“Aghh…” Undignified sounds escaped her lips as she finally came to. She was lying on the tatami. The ceiling beams swam above her, blurry and indistinct. Her left jaw throbbed with a dull, insistent pulse. She tried to lift her hand to touch it, but her arm felt heavy.
How much time had passed?
She couldn't tell. Even now, her vision swam, and she felt an acute pain on her left lower jaw. A weak sorcerer she may be, but she could tell that a bruise would soon form. Or maybe it already had.
That punch... from a child...
"Look who's awake now."
She forced her head to turn toward the voice. The movement sent a spike of pain through her neck. Naoya sat at the low desk, a piece of fabric stretched across an embroidery hoop in his hands. His expression was mocking—lips curled into a smirk with eyes shaped like crescent moon.
He's doing embroidery? While I was unconscious?
"You damn trash," he said. "You're supposed to be a sorcerer and yet you got knocked out by a child. Ahhh, how humiliating. If I were you, I would rather just end it all."
Hanaya blinked slowly. Her jaw ached painfully and yet…her pride ached more.
He's not wrong. I am a sorcerer. Not a strong one, but still... knocked out by a five-year-old?
But that punch. The cursed energy behind it. That was not normal. That was not something a child should be able to do.
Unless you are that Gojo child born with the Six Eyes, that level of refinement should be impossible to achieve at this age. And it’s not like Naoya has ever been trained, right? He spent his entire life being pampered, so…how?!
Naoya tossed his embroidery at her.
The fabric landed on her chest. She glanced down at it—a dragon, or what was supposed to be a dragon. The stitches were uneven. The shape was lumpy. The colors clashed. It was, frankly, ugly.
"...I didn't think you were this talented at sorcery, Naoya-sama," she said, her voice hoarse. "No, maybe nobody really knew, huh?"
"It's because everyone here is blind that they can't recognize greatness even when it's right in front of them," he said.
Greatness, she thought. And he isn’t referring to the future or anything like that. He thought he already achieved it.
She pushed herself up on her elbows. The room tilted, then steadied. Naoya stood from the desk and began to walk toward her.
"Now then…"
He approached her slowly. His steps were small, deliberate, unhurried. His petite frame barely reached her shoulder even when she was sitting. He was thin, bruised, bandaged, and yet—
Why do I feel intimidated?
She was a grown woman. A sorcerer. He was a child. An injured one at that.
But his eyes. Those cold eyes…they petrified her. It made her remember the gaze of curses she once fought. And the reason why she left that life behind. They looked at her not as a teacher, not as an elder, not as a woman.
As prey.
He stopped in front of her, looking down.
"Let's talk about punishment, shall we?"
Hanaya's mouth went dry.
Punishment? He wants to punish me?
She laughed.
The sound surprised even her—a short, sharp bark of disbelief. Then she pushed herself to her feet. The room swam for a moment, her jaw screaming in protest, but she forced herself upright.
No. I will not be intimidated by a child.
She towered over him. He barely reached her waist. The top of his dark head was level with her stomach. She looked down at him, her twin buns still slightly askew from the fall.
"You listen to me, Naoya-sama," she said, her voice steady now. "I am the instructor. You are the student. I have done nothing wrong—nothing that this clan would condemn. A little touching? A little boundary-testing? That is not a crime."
She placed her hands on her hips.
"You have no right to punish me. And even as my pride hurts—yes, I admit it, a five-year-old knocked me out—once you are finished with your pathetic threats, I will simply report this to the disciplinary committee."
She leaned down slightly, her eyes narrowing.
"Do you know what happens to boys who fight back against their betters, Naoya-sama? They end up in The Pit. Down below. Where the light does not reach."
She expected fear. She expected his eyes to widen, his face to pale, his tiny fists to unclench.
Instead, Naoya laughed.
It was a quiet laugh. Low and genuine. As if she had just told him a joke he had not expected to hear.
Why is he laughing?
"At first," he said, "I didn't quite understand what you were doing. I thought you were merely annoying me."
Hanaya perked up at that. Her posture straightened as her hands dropped from her hips.
He didn't understand? But now...
"But I think I get it now."
His eyes crawled over her. Not with fear nor with anger.
With assessment.
"You're a goddamn degenerate," he said. "Worse than most people here."
Degenerate?
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was not finished.
