talent was reduced to simply a womb.

And as Naoki looked up at Naobito with his hazel eyes, pale skin, and dark hair which Yukina insisted was kept long - Naobito realized that he couldn’t submit his mother’s little ghost to such a fate. Not when the woman herself had died of childbirth.

“Master Naoki looks like the late Lord Genji,” his clansmen would say.

Yes, like Genji, Naoki was more pretty than handsome for a boy - with a delicacy to his features that brought to mind Naobito’s spineless elder brother. How strange, Naobito thought, that the people who had lived long enough to remember Naobito’s mother were only him and Chojurou - everyone else was dead. Perhaps, if Naobito’s mother had lived beyond her 28 years then his clansmen would’ve seen that Naoki’s resemblance to Genji was superficial and that he was a dead ringer for the late Lady of the Zenin clan.

Unfortunate biology aside, Naoki was an excellent heir. He was dutiful even as a child, solemn, and obedient. However, that did not mean Naoki was spineless as Genji was. Oh no. Ogi had once sought to humiliate the boy by beating him in a spar when he was 10 years old before all the Hei, but Naoki had humiliated Ogi in turn without even bringing out his shikigami save to restrain Ogi in the end - the Divine Dogs’ maws pinning his arms down.

And once when Jinichi had slapped Naoya for the boy’s wicked mouth, Naoki had nearly drowned him in his shadows.

While Naobito could commiserate on Jinichi slapping Naobito’s youngest child, because truly the brat was the brattiest little shit to ever exist - Yukina couldn’t. Yukina was a controlling mother who disliked any intervention in her child rearing unless it was Naobito himself who intervened. Telling off or scolding her children was character building, but laying a hand on them was a paramount crime in Yukina’s eyes.

“Naoki already punished him for hitting Naoya,” Naobito told his wife, taking a chug of his sake.

“Well, he wouldn’t have needed to if -”

“I didn’t need to, but I wanted to,” Naoki interrupted Yukina. Naoki’s voice was as high pitched as any child’s but Naobito didn’t find it grating as he found his elder sons’ voice to be.

Naobito stared at Naoki then, the little boy meeting his gaze evenly. “Do you think Naoya would’ve punished Jinichi if it had been you?” he asked, because Naobito knew Naoya and what the boy was.

“No,” Naoki paused for a moment, “but does it matter?”

Ah.

Naobito couldn’t believe that he was jealous of a bratty nine year old. Naobito had been just as bratty as Naoya, to the consternation of his clan and yet Genji had never tried to shield him or avenge him. He only ever asked why Naobito would provoke them like that.

Perhaps that was why when Naoya had sliced Elder Suzaku to bits at 13 years old for threatening Naoki’s position as heir, Naobito had only looked at the boy covered in blood as if he had taken a dip in a pool of it and didn’t execute him on the spot as Zenin law demanded. Naoya’s chest was still heaving, his tanto from Yukina chipped and cracked gripped in a bloody hand, and his hazel eyes wide with undiluted rage.

“Clean yourself up and burn your clothes,” Naobito told him, “I’ll dispose of the body.”

Would Naobito have done that for Genji? He decided that yes, in a better world he would have.

Naobito held the bira kanzashi in his hand, rolling the hairstick across his palm. It depicted yamabuki flowers in bright gold, small pearls laid in the centre of each bud. It was ostentatious simply for the golden yamabuki but it also had carefully shaped silver leaves hanging off the flowers in small, tiny trails. This particular kanzashi was old, dating back into the Edo period and it was a gift from another clan though from who exactly was lost to the annals of time, yet it was an incredibly expensive gift to commission then and its value had increased now for its antiquity.

It would suit Naoki, Naobito thought, the boy had long, shadowy hair and hazel eyes which seemed almost like liquid gold under sunlight exactly like the yamabuki. Naobito set the kanzashi down in the cushioned lacquer box where it was held before.

One day, Naobito would gift it to Naoki, but not today.

Instead, he focused on the other kanzashi sitting there before him. It was one depicting tsubaki flowers, the hairstick double pronged instead of singular like the yamabuki one. The petals were made in rose gold, though the centre of the tsubaki flowers were made of regular gold. There were leaves surrounding the flowers, made in silver in-laid with deep green jade. From the main flowery head, bright silver streamers twinkled in the lighting of the room, ending in an assortment of small golden butterflies.

Naobito had not seen this piece in decades now, whereas once he had seen it everyday in his mother’s hair.

While she had had access to the kanzashi collection of the Zenin clan, she had always favoured this one because of the simple fact that Naobito’s father had presented this one to her on their wedding day and she had worn it to be married to the Clan Head of the time.

