"You're extremely red in the face," Gojo observed with an expert's professional tone.

Utahime thought she might cry. Or perhaps she might hit him. Hard. This wasn't amusing at all but, of course, he'd think it was.

"How can you… she… She heard us. Or…" Utahime hid her face behind her hands and groaned miserably, recalling the ice-cold air on her exposed skin, "... saw us?!"

"Only if she climbed a tree and used binoculars," Gojo chuckled. "But who knows with older women, they do sometimes develop strange tastes, I hear?"

"Gojo! She is your aunt!"

"So what?"

"I can't ever look her in the eyes again!"

"Why not?"

Utahime lowered her hands to glare at him. That was a mistake. Gojo, who was kneeling not far from her, was shamelessly naked and still aroused. His physique was that of a Greek god's marble statue in the soft morning light: perfect. Add to that his tousled white hair, shining angelic face and wondrous blue eyes trained on her with an unadulterated, adoring expression, and Utahime felt herself go weak in the head.

"Stop it," she began looking for her clothes to distract herself, which… "Oh no," she groaned, the ruins of her underwear, stockings, and her pretty blue dress presenting her with the next big problem. "How am I supposed to… what…"

"Oh, don't worry," Gojo crawled closer on his hands and knees. "We have plenty of clothes here. Not sure the old-lady style underwear will be to your liking though."

"Stay away from me," Utahime scrambled upright, clutching the blanket to her body like that made a difference, he had already seen and explored all parts of her several times. The odor in this room was heady, unmistakably tied to sexual escapades. A wave of heat swept through her treacherous body. It remembered pleasure and thirsted for more of it.

He sighed longingly, tilting his beautiful face a little to the side like a puppy with its eyes on a treat. "But you are so beautiful."

"Stop it," she repeated, more desperately. "I need to think."

"About what?"

"Gojo!" Utahime shouted. "Your aunt caught us doing all kinds of naughty things and I don't know how she will take this!"

"Naughty things," a pleased grin spread over his face. "So you care about what my aunts think of you?"

"Yes, of course I do!"

"Why?"

"Because…," had he no notion of shame!? "Have your aunts and grandma kicked women out of the house before? If not, I'll be the first."

"Utahime," Gojo crawled closer again. "My aunt invited you to breakfast. She likes you. What are you even fretting about? Besides, I am the Head of the Gojo Clan. This is my house."

"That doesn't change that they will see me as… as… morally loose," she said bitterly, sitting back down. "Or worse, a money grabber."

And then there was that old feud between the Iori's and the Gojo's, which certainly didn't help with trust. Oh, where was that hole she could sink into?!

"Really now?" His perfect eyebrows moved up. "It's your own issues that make you feel uncomfortable. Don't blame me or my relatives for not letting yourself enjoy things."

Ouf.

"Maybe don't think so much about how other people might see you, Utahime. The hell with it. Do what you want."

Utahime felt massively irritated despite a begrudging acknowledgment of truth. It wasn't just the societal judgments that upset her; it was the clash of everything when it came to Gojo. She had been raised as a quintessential "good girl", and neither did good girls deviate from the straight path nor did they venture into the unknown. They did what was expected of them and always kept their heads down. Gojo Satoru on the other hand always unerringly upended what she had meticulously laid out for herself, a force of nature who destroyed everything she considered safe. What was left if she let herself be swept away by the whirlwind of his existence?

This morning, her heart felt bruised and vulnerable, she had given too much of herself already, a foolish, weak woman whose younger self had sworn in vain never to be one of the desperate ones vying for his attention.

She couldn't afford to be in love with him. Yet, since she found herself entangled in those emotions, she knew she had to untangle herself as swiftly as possible. And so she uttered the one question no self-respecting woman should ask a man, because it was known to be the beginning of the end.

"What are we to each other?"

She braced herself for the answer. There he was, in godlike glory. Here she was, pathetic, scarred, hundreds of levels beneath him. Break my heart and be done with it, she silently wished.

