Seigen’s eyes crack open, a scowl already stretched across his face as an off-key rendition of Frère Jacques drifts through the stale air. The sound is grating, each sharp, uneven note stabbing at the fragile remnants of his sleep. Groaning, he shifts on the thin mattress, pulling the scratchy, prison-issued blanket over his head in a futile attempt to block it out.
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“Good morning, Arima-kun!” comes Jikuin’s voice, far too cheerful for the ungodly hour. The humming pauses momentarily, replaced by the rhythmic sound of a toothbrush scraping against teeth. “Did chu shleep well?” Jikuin asks, mouth full.
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“No,” Seigen growls, his voice muffled by the blanket. “How the hell is anyone supposed to sleep with that noise?”
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“Oh dear,” he hears Jikuin gasp, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I shupposh my humming could ushe a little practish. It doesh feel a bit pitchy today.” He chuckles softly, completely undeterred, and resumes brushing his teeth with quiet precision.
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Seigen groans again, reluctantly tossing the blanket aside as a bitter chill crawls over his skin. He clenches his jaw against it, swearing under his breath. “Does this place ever get warmer, or is freezing your ass off part of the punishment?”
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Jikuin spits in the sink before speaking. “Ah, the cold does take some getting used to,” he says lightly, glancing at Seigen through the scratched mirror above the small sink. “Though, they tell us it builds character!”
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“Builds character, my ass,” Seigen mutters, sitting up and rubbing his arms. “Feels like I’m trying to sleep in a damn meat locker.”
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Jikuin chuckles again, amused. “The summers aren’t as bad, so you can look forward to that.”
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Seigen turns over the words in his mind, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Say, how long you been in here, anyway?”
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Jikuin eyes Seigen through the mirror as he wipes his lips with a towel. “Curious now, are we?” he chides, his tone teasing but not unkind.
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Brows furrowing, Seigen looks away in a hurry. “Nevermind. Forget I asked.”
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Jikuin shakes his head, the gesture faintly visible in Seigen’s peripheral vision. “Nonsense, I’m more than happy to answer any questions you have, Arima-kun.” He turns, meeting Seigen’s gaze directly. “I’ve been in Asahikawa for almost two years now. This spring marks my anniversary!”
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Seigen snorts at the choice of words. “ Anniversary, ” he sneers.
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“Come now, Arima-kun, you’ll find it’s not so bad here…I quite like it, actually.”
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Seigen narrows his eyes, turning his full attention to Jikuin now. “You like it? What kinda nutjob likes prison?”
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Jikuin smiles all the same, brushing off the jab as though it were nothing. “It’s a matter of perspective. I’ve learned to make the most of my circumstances,” he replies. His tone remains warm, but there’s something about the answer that feels rehearsed.
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Seigen leans back on the bunk, crossing his arms. “Sounds like bullshit to me,” he mutters, but his eyes linger on Jikuin, trying to figure him out. “You’re either a liar, a lunatic, or way too optimistic for your own good.”
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Jikuin tilts his head, his expression unchanging. “Perhaps a bit of all three,” he offers with a cryptic smile.
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“Yeah? And what got you locked up, then?” Seigen scoffs. “Too much optimism piss someone off?” His tone is biting, the question is half-meant to provoke, half-fueled by genuine curiosity.
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Jikuin chuckles softly, folding the towel and placing it neatly by the sink. “Now, now, Arima-kun. We’re still getting to know each other. A bit early to be asking such personal questions, don’t you think?”
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“Tch.” Seigen clicks his tongue, annoyed at the obvious deflection. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Doesn’t matter to me anyway.” He shifts on the bed, trying to make himself comfortable, though the chill of the cell and his lingering irritation keep him on edge.
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Jikuin watches him for a moment before speaking again, his tone casual but deliberate. “Since we’re on the subject, I should offer you some advice, as someone who’s been here for a while.”
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Seigen raises an eyebrow, already bracing himself. “Yeah? What’s that?”
