The sliding door clicked shut behind them.
Naoya walked beside Natsuko down the long corridor and their footsteps echoed off the wooden walls surrounding them. The sun had risen into its full morning glory. The deal is finally complete, thought it was quite the hassle negotiating with Seto.
Remind him to never speak alone with that man ever again.
“Thank you for your visit.”
The valet who had escorted them out had peeled off at the corner, bowing once before disappearing. Now it was just the two of them walking in silence toward the eastern wing of the compound.
He did not speak.
Neither did she.
Naoya's hands were still trembling.
Adrenaline, ecstasy, whatever you call it, he was undoubtably experiencing it right now.
He’s now one step closer.
He shoved them into the pockets of his kimono.
They passed many servants—most of them young male—who pressed themselves against the wall while bowing, but he didn’t care. His mind was elsewhere.
A binding vow, Naoya mused. A sacred agreement witnessed by the heavens themselves.
In his first life, he had learned about them the same way he did here. Dry textbook and in the rare case his ‘father’ cared about him, through tales of the old, warning against making it carelessly.
Break the vow, and fate itself would deliver its most painful punishment. There was no escape. The heavens did not forgive.
Sorcerers are by nature cautious beings, he continued in his head. Most of them constantly harbors suspicion against each other and always watched out for too many clever wordings.
He remembered a story—heard from some elder, long ago—about a sorcerer who made a binding vow to "protect the clan's interests." A simple phrase. Easy to agree to. And then the political landscape shifted. What counted as "the clan's interests" changed overnight. The sorcerer found himself bound to an impossible promise, forced to choose between breaking the vow or betraying everything he believed in.
He chose wrong, Naoya recalled. The heavens took his cursed energy first. Then his limbs. Then his life.
That was the problem with binding vows.
They were too absolute.
It's unbelievably easy to break a binding vow by accident, he thought, especially when politics are involved.
Personal favors? Quests? Simple exchanges of goods and services? Those were safe. The terms were clear.
But political alliances?
Those change with the wind.
Today's ally is tomorrow's enemy. Today's "support" means public endorsement. Tomorrow, it might mean something else entirely—financial backing, military aid, a marriage arrangement. The words shift. The meanings blur.
And the heavens do not care about context, Naoya thought. Only the letter of the vow.
He had seen it happen in his first life. An elder had made a binding vow to "support the clan head's decisions." Then the clan head decided to raise taxes on the elder's territory. The elder protested. The heavens interpreted "support" as "agree with every decision without complaint." The elder lost his voice first. Then his ability to write. Then his mind.
No, Naoya decided. Binding vows are traps.
Especially for someone in my position.
They entered Natsuko's quarters. Taro was not there—probably tending to his garden or napping. The brazier had been relit, casting warm orange light across the familiar tatami.
Natsuko lowered herself onto a cushion with a small grunt of effort.
Naoya remained standing, still thinking.
Then suddenly, the sliding door opened with no knock or even announcement.
A woman stood in the doorway.
Tall—easily the tallest woman he had seen in this compound. Early twenties, with black eyes that seemed to absorb the lantern light rather than reflect it. Her neck-length black hair was styled with a pair of bangs framing her face and one longer strand falling across her forehead between her eyes. Thin but sharp eyebrows. Relatively large eyes that looked at everything with the same indifferent, assessing eyes.
A sword hung at her hip. Long green and yellowish earrings dangled from her ears, catching the light as she stepped inside.
Naoya's chest tightened.
Raika, he realized. The oldest. Kai's counterpart.
He had never met her. Not once, in the weeks since he woke up in this world. She had been absent—training, missions, whatever excuse the clan used to explain away absent siblings.
And all of the sudden she was here? Why?
She walked past him without acknowledgment—not a glance, not a nod—and stopped in front of Natsuko. She knelt with practiced ease, her sword resting against her hip and her back straight.
Naoya watched her.
"Well, well, well," Natsuko said, her voice light but her eyes sharp. "If it isn't Raika-sama. I'm sorry if I made you wait. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Raika inclined her head. Her expression did not change—emotionless and uninterested.
"The pleasure is all mine, and sorry for suddenly barging in, Natsuko-sama." A pause. Her black eyes swept the room again. "It seems Taro-san isn't here right now."
Natsuko's smile did not waver.
"Yes. I apologize for that. It seems he has some business to attend to. He told me so, yesterday."
Lies, Naoya thought. Both of them lying through their teeth.
Natsuko had sent Taro away—to one of their safe houses outside the clan compound. She had feared the negotiation with Chizuru would fall apart and that violence might follow.
Hah!
Taro was fragile that’s for sure, but she’s acting as if she’s invincible even though he could easily rip her throat out with just demon dogs,
"I see," she said. "I merely asked because I was a little curious."
Natsuko gray hair shifted as she tilted her head.
"About what, may I ask?"
Raika turned her gaze toward Naoya.