"You are the woman I want to marry."

She gasped, completely blindsided. "Be serious!" Her voice sounded strangled. "Please," she added pleadingly.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why is it that you never want to believe me? If I can't marry you, I don't want to marry anyone. That's what you are to me."

"Be serious!" she implored again, not letting herself believe it. Gojo, no. You can't say things like this. Please.

"What is the answer you want to hear?" Even though she had asked for seriousness, seeing his face lose all of its earlier softness wasn't what she wanted either. "I'll give it to you."

Silence descended. What was the answer she wanted to hear? Maybe something like: It was fun while it lasted, you can leave now. Or: You were just a temporary distraction. She needed him to be callous, indifferent, a womanizer without a soul. A man who played with her because she suited his fancy for the moment, someone who would drop her after nights filled with passion simply because he got bored. A man she could learn to hate while she was left duly heartbroken. Someone she'd never forget but would never have.

"I don't want you to get hurt," she pressed out, an excuse or an explanation or an attempt to get more information, she wasn't quite sure.

"You're doing a great job with that," he replied.

She expected to see mockery on his face, but his expression was guarded. This felt exactly like it had felt last year when she had taken the decision to talk to Michizane behind his back, only that the stakes were even higher now. Feeling a wave of misery tinged with self-pity, Utahime began to shiver.

"You want to take that shower then?" Gojo got up. "You have more than twenty minutes left."

She nodded meekly.

"I am going to teleport us to the guest shower." He extended his arm down to her.

"Yes," she took it. Last year, she had made the mistake of not talking to him. This time, she'd get that right at least. "But then, we need to talk."

###

"We need to talk," she repeated, staggering a little after finding herself in a bathing area that was bigger than her apartment, despite how smoothly the transition had occurred. Part of her hoped that he'd get so angry after her confession, her problem would solve itself naturally. If he no longer wanted to see her, she couldn't spy on him, and they couldn't use her against him. Whatever he truly felt.

"My auntie won't like us being late for the New Year's breakfast," Gojo looked distracted as if he were listening to a sound far away. "And I need to organize some clothes for you."

"It's important that we talk," she insisted, pressing his arm. "Stay a moment."

"Fine, I'll stay." His eyes swept over her body slowly.

Utahime stood a little straighter. Whatever it took for him to stay and listen. "Could you soap me up?"

She settled on the wooden bamboo stool in the wet area, discreetly glancing around. The understated luxury of her surroundings didn't help with her already precarious state of mind. In case she had forgotten who the Gojo family were—this guest bath left no doubt about their status and wealth. The walls were adorned with intricate wooden panels featuring delicate carvings depicting scenes from nature—blooming cherry blossoms, cascading waterfalls, and graceful cranes in flight. The flooring consisted of a mosaic of smooth stones, artfully arranged to create a seamless and visually appealing surface. The centerpiece of the bathing area was a large, deep soaking tub crafted from exquisite hinoki wood. The tub was elegantly designed with smooth edges and polished surfaces. It was also very inviting—she was cold, even though the stones were heated, her shivers increasing in frequency and severity.

Gojo, still as naked as a newborn baby, began sniffing the available shampoo bottles, choosing one to his liking. Utahime felt the heat of his body draw near as he settled behind her with a bucket full of warm water and a bamboo ladle.

"Ready?" He asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded, soon lost in how gently he poured water over her body. He applied shampoo to her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp with just the right kind of pressure, then used a washcloth to build up lather on her back and her arms. The scent of yuzu and jasmine wafted through the air, which took her right back to her youth. Years ago, this had been her favorite perfume.

His hands moved forward, over and around her breasts, gently massaging them, then went down to her belly and hips. That needy pulse began beating again between her legs, making her squirm.

To hell with this.

Utahime turned her head, he was so close she didn't even have to reach far. Her kiss surprised him, she wasn't sure why. Didn't he know he was irresistible? Reveling in the smooth sweetness of his lips, she turned around on the stool to fully face him.

"We can have more sex if you want," she said, moving her own hand down to his hot, erect flesh. I want more. "But first, you listen."

"Okay," he replied, his eyes large, blue, and innocent, holding her gaze... before they dipped down to her breasts.

"Are you listening?"

"Mh-hm," he hummed, wetting his lips.

"Gojo!" She boxed his shoulder.

"You are so damn hot, what am I supposed to do?" He groaned, reluctantly shifting his eyes back to her face. "Plus, your hand is on my dick."

"You know they summoned me to Tokyo," she began now that she had his attention. "Do you know why?"

He shook his head. His Adam's apple bopped when he swallowed as if it took all his will to keep his focus on her face.

"It's because they believe you are lying to them about Geto," Utahime knew she needed to talk fast, she wouldn't get another chance like this and it wouldn't likely last long. "They have not found the body, they believe that you let him go. And now they want to use me to spy on you, because they think we… we are…" Satoru, you can't like me. You can't even think you do. Do you understand why? They're going to use any vulnerability they think you have. "They want me to report on a weekly basis about everything we talk about, everything you do, and everyone you meet."

She removed her hand, her heart in her throat. There. The confession was out—now, the consequences. To her chagrin, he remained silent, only taking up the ladle to pour warm water down her chest, watching it drip off her nipples.

"Satoru," she pleaded with him. "What are we to do?"

"This," he leaned forward to give her a sizzling hot kiss that made her pussy clench greedily. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to be safe," she managed to say before his demanding tongue silenced her again. She moaned when his hands wandered to her ass.

"Actually, you want this," he lifted her off her stool like she weighed nothing and pulled her down onto his lap, penetrating her deeply at once. She was soaking wet and all too ready. "Look at how honest your body is."

"Ngggh," Utahime protested feebly, she was sore but his dick felt damn good and he used his thumb to circle and probe her anus again, a thing she hadn't known got her immensely fired up until this morning.

"We should have all the important conversations like this," he panted, increasing the pace of his thrusts as she frantically circled her hips for even more friction. "Be naked and speak the naked truth."

Exquisite pressure built low in her belly already. Something was wrong with her, surely, so eager for this, so readily pleased. It was like her body had built an addiction to his, craving more even as they were doing it. She clung to his neck, using it for leverage to chase after the fast approaching peak of bliss.

"You will report to them of course," his blue eyes seemed to dominate her entire field of vision when they focused on her with intensity. Before the meaning of what he had just said could sink in, her orgasm ripped through her like a wildfire, robbing her of sense and reason.

"And in the meantime," he whispered into her ear while she was still panting, trembling and reeling in his grip, "you will make yourself available to me at all times. Whatever I want, you give it to me."

She wanted to jump up in shock at hearing the Higher-Ups' command repeated by him like this, but he held her down, spilling himself deep inside of her with a muffled grunt, his sharp teeth clamping down on her shoulder for one short, painful moment. Utahime cried out and he let go of her. She scrambled off and away from him, toppling over her stool in her haste.

He knew, he had known all along! Had he tested her honesty? Or how far he could push her? Fury and shame warred inside of her. She felt used, but was that justified?

"Funny that even you underestimate me," he smiled, staying seated, but it wasn't a friendly smile, it was intimidating and scary. "It was clear to me from the moment they gave me the order to kill Geto that they would make a move against me. I'm not surprised they're trying to use you to get to me. I made it quite obvious after all."

Obvious…? To make her a target…? No. He wouldn't. Or would he? She stared into his eyes and couldn't help but wonder anew when the snotty, arrogant boy had become somebody to fear this much.

"You bastard," she pressed out through gritted teeth. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of him. Never again.

"Your inability to trust me won't help, Utahime," he gestured for her to move closer. "Sit down. I need to rinse us off properly."

"I want to leave," she said, hating how much her voice shook.