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“For starters, try not to let your temper get the better of you,” Jikuin says lightly, moving to straighten his neatly folded blanket on the top bunk. “This place has a way of feeding off aggression. It won’t take long before someone tries to test you – perhaps even today!” Jikuin’s tone is oddly enthusiastic at the idea.
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Seigen scoffs again. “They can try. I don’t scare easy.”
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“Oh, I’m sure,” Jikuin replies, sounding more amused than he ought to be. “But trust me when I say that unnecessary violence here comes at a high cost, and you’ll find it’s rarely worth the price.”
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“You think you know everything, huh?” Seigen shoots back, his tone sharper now.
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“Not everything,” Jikuin admits, turning back to him. “But I know enough to recognize that keeping a cool head in here is the difference between surviving and painting a target on your back. Asahikawa has a way of drawing out the worst in people. Push the wrong person at the wrong time, and you might find yourself dealing with something you’re not ready for. You may come to appreciate that advice.”
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Seigen glares at him for a moment before flopping back onto the mattress. “Yeah, well, I’ll do just fine without your little lectures, thanks.”
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Jikuin doesn’t press further, simply nodding. “Of course. Forgive me if I’ve overstepped.” He climbs back onto his bunk, the springs above Seigen’s head creaking softly under his weight. After a pause, Jikuin adds, “I do hope you’ll reconsider, though. It would be a shame to see you lose your way so soon, Arima-kun.”
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Seigen doesn’t reply, though his jaw tightens as he stares at the wall across the room. Jikuin’s words linger in his mind despite his best efforts to ignore them. As far as Seigen’s concerned, this isn’t his first rodeo in prison. He could manage just fine without Jikuin’s little sermon on prison etiquette.
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Something about the way Jikuin speaks – calm, composed, like he’s seen it all before – grates on Seigen’s nerves. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that Jikuin’s so self-assured, or the hint of something deeper whenever Seigen looks in his eyes, but he feels a flicker of unease when the words play over again in his mind.
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“ Push the wrong person at the wrong time, and you might find yourself dealing with something you’re not ready for ,” Jikuin had said, and Seigen is almost certain that there’s more to it than just casual advice.
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After too long a beat, Seigen calls out to Jikuin hidden in the bunk above him. “What makes you so sure I won’t be the one doing the pushing?”
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“Because Arima-kun, that’s the nature of things here.” Seigen can hear the way Jikuin’s tone softens, like he’s indulging Seigen’s challenge. He doesn’t sound threatened – if anything, he sounds…amused, as if he’s waiting for Seigen to catch on. “It’s not about who’s willing to fight, it’s about who’s smart enough not to provoke the wrong kind of attention.” His voice is quiet, level, but the weight behind his words is undeniable.
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Seigen frowns out of view at the comment. He’s already had his fill of Jikuin’s unsolicited, omniscient advice. The silence that follows is thick with irritation as he broods over how easily Jikuin seems to have him all figured out. He never liked a know-it-all.
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Stewing in his thoughts isn’t doing him any favors, he reckons, so he forces himself to move. Kicking his feet over the side of the bed, he trudges over to the sink to wash his face and brush his teeth. The water is, as expected, ice-cold against his skin. He only hopes that the showers won’t be just as unforgiving.
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As he brushes his teeth, his eyes flick to the mirror, catching Jikuin lounging in his bunk, flipping through a newspaper like he’s got all the time in the world. Seigen tries to ignore him, tries to enjoy the silence while he carries on his morning routine, but the lingering tension won’t let him. Not when Seigen’s left contemplating why Jikuin seems so hellbent on helping him acclimate right off the bat.
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What’s it to him, anyway? Seigen thinks bitterly, gripping the edge of the sink a little harder than necessary before spitting out his toothpaste. He doesn’t buy the whole friendly, easygoing act. Those kinds of personalities don’t just wind up in a place like this.
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“Something on our mind, Arima-kun?” Jikuin’s voice breaks through his thoughts, casual yet pointed. He doesn’t even look up from his paper.
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Seigen clicks his tongue, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Yeah, Wonderin’ why the hell you talk so much.”