This piece was considerably newer, made after the end of the Edo period and well into the Meiji era. But like the older yamabuki kanzashi it was in pristine condition. What did tsubaki flowers mean again? Naobito had long forgotten though he remembered his mother’s fond smile as she explained what the kanzashi meant to her. He had long since forgotten the sound of her voice.

Naobito placed the hairpin back into its lacquered box, tucking the box into his kimono.

He said nothing to the attendant who bowed his head to Naobito, the man coming from a long line of kanzashi makers who were in charge of ensuring the Zenin clan’s prized ornaments remained in pristine condition.

Naobito gazed up at the full moon - a clear spring moon, with wispy clouds trailing lazily over its silver surface, making his way across the Zenin estate.

He passed by an empty courtyard, the usual courtyard the Hei practiced in. Only Naoya remained standing there and Naobito pressed himself against the shadows to watch the boy who seemed to simply be standing there, rolling his ankles. The moonlight made his bleached hair shine brighter, making Naobito recall the dreadful day when the boy screamed his head off after Naoki had mixed in hair bleach into his shampoo causing it to lose its dark colour and leaving him with a colour that Yukina deemed ‘piss yellow’.

Naobito had laughed as Naoya tried to drown Naoki for it.

But far be it from Yukina allowing her little boys to look anything but pristine, so a trip to the finest hairdresser in Tokyo was made and Naobito didn’t know what was done except Naoya’s hair was now an even golden blonde.

Naoya rolled his ankle one final time before activating his technique - and before Naobito knew it, the boy was on the other end of the estate.

Naoya swore as he landed on his bottom, cursing to the high heavens. The boy’s mouth ran like an overheated motor and Naobito didn’t know from where the little brat got the habit, as neither he or Yukina had ever been so uncouth.

Naoki preferred to give a single verbal lash, yet it was sharper than even a blade made by Masamune. Yukina didn’t give out verbal lashings to anyone but her children, but she took vengeance well enough to completely shut down her opponent. Naobito himself preferred casual mockery, that was usually enough to drive the point home. Perhaps Naoya had gotten the habit from some ancestor, everyone knew there were plenty of assholes in their line.

Either way, Naobito knew the one second rule of Projection Sorcery so for the boy to have made it all the way to the other end of the courtyard in that amount of time meant that the boy’s speed had increased yet again, though his landing could use some work.

Naobito sighed, better to let him stew and figure out things on his own. Naoya wouldn’t accept any assistance from him and he damn well wouldn’t deign to even ask Naobito.

Prideful little shit.

Naobito continued on his way to his wife’s chambers, knowing full well that despite the late hour, she wouldn’t be there yet. But that was fine, Naobito had the time to wait.

Yukina’s bedroom was Sayaka’s and before her, Naobito’s own mother’s.

When his mother had stayed here, there was an abundance of plants, ikebana arrangements settling themselves on each cupboard and on the heavy wooden desk pressed into the corners. His mother used to hang Genji and his’ abysmal calligraphy attempts on her wall - proudly displaying their disgrace for all to see, though Naobito knew that it was anything but to her.

Yukina had no such sentimental proclivities. The wall of her bedroom depicted a Heian era scroll of the shikigami of the Ten Shadows and on the other wall across it, another scroll portraying a black bakaneko with the same eye colour and shape as Naoya’s eyes, paired with a sneer that matched Naobito’s youngest son when he was in a good mood.

Perhaps Yukina was just as sentimental, yet she wouldn’t show it so openly. Some small part of Naobito hoped there was something of him within this room, the same way the art scrolls she possessed honoured their children in a strange way.

Naobito knew she kept a photograph of their children in their childhood, deep in the secure drawers which held the seal stamp she used to officiate documents as Lady of the Zenin clan. Naobito had hoisted as much paperwork as he could on her, and Yukina, the hungry woman, loved the power that granted her.

He stepped in further, sliding the shoji door which opened to the engawa, to the sakura tree and small koi pond which had seen the countless deaths of the ladies of the Zenin clan. This room had also seen the birth of many children, but after Naobito’s mother’s death - Genji had allocated a special birthing chamber for the women.

Silver light bathed the room and with the quiet slide of a door, she was there.

Zenin Yukina stood in the shadows as if she belonged there, the moonlight shining upon one half of her face and the other remained entrapped in inky darkness.

“Husband,” she greeted, her usual moniker for him now.

“Wife,” Naobito smiled.

Yukina stepped closer towards him, her hand folded in front of her just like any other good wife, but Naobito knew her well enough to see the calculation in her cold brown eyes. She was wondering why he was here, despite her expression not showing anything but polite neutrality.