Those intense black eyes irritated him somehow. He’s clearly being studied and it bothered him. His siblings only ever looked at him with either hateful gaze or envious eyes. There’s never an inbetween. The fact that a woman would presume she could ever understand him…truly annoying.
"Why," she said, "about my little brother, of course. I'm curious as to why he's seemingly latched on to you both just after he said he mysteriously lost his memories."
The room went still.
Natsuko's hands, folded in her lap, did not move.
"…Are you perhaps accusing me of doing something to Naoya-sama, Raika-sama?"
Her voice was still detached even with her accusation.
Raika shook her head slowly.
"No. Of course not." A pause. "But perhaps… your guilty conscience admitted to it?"
Natsuko's expression grew stern. "Please don't utter such words carelessly, Raika-sama. Even if right now you're the heir, I still have higher authority than you do."
Heir, Naoya noted. So Raika is the official successor.
That was useful information.
Raika did not flinch.
"You're right. But it is a bit curious, isn't it?" Her black eyes flicked to the empty cushion, then back to Natsuko. "So much so that some people were whispering about this."
Naoya had heard enough.
He sat down.
His knees sank into the tatami, and he arranged his small body across from Raika, positioning himself between her and Natsuko. As if he’s letting her run her mouth without a care in the world.
He looked up at his oldest sister.
"It's been weeks since I woke up with no memories," he said, his voice flat, emotionless—mirroring her own tone. "Who do you think you are to question Grandma Natsuko about anything?"
Raika's eyes shifted to him.
Something flickered there. Recognition? Frustration? He couldn't tell.
"Youngest one…" she said slowly. "Do you truly… not remember me?"
"Raika." He said her name casually. "Of course I know that name. You are my oldest sibling."
He leaned forward slightly, his small hands resting on his knees.
"No, my point is this. Who do you think you are to question the people who have given me affection and care, while you yourself—who admitted to be my sister—only came and met me just now?"
He tilted his head, his eyes cold.
"Where were you on all those weeks? You do not have the rights to act concerned over me."
Throughout the entire conversation, he deliberately mirrored her own tone. At this point, she should already get it.
You are not welcome here.
Raika's black eyes held his for a long moment. Then she spoke.
"I was busy with my promotion. And the higher ups kept on hounding me to prove my qualifications and whatnot."
She paused. Her jaw tightened—just a fraction, but enough for Naoya to notice the muscle jumping beneath her skin.
"Moreover, that Gojo kid…"
She uttered that last part with so much venom that Naoya actually lifted his eyebrows.
Raika's expression smoothed back to neutrality. She waved a hand—dismissive, as if brushing away a fly.
"Nevermind that. Let's go have a walk and talk, youngest one."
Naoya did not move.
"…I refuse."
Raika's eyes narrowed. Just slightly.
"Why?"
"Do I need a reason to refuse your invitations?"
She tilted her head. The green and yellow earrings swayed, catching the lantern light.
"Yes. I'm the heir."
Hearing that felt like she was flaunting it to him. No, he realized, she might actually be doing that—deliberately, coldly, reminding him of his place beneath her.
His fingers curled into fists beneath the table.
Just because you're the he—
Just as the thought formed, Raika added, her voice still flat:
"And because I'm a woman. And you're a boy."
Naoya's vision went red at the edges.
This…! This goddamned woman!
His cursed energy stirred beneath his skin, responding to the spike of fury. The shadows at his feet darkened—just a flicker, just a breath.
Deep breath. Calm down.
He forced air into his lungs. Held it. Released.
Don't get angry and assault your own sibling, or the race would be finished before it even began properly!
His fists uncurled. The shadows steadied.
"Fine."
Rising to his feet with haste, he looked at her with furrowed brows.
"If that's the case, let's go then."
Raika turned and walked toward the sliding door without waiting for him. Her sword swayed at her hip. Her footsteps made no sound on the tatami.
Naoya followed without a word, though he turned around for a second, and saw Natsuko extending her hand forward, before retracting it.
.
.
.
.
.
They were walking on the garden now.
The path beneath their feet was packed gravel, dusted with a thin layer of snow that crunched softly with each step. Bare branches stretched overhead and their twigs clawed at the heavens.
The dojo was close enough by now that sounds of brutal training could be heard—shouts, thuds, the crack of wooden weapons against padded targets. Women's voices, raised in exertion. The sounds of bodies getting broken down with all sorts of thing imaginable started to become a rhythm.
But the two of them remained silent, mirroring the empty garden devoid of blooms.
Naoya kept his hands in his sleeves, his small legs matching Raika's longer stride. His breath misted in the cold air.
Then, suddenly, she stopped.
He stopped too, a pace behind her.
She turned and looked at him.
Her black eyes were unreadable—flat and still. What is she, a block of ice?
Not deigning a response, Naoya just tilted his head at her.
What? he thought. Spit it out or let me leave.
The silence stretched.
It lasted long enough that he started to get annoyed. His jaw tightened as his foot shifted on the gravel, ready to turn away.
I'll spit on her and walk away, he decided. See how she likes—
"Youngest one."
Her voice cut through his thoughts still in that monotone.
Naoya exhaled through his nose.
"…Well, what is it that you wanted to talk about?"
She was silent for another breath. Then:
"…How… no, why did you lose your memories, youngest one?"
She paused. Her gaze flicked across his face—searching, perhaps, for something familiar.
"Mother said otherwise… but it's clear you didn't recognize me… no, you feel a sense of familiarity towards me, but it's different somehow. As if you're hostile towards me."
Naoya's expression did not change.
Hostile, he thought. Yes. That's one word for it.
He ignored the question and asked his own.
"What did… 'mother' say about me?"
Raika's hands, which had been hanging at her sides, folded in front of her.
"She said the youngest one became a defective product all of a sudden, spouting nonsense about equality and men being the same as women." A pause. "That's clearly what most people believe. But not me. Or Aika. Though I do not know about father…"
Naoya listened.
Defective product, he repeated internally. Nonsense about equality.
So Naobi didn't think he lost his memories. She thought he had lost his mind.
The servants' gossip only ever mentioned my greatness, he realized. No wonder I missed this.
His fingers curled inside his sleeves.
"…I see," he said.
Raika took a small step closer. Her shadow fell across him.
"Youngest one, though mother declared you a lunatic and a defect to be repaired, I disagree with that notion." Her voice still hasn’t changed one bit. "In the first place, the underlying issue is your memory loss, not your delusion. So long as your memory returns, you'll be back to normal again."
She glanced toward the dojo, then back at him.
"Unfortunately, as of late… mother has been really ferocious with things regarding her pride. The council of elders too have been hounding her like they did to me. So right now, she would never consider the fact that she might be wrong about you."
She straightened her back. The sword at her hip reflected the light.
"But that's why—I, as the heir, Raika Zenin—have a duty to fulfill in stead of the head."
She looked down at him. Her black eyes, for the first time, softened.
"Youngest one, Naoya Zenin, I sincerely wish to help you get your memory back. Will you please cooperate?"
Naoya stared at her.
The wind blew. A strand of her black hair was lifted.
He let the silence stretch—deliberately, the same way she had done earlier.
Then he spoke.
"Reika."
He deliberately mispronounced her name.
"How well did you know me?"
She did not correct him.
"I am confident to say that I know you the best."
"Hahahaha," he said without humor. "Then did you know I lost my memory because someone ingested poison into me?"
Raika's composure cracked.
Her eyes widened—genuinely, fully. Her hands, which had been folded so neatly, dropped to her sides.
"What!?" Her voice rose—the first real emotion he had heard from her. "How could that be?! Why didn't you tell mother?! Or anyone else for that matter?!"
Naoya kept his face still.
"It's because nobody believed me."
Raika's mouth opened. Closed. Her brow furrowed.
"…What?" she whispered. "No… Not even father…? I thought he…"
There it is, Naoya thought. The opening.
"Yeah…" He let his voice drop, flat and tired. "After all, am I not the unwanted son of the head? No one would believe me."
He looked past her, toward the bare trees.
"How could I be fine after I consumed poison? I didn't get sick or suffer deadly fever or anything. I slept, and the next day, I woke up with no memories…"
He paused, as if searching his memory.
"But… I think I remembered wandering around in a daze and then puking."
Raika stared at him.
Her hands trembled—just barely, just enough for him to notice.
"…Youngest one." Her voice was low, almost fragile. "Are you being truthful to me?"
Naoya met her eyes.
"Yes," he said. "I never told you any lies in this whole conversation."
"I see," she said quietly. Then, after a breath: "Has your bedroom been checked? For remnants of the poison, I mean."
Naoya blinked.
She believes me, he realized.
"Yeah. Natsuko already helped with her men."
Raika's steps slowed. Her black eyes flicked toward him—assessing, connecting dots.
"I see," she said. "So that's why you've been staying close to her. She's protecting you. Helping you investigate."
Naoya said nothing.
They walked a few more paces in silence. The sounds of the dojo were getting even louder as grunting, stomping, and weapon strikes could now very clearly be heard.
Pathetic, Naoya thought, glancing at Raika's profile. All of them.
Natsuko. Taro. Even this woman standing beside me, pretending to be a cold heir.
They actually care.
Genuinely, stupidly, pathetically care.
How…useful.
Warm feeling of satisfaction spread through his chest.
Yes, he thought. This is even better than fear.
Fear makes people obey. But love?
Love makes people sacrifice.
.
.
.
.
Author's Notes:
Guys. I need to ask something important.
Do you have any recommendations for novels—or just any kind of story in general—where the MC is a tsundere? Or gets mistaken as a tsundere?
Because I have a confession.
I am absolutely, hopelessly, boundlessly in love with tsundere characters.
And also, Raika’s appearance is based on Hiyuki Kagari. She’s really cool! Out of everyone in Kagurabachi, I think she has the sickest design.