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Jikuin chuckles, turning a page with deliberate ease. “Ah, but you see, I only talk when there’s something worth saying.”
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Seigen scoffs, tossing his towel onto the sink with much less care than Jikuin had used before him. “Then maybe you should try shuttin’ up sometime. See how that goes.”
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Jikuin hums in amusement but doesn’t argue. The silence stretches again, though this time, it’s heavier. Seigen isn’t sure if he’s won this exchange or just played into Jikuin’s game, but before he can say anything more, a loud clang echoes through the hall, followed by the sound of heavy boots clomping down the foyer. Morning roll call.
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Seigen feels the tension in his chest tighten, a familiar coil of unease wound deep in his gut. His cell, for all its confinements, had at least been predictable. Out there, the landscape is unpredictable, a game he doesn’t yet know the rules to. Seigen is brought back to the reality of his situation and the uncertainties that lie beyond the security of his cell.
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Sighing, Seigen rolls his shoulders in an attempt to show indifference.
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He refuses to let any of his unease show. Weakness in a place like this is an open invitation. But somehow, he knows – Jikuin can sense it anyway. There’s something unsettling about that man, the way his polite exterior masks whatever calculations are running behind those sharp eyes.
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Jikuin folds his newspaper neatly, leaving it on his bed before climbing down to join Seigen on the floor. The same, unsettling smile lingers as he meets Seigen’s gaze. “Shall we?”
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Seigen doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he watches Jikuin for a moment, searching for something – maybe a crack in that composed exterior, something real under all that politeness.
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But Jikuin just waits, ever-patient, that unreadable smile still in place.
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With an irritated grunt, Seigen pushes himself off the sink and heads for the door. “Whatever.”
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The cell lock clanks and the door swings open. With Jikuin in front, Seigen takes a quiet, deep breath through his nose, bracing himself.
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“423, 1104.” The guard waits at the entrance of the cell with a clipboard, calling them by their issued ID numbers.
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“Good morning,” Jikuin chirps towards the orderly, stepping past him with a little skip in his stride to stand just outside the door.
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Seigen follows suit, taking his place opposite the door frame, his back instinctively angled toward the wall. He keeps his posture loose, casual – don’t look like a threat, but don’t look weak either. His gaze scans down the corridor as other inmates are let out of their cells one by one to be added to the headcount. He doesn’t look at any one inmate for too long. That’s a rookie mistake. Locking eyes is an invitation – sometimes to a fight, sometimes to something worse.
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Still, he can feel it. Being watched. It’s the kind of pressure that prickles along the back of his neck, the same sensation he’s felt too many times before, in alleyways and backrooms, where a wrong move could mean everything.
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The familiar off-key humming of a nursery rhyme snakes through the cold air, cutting against the quiet shuffling of bodies. Light, airy, utterly out of place. Seigen’s gaze flicks to his peripheral, where Jikuin rocks back and forth on his heels, grinning wide as if he’s actually excited for the day to start. The sight only deepens the scowl already set into Seigen’s face. Fucking weirdo.
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Once the last inmate is accounted for, the procession begins – the steady current of bodies funneling toward the morning showers. Seigen keeps to the flow, noting the spacing between him and the others, watching for shifts in movements that might signal an incoming problem. Jikuin walks a few steps ahead, just far enough that, for a fleeting second, Seigen wonders if the bastard has finally decided to fuck off and give him some space.
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That thought barely has time to settle before a sharp shove from behind jolts him forward as someone elbows past him. His muscles tense on instinct, balance shifting as he catches himself mid-step. He snaps his head around to get a look at whoever just shoved him. A stocky man with a shaved head strides forward without so much as a glance in Seigen’s direction, his posture loose, unbothered.
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“Oi, watch it–” he snarls, but the inmate that bulldozes by is already out of ear shot.
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From up ahead, he catches Jikuin shooting him a knowing glance. A silent reminder: don’t start something you can’t finish.
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Seigen exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders to shake it off. He hasn’t even been here a day, and he already hates how much he has to let it slide.
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“Tch.” Seigen clicks his tongue. He’s seen plenty of guys like this before – puffed-up bastards who throw their weight around just because they can.
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Jikuin, walking just ahead, turns slightly as if to check on him, but doesn’t say anything. Seigen doesn’t need him to. He’s got no intention of letting something this minor get to him. Right now, he needs to get his bearings.
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As they continue down the corridor, Seigen sharpens his focus, tracking the ripple effect that follows the man who shoved him. People move aside without hesitation. Conversations dull to murmurs, wary eyes flicking away as he passes. That’s not just respect – it’s caution. Fear, even. A name that carries weight.
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Seigen watches carefully from behind, keeping his expression unreadable, but his mind is already working. Every prison has its hierarchies. Jikuin might talk in riddles, but if anything he said holds weight, then the first thing Seigen needs to figure out is who holds the power, and how tightly they grip it.
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Life on the streets taught him one rule above all else – you don’t walk into unknown territory blind. You listen. You learn. You find out who’s on top, who’s climbing, and who’s just trying to survive. Knowledge is leverage. For now, he’ll observe, pick out the top dogs, and learn the social dynamics.
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But that doesn’t mean he’s going to roll over, either. His jaw tightens, a steady fire burning just beneath his skin. He’ll stand his ground. If someone wants to test him, he won’t hesitate to fight back – Jikuin’s warning about unnecessary violence be damned. Seigen isn’t looking for trouble, if that’s what Jikuin thinks, but he sure as hell isn’t about to make himself an easy target, either.
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As they near the showers, Seigen notices the same guy who shoved him earlier lingering by the entrance, talking in a low voice with a few others. His stance is relaxed, too casual – like a guy who knows he’s got backup. Seigen doesn’t break stride, but keeps his eye on him, waiting to see if the asshole tries something else.
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Sure enough, as Seigen moves past, the guy shifts just enough to bump into him again, harder this time. A test.
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Seigen stumbles a little, but he doesn’t stop walking, nor does he take the bait – yet. But if this guy thinks he’s going to push him around, he’s got another thing coming.
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As Seigen steps into the locker room, the sound of laughter echoes behind him. He reminds himself to keep a cool head, that this isn’t a fight he wants to pick. At least, not right now.
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Following the flow of the assembly line, Seigen grabs one of the prison-issued towels from one of the neatly stacked piles at the entrance, keeping his movements efficient, controlled. Don’t stand out. Don’t stall. The locker room is already filling up by the time he steps inside, and the unease in his gut tightens. The air is thick with steam and sweat, the constant shuffle of movement setting his nerves on edge.
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As he weaves through the crowd, his senses stay on high alert, tracking the way shoulders bump, how laughter dies down when certain figures pass by. The unspoken laws of dominance and submission are written in the smallest gestures – the way someone grips their towel, how quickly they avert their gaze – it’s all information. It’s all survival.
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He makes his way to a quieter aisle, scanning for an empty locker, but he’s already aware that concepts like seclusion and privacy are null in a prison. Even here, in a tucked-away row,he can still feel the weight of eyes, the static hum of awareness that never fully fades. But for once, luck is on his side. A few empty lockers in a row in the last aisle. No immediate threats in his peripheral. No territorial displays to warn him off.
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Breathing out a slow, measured sigh of relief, he begins to unzip his jumpsuit. His fingers barely brush the fabric before an unfamiliar voice cuts through the noise, sharp and dripping with amusement.
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“That’s my locker you’re using right now, pretty boy.”
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Seigen freezes mid-motion. Not out of fear – out of calculation. The tone is casual, but that means nothing. Slowly, deliberately, he turns to look over his shoulder at whoever’s addressing him, keeping his expression neutral as he locks eyes with whoever just made the mistake of calling him that.
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“I don’t see a name on it,” Seigen says, tone flat to disguise his nerves.
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As expected, it’s the same asshole that shoved him. Behind him are the other inmates from outside. Probably his lackeys, Seigen thinks.
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“Hah,” the man barks a laugh. “Doesn’t need a name. Everyone here knows that’s the locker I use.”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaUSoTVwtnJ
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Seigen turns to face the prick who’s antagonizing him, shoulders squared, his muscles coiled tight beneath the surface. He knew this was another test – not just to rile him up, but to gauge how far they could push him.
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“It’s not about who’s willing to fight, it’s about who’s smart enough not to provoke the wrong kind of attention,” he hears Jikuin’s warning echo through his mind again.
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Seigen exhales through his nose. Screw that.
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“Shoulda got here sooner then.” he replies, his voice steady, unreadable. He holds his ground, brushing off Jikuin’s advice like dust off his shoulder. Backing down isn’t an option. Not here. Not ever.
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The man grins, a slow, crooked thing, tongue flicking across his lips. A couple of dark chuckles sound from behind him, but the rest of the aisle is dead silent, all eyes on them. Predators waiting to see if the fresh meat will bite back.
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Then, without warning, the guy steps in close – too close – before slamming a hand flat against the locker beside Seigen’s head. The sharp metallic clang rings through the air, reverberating like a gunshot in his ears. A calculated move – dominance in the form of noise and space.
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“You got some balls, new kid, I’ll give you that,” he mutters, his grin widening as his eyes flick up and down, sizing Seigen up like prey that might just put up a fight. “But you oughta learn some respect before someone beats it into you.”
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Seigen doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t take a step back. His gaze drags slowly, purposefully, from the man’s face to the hand caging him in. Measuring. Calculating.
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He’s not stupid. A fight right now would be reckless, and he can already feel the weight of watching eyes around them, waiting to see what he’ll do. But like hell he’s gonna let this guy walk all over him.
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“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says dryly, stepping just enough to the side that the other guy is forced to either move or look ridiculous keeping his hand up.
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A small, amused noise leaves the man’s throat. “Good. Maybe you’ll last longer than I thought.”
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Seigen doesn’t react, but the guy takes a step closer anyway, invading his space just enough to make a point.
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“You know,” the man muses, voice dropping lower, “most new fish learn real quick that stepping outta line ain’t worth the trouble. But you?” He tilts his head, eyes scanning Seigen like he’s already figured out how to break him. “You seem like the type that needs a little extra convincing.”
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Seigen meets his gaze, forcing himself to hold steady. “And what? You gonna try?”
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His antagonizer grins, slow and sharp. “Not today. But you’re gonna find out real soon that it’s either sink or swim, pretty boy. And when you do?” His fingers drum lazily against the locker door, deliberate and taunting. “I’ll be right here, waiting.”
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The weight of the threat falls heavy in the room, pressing in from all sides like a noose tightening around his throat. The man holds his gaze – unblinking, testing, waiting for any sign of weakness.
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Seigen doesn’t give him one.
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The extra second stretches, a silent standoff, before the guy finally steps back. Not a retreat – just a statement that the game isn’t over. His hand drags slowly from the locker’s surface as he saunters away, his minions following suit.
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Seigen doesn’t move, watching them the way a cornered animal watches a circling predator. His pulse is steady, but his jaw tightens, tension braced underneath his skin. He knows this isn’t the end of it.
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Only when they finally turn out of the aisle does he let out a slow, controlled breath. Not relief. Just calibration.
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Then – movement.
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His eyes flick up again, catching someone else making their way over to him.
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“My, my,” Jikuin prompts, wearing an amused smile as he approaches Seigen. His hands are clasped behind his back,and Seigen notices there’s a bit of an extra bounce in his step. “You certainly have a way of making an impression.” Jikuin stops just beside Seigen, tilting his head slightly as he surveys the scene. “Most new inmates try to stay under the radar, but you? You practically handed them a reason to be interested in you.” He chuckles, clearly entertained. “I see my advice has found you well.”
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Seigen scoffs. “Didn't ask for your damn advice.”
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Jikuin studies Seigen’s expression carefully for a moment before responding. “No, you didn't,” he admits, smile softening ever so slightly, “but I was hoping you would take it anyway.”