"That's not a good idea," he took the elegant shower head off the wall. "It's very cold outside and you, my dear Utahime, have no clothes."

Utahime did sit down on the stool then, trying to keep her limbs from shaking. "What do you want from me?" She asked.

"I'm quite satisfied at the moment, thank you," he began to hose her and himself down, making sure to rinse off all the soap and all the remnants of passion, but without touching her. "But why don't we discuss our collaboration after breakfast. I will go get clothes now," he got up, without looking at her.

After he left, the cold overtook her completely.

###

"How are you doing, Miss Iori. It is such a pleasure to see you after such a long time. My best wishes for the New Year to you and your family!"

Gojo's graceful aunt Narumi, whose slightly reddened nose indicated that she had waited outside in the cold for Utahime to finally appear, was dressed in a luminous pink kimono embroidered with artful flower designs underneath an elegant, black winter coat. Her shining, perfectly coiffed hair showed only a few additional strands of gray.

Utahime bowed, self-conscious of her own hair that she had barely managed to comb properly after blow drying it hastily. Though she had her handbag with her, which included a few make-up items, she missed her trusted hair brush and had no ribbon either. The loose strands falling into her face made her feel strangely wanton.

"Thank you for your kind words and hospitality," she replied as confidently as possible, she had never been good at pretending. "With my best wishes for the upcoming year in return."

"Please," Aunt Narumi smiled kindly, as if she were truly glad to see Utahime and did not care at all about the debauchery she had interrupted, "let's go inside."

Wary, Utahime followed her up the central staircase that led to the main building of the Gojo Glan's grand estate. This south-facing architectural marvel, resembling a majestic phoenix in mid-flight, was surrounded by covered corridors and bridges connecting to secondary structures. To the left, a large courtyard garden unfolded, while beyond, several grand ponds offered opportunities for fishing, boating, or even swimming. These vast structures and grounds that looked like a movie-set had to cost a fortune for maintenance.

It looked stunning in the soft morning light, but nothing here was to be trusted, however beautiful it may look.

Utahime couldn't very well make a scene in front of his relatives, but the reason she was here and not on the road outside the estate was to tell Gojo the truth about how she felt about him.

She hated him.

She had always hated him because of his fickleness and inability to take things seriously. And now she hated him even more for becoming calculating and mean. They were nothing to each other and would never be. He could take his perfect body to hell, she would never touch him again, never, ever, and he would never be allowed to touch her again either. Never.

Gojo had sent a servant girl to deliver a beautifully worked blue silk kimono embroidered with plum blossoms, a warm coat, stockings, her black heels, her handbag—and underwear.

Not normal underwear, but scandalous, red lingerie with the price tag still on.

"How dare he insult me!" She had shouted at the mirror, yet had chosen to wear the provocative, ultra-expensive undergarments rather than wear nothing underneath when she met Gojo's relatives.

As if he knew what she was hiding, the old butler who slid open the main door and bowed stiffly looked at her down his nose and sniffled disapprovingly.

"Welcome," Aunt Narumi gestured for Utahime to enter. "Feel at home here, Miss Iori."

Never. As soon as she got the chance to tell Gojo off, she'd leave and never come back. To hell with everything! A life without him in it was possible, easy actually, they never met naturally anyway. The sister school event, well, she'd find a way to not be there. The Higher-Ups can go to hell too, what will they do if I refuse to ever see him again? Surely, they will see how pointless their scheming is!

The interior of the Heian-style main building exuded an air of timeless elegance. The subdued lighting cast a gentle glow on the polished wooden floors, the tatami-lined corridors lead to various interconnected rooms full of exquisite antiquities, each piece a commitment to preserving cultural heritage. The spacious dining area was full of people speaking in low voices around a plentiful selection of Osechi-ryori delicacies. They turned their heads when she entered and Utahime realized they had all waited for her. It drove the blood into her face and she bowed deeply until she felt she could face them without shame for making them wait. Shouting at the mirror and cursing the master of the house had taken quite some time.

"Miss Iori," Aunt Narumi introduced her and everybody murmured a polite, friendly greeting. Utahime recognized Aunt Himari, Aunt Kanako, Aunt Amaya and Aunt Ruri, bowing to each in turn. Aunt Kimiko was absent, probably still not back in favor. Gojo's grandmother wasn't there either, hopefully she wasn't ill. There were two young women with American accents who introduced themselves as Ayumi and Ema. They were Aunt Himari's daughters, freshly returned from America with MBAs from Harvard Business School and soon to take on roles as CEOs in the Gojo family business empire.

"You are really, really pretty!" Ema gushed, her eyes showing nothing but adoration and Utahime felt herself color again because surely, she wasn't at all.

"I'm so surprised our cousin managed to find a girl," Ayumi giggled, "he was so awkward when we were younger he ran away when one of us tried to talk to him."

"Oh, we're not together," Utahime blurted out, earning herself a look from Aunt Narumi and a dark chuckle from Gojo. Oh great. Now I really made myself sound like a strumpet.

He stood there in all his glory, an embodiment of the ancient energy resonating within the place. She wanted to look away and ignore him but her eyes were captured by the traditional clothing he wore and a strange, dream-like feeling came over her. He had donned a lilac Kimono over a black shirt and gray hakama bottoms, both embellished with the Gojo family crest, a circular emblem bearing a round central eye surrounded by five smaller eyes arranged in a hexagonal pattern, forming the shape of a plum flower.

Seeing him like this was as if a distant memory, soft and ethereal, had momentarily slipped into the present. She felt a sudden sense of nostalgia, a whisper of moments long gone yet imprinted in the fabric of time. The complexity of their connection unfolded in the silent spaces between the past and present. And as the echoes of a shared history resurfaced, she remembered a dream, a threat, and a warning.

Utahime straightened—his place, it had messed with her head before, she just needed to be on her guard—but something inside of her had softened.

When she was seated with the younger woman a distance away from Gojo, she couldn't help but throw inconspicuous glances in his direction. The intense anger that had gripped her just moments ago had dissipated, leaving behind a void that made her previous rage appear overly extreme. Yes, he had kept from her what he knew about Tokyo, which wasn't very nice, but not a grave offense either. Actually, testing her willingness to share the truth was understandable since the stakes for him were high. Somehow, she felt a sense of personal failure, as if she had miscalculated the situation. Her frustration with him shifted, and she acknowledged her own inglorious role in this mess. The hurt she felt seemed paradoxical—she had shielded herself from an emotional connection only to find herself wounded by the absence of it?

Utahime took a bit of ozoni soup and some rolled omelet made with sweet fish paste, but she had no real appetite. Gojo on the other hand swiftly demolished a stack of pancakes brought in especially for him. The old butler, in a display of devoted care, fussed over Gojo as though he were a finicky three-year-old.

"Is granny enjoying her trip?" Ema asked Aunt Narumi. "I've always wanted to go to Jeju, I'm really jealous!"

Jeju…? Utahime looked up, only to meet Gojo's lazing blue eyes.

"I'm sure she is enjoying it," Aunt Kanako joined in. "Isn't the Imperial Elegance the crown jewel of our fleet, redefining the standards of opulence at sea?"

"I don't believe this," Utahime murmured, slamming her soup bowl down on the table with much too much force. That fucking ship belonged to the Gojo family. It was not a coincidence her mother had won first prize. Months ago... Gojo had planned this months ago. How was this even possible?

"More importantly," Gojo was still focusing his eyes on her, "she is entirely safe on it, like all the other passengers."

"I get it," Utahime said for his sake only. "I understand."

He had anticipated a flare-up of the conflict, and it seemed she was the one who had initiated it. Apologies were in order.

"Please forgive me for showing disrespect to Zen'in Naoya," she looked down at her folded hands, swallowing her pride. "I didn't know how bad things are between your two clans."

"Do not fear," