Zenkichi watched the whole thing, feeling his brain short-circuit for half a second. It was...strange.
The way she laughed, easy and genuine, felt wrong on her. Like it didn't belong to the same woman who’d twisted entire worlds into cages.
Huh.
Maybe Maruki was doing something to her. Or maybe this was just what happened when you let a monster steep in an echo chamber long enough.
Either way, he wanted nothing to do with it.
Akane’s voice crackled softly into his ears or his system, almost immediate. "Dad? You okay?"
He adjusted the collar of his Yukata, muttering back, "Yeah, kiddo. All good. Just..." He exhaled through his nose, watching Maruki and Ichinose poke at each other like overgrown children. "...getting some air."
"She seems a little too drunk. Wonder what's up with her."
He shifted his weight, the faintest scrape of sandals against wood, about to make his quiet exit—
Only for Maruki to pivot, nodding at a sake bottle in one of the adjacent tables.
"You sure you don't want to stay a little longer, Zenkichi-san?" Maruki offered with a friendly smile. "Once you're done eating, there's plenty more to drink. Wouldn't want you missing out."
There was a beat of hesitation.
The invitation was gentle. Open. Like Maruki was used to pulling stubborn, hurting people back into the fold without making them feel trapped.
Zenkichi’s fingers twitched once, faintly remembering easier days—the clink of glasses, Maruki's grievances with the process of his surgery or discussing the developments of his Rumi's hospitalization. Both of which had met its tragic end.
He shut that door before it could even open.
"Nah," he said gruffly, giving a small, dismissive wave. "Forget about it. Just keep her in line."
It wasn't personal.
(Or maybe it was. Just a little.)
He turned on his heel, hands shoved into his sleeves, the edge of his yukata catching the breeze as he slipped away from the table.
2/3 (think maruki will approach him seperately. don't think zenkichi would stick around for long)
It was...strange.
The way she laughed, easy and genuine, felt wrong on her.
Like it didn't belong to the same woman who’d twisted entire worlds into cages.
Huh.
Maybe Maruki was doing something to her. Or maybe this was just what happened when you let a monster steep in an echo chamber long enough.
Either way, he wanted nothing to do with it.
He adjusted the collar of his Yukata, muttering back, "Yeah, kiddo. All good. Just..." He exhaled through his nose, watching Maruki and Ichinose poke at each other like overgrown children. "...getting some air."
He shifted his weight, the faintest scrape of sandals against wood, about to make his quiet exit—
"You sure you don't want to stay a little longer, Zenkichi-san?" Maruki offered with a friendly smile. "Once you're done eating, there's plenty more to drink. Wouldn't want you missing out."
There was a beat of hesitation.
The invitation was gentle. Open. Like Maruki was used to pulling stubborn, hurting people back into the fold without making them feel trapped.
Zenkichi’s fingers twitched once, faintly remembering easier days—the clink of glasses, Maruki's grievances with the process of his surgery or discussing the developments of his Rumi's hospitalization. Both of which had met its tragic end.
He shut that door before it could even open.
"Nah," he said gruffly, giving a small, dismissive wave. "Forget about it. Just keep her in line."
It wasn't personal.
(Or maybe it was. Just a little.)
He turned on his heel, hands shoved into his sleeves, the edge of his yukata catching the breeze as he slipped away from the table.