"I'm the head's child," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Her one and only precious child." He tilted his head, his small hands clasped behind his back. "I can make some serious accusations against you..."
He took a step closer. She did not step back, but something in her chest tightened.
"Tell me," he said, looking up at her with those cold, ancient eyes. "Which side do you think they will pick?"
The question hung in the air.
He's right.
He is the clan head's only son. Precious? No. Naobi-sama does not love him. But he is still her blood. Her property. Her symbol.
If he accuses me of... what? Inappropriate conduct? Touching? The elders might laugh. But Naobi-sama would have to act. To protect the family's image.
And I am no one. A lower-ranked educator. Replaceable.
They would pick him.
Every time.
But she was not defeated yet. Not completely.
She straightened her back, ignoring the pain in her jaw. Her hands, which had been trembling slightly, she pressed flat against her thighs.
"No," she said, her voice firmer now. "You are wrong, Naoya-sama."
Naoya's smirk did not waver, but his eyes flickered. Interest? Curiosity?
"You are the clan head's only son," she continued. "Yes. That is true. But you are also a boy who has been violent toward multiple adults in the span of two days. You attacked Oiko. You assaulted me. You have screamed at your calligraphy teacher, your history instructor, and at least two servants that I know of."
She took a breath.
"If you accuse me of inappropriate conduct, I will simply say that I was correcting your posture—which is my job—and you overreacted, as you have done with everyone else. I will bring witnesses. The servants who heard you curse. The teachers who endured your tantrums. Do you think they will all stay silent?"
She leaned forward slightly.
"Your word against mine? Perhaps they would believe you. But your word against mine and a dozen others? People who have served this clan for decades?" She shook her head. "Even Naobi-sama would hesitate. She cannot afford to appear biased. Not when the elders already watch her every move because of how modern her curse technique is."
Naoya's smirk faded. Just a fraction.
"You would be seen as a problem child," Hanaya said. "A violent, unstable boy who lashes out at anyone who tries to teach him. And do you know what they do with problem children in this clan, Naoya-sama?"
She paused.
"They marry them off early. Far away. To a family that does not ask questions."
She watched his face. His expression had gone still. Not crestfallen but simply…unreadable.
I've touched something, she thought. He doesn't want to be married off. He wants power. Control. Being sent away would ruin everything.
"You have no right to punish me," she said. "And you cannot destroy me without destroying yourself. So let us end this farce. I will forget your punch. You will forget my... enthusiasm. We will start fresh tomorrow. Agreed?"
She held out her hand.
Naoya stared at it.
Then he laughed again. Low and so cold that she felt shivers crawling down her spine It’s clear that this time, there was no humor in it.
"You think that will work?" he said. "You think a few servants and some old teachers will save you?"
He did not take her hand.
"You touched me," he said, his voice soft. "You put your hands under my clothes. You lifted me into your lap. You held me there while I told you to stop."
He looked up at her.
"That is not correcting posture, you degenerate bitch. That is assault. Sexual assault."
Hanaya's blood went cold.
"I am five years old," he continued. "The clan head's only son. Beaten, bandaged, and helpless in your care. And you molested me."
The word hung in the air like a blade.
"Do you really think anyone will listen to your story about posture and witnesses when I say that?"
Her hand, still extended, began to tremble.
"You..." she whispered. "You wouldn't.”
"Wouldn't I?" He smiled. It was the most terrifying expression she had ever seen on a child. "Try me. Go ahead. Refuse my punishment. See what happens."
The room was silent. The afternoon light had dimmed. Shadows crept along the walls.
Hanaya lowered her hand.
He's insane, she thought. He is completely insane.
And he will destroy me.
"...What do you want?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Naoya's smile widened.
"Now we're talking."
.
.
.
Naoya sat on her back.
Hanaya was on all fours, her palms pressed flat against the tatami, her head bowed. Every time her body shook—from exhaustion, from pain, from the humiliation—Naoya slapped the back of her head. Not hard enough to injure. Hard enough to remind her.
Thwack.
She shuddered. He grinned.
This is better than any lesson, he thought. This is what respect looks like.
He laughed to himself. A quiet, private laugh.
She probably thinks I'm a simple hotheaded dumb child. The kind who screams and throws things and can't control his emotions.
Yesterday, maybe she was right.
He admitted it—to himself, at least. Yesterday, he had been flooded with rage. Oiko’s beating followed by the realization of what kind of world he ended up in. His parents. The calligraphy teacher. The history instructor. Hanaya's persistent and annoying attitude. Everything had piled on top of him until he could not see straight. He had reacted. Did things as he usually would when annoyed. Screamed, thrown things, and punched.
But today...
Today, rationality had mostly taken over. Stop treating this as another chance at life, but a battle to be won. He had woken up and made a decision. Patience. That’s what he needs the most right now. He could not win every battle. He could not destroy every enemy. Not yet at least. He is weak, small, and still in bandages after all.
So he had done it. He had answered history questions—correctly, even. He had sat through calligraphy without screaming. He had muttered insults under his breath but kept his hands still. He had let Hanaya touch him.
At first, he thought, I didn't understand. I thought she was just annoying me. The inverse hasn't really sunk in yet. It’s normal for a woman to get quite handsy with a child back in his old world.
But not here, in this strange inverted world.
She wasn't correcting my posture. She wasn't even teaching me anything.
She was getting off on it.
His lip curled.
A degenerate. Worse than most people in this already twisted world.
He looked down at her back. Her shoulders were shaking. He could not tell if she was crying or simply trembling. But by now, she should know who is truly in control.
Naoya stood up.
His legs were steady. His ribs still ached, but he ignored them. He positioned himself beside her curled form—she had not moved from her hands and knees—and drew back his foot.
Then he kicked her in the stomach. Hard.
A crisp sound rang out as his bare foot connected with the soft flesh just below her ribs. The impact sent a jolt up his leg. Hanaya gasped—a choked, wet sound—and toppled over onto her side, one hand clutching her stomach, her mouth open in a silent O.
Naoya looked down at her.
"At least wait until they're fourteen, you damn predator."
He stood over her crumpled form, watching as she curled tighter around her stomach. Her breath came in shallow, wheezing gasps. A strand of hair had fallen across her face, stuck to the moisture on her cheek.
Now that my craving for bullying the weak has been satisfied, he thought, let's talk.
He walked back toward her and crouched down, bringing his face level with hers. Her eyes were red. Her lower lip trembled. A thin line of saliva and something else—tears, maybe—traced down her chin.
"…."
He tilted his head.
"…What? Ha?"
A laugh bubbled up from his chest.
"Are you crying?"
He let the laugh out—loud, mocking, echoing off the wooden walls.
"Hahahahahaha."
Her shoulders shook. She turned her face away, but he could still see the wet tracks on her cheeks.
Pathetic, he thought. Absolutely pathetic.
He straightened up and folded his arms.
"Whatever. I don't care."
His voice was flat again. Businesslike.
"Listen carefully, or else I'll report you to my father—" He stopped. His mouth hung open for a fraction of a second. Father? No. Not in this world.
"—eck, I mean mother."
Damn. Almost slipped. Naobito is dead here. Or never existed. Either way, the clan head is Naobi.
He glanced down at Hanaya's face. Her eyes had widened. The tears were still there, but mixed with confusion. Fear. Desperation.
And something else. Something he recognized.
She's trying to figure out which parent would be more threatening to her. Which one would punish her more.
He let the silence stretch. Then he smiled.
Her face, he thought, full of tears and bruises, as I said I would drop the blackmail... no, not drop. Dangle. Threaten. Control. This nostalgic feeling…
Ahhh, truly…this is what I needed.
He looked at her—really looked at her. A grown woman. A sorcerer. His teacher.
Beneath him. Broken. Begging without words.
As expected, he thought, there's nothing better in this world than bullying the weak.
He turned and walked toward the window. The afternoon light had shifted again; lunch hour was approaching. He placed his palm against the wooden frame and stared out at the compound.
"So here's how this works," he said without looking back. "You will continue to teach me. But you will do everything I say."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"And if you ever forget your place again... I won't go to the disciplinary committee."
His smile widened.
"I'll go to Naobi. And I'll tell her that her son was molested by one of her own employees. Do you think she'll care about your witnesses then?"
Hanaya's breath hitched.
"No," Naoya answered for her. "She'll care about the scandal. And she'll make you disappear."
He turned back to the window.
"You have one job now. Teach me. Don't touch me. Don't look at me. Don't think about me."
He paused.
"And don't ever forget who owns you."
The room was silent except for her ragged breathing.
Naoya watched the sun behind the compound walls.
Now, he thought, we can begin..
.
.
.