Her lips were still painted the same blood red as 16 years ago and her eyeliner still the same pale blue and her hair still pulled in the same bun with a loose strand. During Naoki and Naoya’s childhood, she enjoyed wearing tsumami kanzashi depicting chrysanthemums the same colour as her lipstick. But now as fine lines began appearing on her face, she switched to golden ogi bira kanzashi with silver streamers tinkling every time she moved her head. She still wore the same funeral-worthy black kimono, this time her kosode was white and she wore a bone-white haori atop her dark kimono that had matsu patterns in the bronze-gold for the leaves and the same bone-white for the trunk and branches.

Yukina was still as beautiful as she had been during that toast 16 years ago.

“I was just admiring the sakura blooms,” Naobito said easily, answering her unspoken question, “this sakura tree is the most beautiful on the estate.”

“I would expect you to be more conscious of the sordid things the tree has seen.”

Naobito grinned. “Ah, the entirety of the estate has seen sordid things. The main hall has seen patricide and fratricide, in some cases both at the same time.”

“Of course, how silly of me.”

The sarcasm in Yukina’s tone made Naobito laugh and the sight of his laughter must’ve confused her, because despite her attempt at schooling her expression, she couldn’t quite hide the fact that she was staring at Naobito as if he had grown another head.

“It’s late, I’m surprised you were still up and about,” Naobito attempted to pry.

But to his surprise, Yukina disclosed the reason easily enough. “I was observing the servants cleaning out the storage,” she reached into the folds of her kimono, “I thought you might want this.”

Yukina held out a piece of paper, no - a photograph. Naobito took the photograph from her, it was black and white - a photo of a bygone era. Naobito couldn’t help the way his eyes widened at the sight of his younger self scowling out the photograph, standing beside Genji who was looking on in quiet dignity. Their mother had a hand on each of their shoulders, sitting up straight though in a more elegant than rigid manner the beginnings of a smile on her face. And on her shoulder, was his father's eyes not looking at the camera at all but instead he seemed to be paying more attention to their mother and them. There was no mistaking the quiet love in his gaze.

“Naoya looks a lot like you,” Yukina said, “and I’ve heard people say that Naoki looks like the previous clan head… but now I see they were wrong, he looks like his grandmother whom the previous clan head resembled.”

Naobito let out a huff of breath. “I could’ve told you that.”

“Would you have?” there was genuine curiosity in her voice, and for a moment her brown eyes had lost their coldness.

“Nah, not really.”

Yukina looked to the side, sniggering. It sounded as degrading as her usual laughter, but there was a note of genuine amusement that pleased Naobito more than anything.

Naobito tucked the old photo into his pocket, he’d have it framed later. He then reached for the lacquer box containing the kanzashi and held it out to Yukina in the same manner as she had held out the photograph.

“What is it?”

“Open it,” Naobito pushed it towards her.

Yukina took the lacquer box carefully, prying it open with her dark gaze still locked on Naobito.

She looked down and Naobito enjoyed the way her face slackened with surprise as her fingers carefully held up the tsubaki kanzashi.

“Wear it during the hanami party.” Naobito told her.

“I will,” she said, with a sincerity that surprised him.

“You can ask the staff about its age, symbolism, and whatever stuff it is you women like to know about your pretty trinkets.”

Yukina hummed and Naobito saw the exact moment a thought seemed to hit her. “Ah, I forgot to mention - Naoki asked if it was alright for him to go to Fukuoka after the hanami party.”

That indeed caused Naobito to raise his brows. Naoki almost never asked for anything, Naobito had thought pigs were flying when he requested to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High.

Yukina seemed to take Naobito’s silence as rejection. “I will tell him that he is to spend the rest of Golden Week here -”

“Let him,” Naobito shook his head. Honestly, at Naoki’s age Naobito didn’t bother asking for permission. He just up and left, not even their father tightening the money purse on him stopped Naobito from fucking off to Iya Valley in Shikoku at 17 with his brother’s former classmate at Kyoto Jujutsu High. Naobito remembered the days when he screeched at Genji on a public telephone booth to - ‘please send me booze money, Yoshi and I are dying of thirst out here’. “Let the boy have fun.”

Yukina turned away from him to face the moonlight, giving him a glance from the side of her eye. “You’re always indulgent of Naoki in the strangest of ways.”

“I was young once, you know,” Naobito sighed, recalling his stupid stunts in bygone days, “if I can let Naoya get his ears pierced, I can let Naoki run off to Kyushu for a few days.”

“I was disappointed in that, still am.”

“I think the piercings look good on him.”

“Of course, you would think that. Our youngest now looks like he performs in some dropout band on the weekends just so he can pay rent.”

“Naoya, working to pay rent?” Naobito scoffed, “pigs would fly first. No, he’d mooch off of Naoki. I know that, because I was like him once.”

That startled a laugh from Yukina. “Are you drunk again, husband? You’re being exceptionally honest tonight.”

“Then let me be honest even more,” Naobito drawled, turning to look at the clear moon alongside her.

“The moon looks beautiful tonight, doesn’t it?”