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Seigen turns away to open his locker with a little more force than necessary. “Oh yeah?” he asks, unimpressed. “What's it to you, anyway?”
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Jikuin opens the locker next to him, following suit. “I wonder,” he muses cryptically.
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Seigen sends him an irritated, sidelong glance as he begins to undress. “You always this vague, or just when you're tryin’ to piss me off?”
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Jikuin hums in thought, stepping out of his jumpsuit. “Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I just enjoy a little mystery,” he chuckles.
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Seigens rolls his eyes. “Right. I'll try not to lose sleep over it.”
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“However,” Jikuin begins, tone dropping to be a bit more serious as he carefully folds his clothes, “I would prefer not to see you get chewed up and spit out in your first week.”
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Seigens pulls his undershirt over his head and stuffs it in the locker. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he mutters.
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When Seigen’s done undressing, he wraps his towel securely around his waist and steps away from his locker, leaving Jikuin behind. The air in the corridor is thick with humidity, the faint scent of industrial soap clinging to the damp walls as he enters the communal shower room.
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Rows of shower heads line the tiled walls, each accompanied by a small, tray-like shelf stocked with the bare essentials – harsh, generic soap and shampoo that smells more like disinfectant than anything remotely pleasant.
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Seigen finds an unoccupied space along the wall and hangs his towel on one of the designated hooks before twisting the rusted knob. As expected, the initial blast of water is bitterly cold, sending a jolt through his system. He exhales sharply but doesn’t flinch, waiting as the old pipes groan in protest before the temperature evens out to be something barely tolerable – lukewarm at best.
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Still, it’s enough. As the water runs over him, Seigen closes his eyes for a moment, letting it wash away the lingering tension clinging to his muscles. It’s a temporary relief, but he takes what he can get. The muted sound of water hitting tile echoes through the room, the only real noise aside from the occasional shuffle of movement. He’s aware of the unspoken rule here – keep to yourself, don’t stare, don’t talk unless necessary. The illusion of privacy is the best anyone gets in prison, and everyone abides by it.
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At least, that’s how it should have been – until someone brushes past him, knocking into him with enough force to make it clear it wasn’t an accident. Seigen whips his head around, muscles coiled tight, already assessing. One of the lackeys from the locker room leers at him a few showers down, lips curling around a low whistle. A sound meant to needle him, to remind him they’re watching. The guy smirks, flashing crooked teeth as he casually turns on the water.
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Seigen doesn’t miss how others notice – but no one reacts. No one ever does. They know how this works.
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He grits his teeth, irritation bubbling, but he reins it in. Seigen’s had enough of their bullshit, but he knows better than to give them what they want. He’s not stupid – this isn’t about picking a fight. It’s about control. It’s about seeing how much of a reaction they can squeeze out of the new guy. He’s played this game before.
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Seigen has no plans on giving them the satisfaction.
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Clicking his tongue, he focuses on rinsing out the last of the soap from his hair, deciding that he’s done here. Shutting off the water, he reaches for his towel, shaking off the lingering unease as he wraps it around his waist. Without sparing another glance towards the lackey, he wades through the damp haze of the shower room and heads back towards the locker aisle.
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It’s not much of a relief, he finds, as the cold air bites at his damp skin. He runs the towel quickly over his arms before yanking on his jumpsuit.
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As if on cue, Jikuin emerges at the end of the aisle, making his way towards him, lips quirked up in amusement.
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“The fuck are you smiling about?” Seigen snaps grimly.
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“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jikuin says, opening his locker, “just that I’m relieved you knew better than to pick a fight in there. It would have been a terrible idea, really. Slippery floors, no weapons, too many witnesses…terribly inconvenient.”
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Seigen scoffs at his comment, but something about Jikuin’s tone doesn’t sound entirely sarcastic. “ Inconvenient ,” Seigen repeats, clearly annoyed. “What happened to all that preaching about not fighting then, huh?”
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Jikuin tilts his head to the side, an unreadable smile on his lips. “Is that what you heard?”
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Seigen rolls his eyes. “No one can follow a damn thing you say. It’s too fuckin’ early for your shit.”
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Jikuin merely laughs under his breath. “Oh, but the day’s just getting started, Arima-kun.”
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As Seigen zips up his jumpsuit, his gaze flickers instinctively to movement beside him. In the corner of his eye, Jikuin’s arm disappears into his locker, the shift of muscle revealing something beneath the surface. Scars. Deep ones. Etched into his skin like old battle lines.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8ttE9IYlCN
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Seigen’s eyes wander before he can stop himself, tracing the uneven terrain of Jikuin’s torso – a mess of jagged slashes, puncture marks, faded burns, each a story he doesn’t have the luxury of knowing. Some wounds look deliberate, others like the aftermath of something crueler, something left to heal wrong. A body that’s been through hell and came out grinning.
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Realizing he’s staring, Seigen quickly snaps his gaze away, schooling his expression. He curses himself for gawking – letting curiosity override instinct. In a place like this, showing too much interest in someone else’s past is a risk. Some scars are better left unexamined.
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Just as Seigen finishes dressing and turns away, Jikuin speaks up.
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“Curious, are we?” Jikuin muses, pulling on the sleeves of his jumpsuit at a leisurely pace. His tone is light, but there’s something unreadable behind it.
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Seigen stiffens. He doesn’t need to look to know Jikuin’s watching him, amused.
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Seigen scoffs, shaking his head. “Not really,” he says, shutting his locker with more force than necessary.
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Jikuin hums knowingly. “Of course not.” He leaves it at that, a smug little smile tugging at his lips.
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The silence that follows is heavier than Seigen would have liked, so he brushes past Jikuin and starts heading for the door. He expects Jikuin to linger, but instead, the man falls into step beside him.
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“If we hurry, we can get there early for the jelly pastries,” Jikuin says lighthearted, matching Seigen’s quick stride. Though Seigen figures Jikuin doesn’t realize it’s him who he’s trying to get away from.
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He rolls his eyes. “Can’t fuckin’ wait,” he mutters, annoyed by Jikuin’s unfaltering enthusiasm.
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As they walk, though, his thoughts linger. Scars like that don’t come from an easy life. Some of them looked deep – deliberate.
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Just what the hell did this guy go though?
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He doesn’t want to care. He doesn’t want to wonder. But that doesn’t stop the question from lodging itself in the back of his mind, stubborn and unshakeable.
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Seigen says nothing as they walk in step down the corridor, his senses attuned to everything and everyone around him. The dull hum of morning activity presses in – footsteps scuffing against cold concrete, the distant bark of an orderly giving direction, the low murmur of conversations that flare up and die just as quickly.
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He tunes it all out, but not in the way someone uninterested would. He filters. Sorts. Files away the movements around him, instinctively picking out the patterns – who walks with purpose, who slinks along the walls trying to stay invisible, who holds themselves like they own the place. His gaze flickers from shadowed corners to the passing faces, committing details to memory.
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Jikuin walks beside him, unbothered, but Seigen’s mind is already mapping out routes, measuring threats, keeping tabs on the ones watching him a little too closely. There’s no such thing as walking without purpose here. Everything in this place has an order, a rhythm – one that could mean the difference between staying out of trouble and walking straight into it.
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And yet, the one thing that doesn’t quite fit into the equation is Jikuin.
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He should let it go – whatever that was back there. Jikuin’s past, his scars, none of it has anything to do with him. And yet, something about the way Jikuin carries himself lingers in Seigen’s mind. The easygoing charm, the casual demeanor – it’s all too smooth, too effortless, like a well-practiced act.
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It’s not just the scars – it’s how comfortable he is here. How he moves through this place as if he’s already memorized its every detail, every player, every outcome. Like he’s not just surviving, but playing a game only he understands.
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Seigen can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Jikuin than he lets on – something lurking beneath the polite smiles and friendly exterior. And whether he means to or not, Seigen decides he’s going to find out what it is.
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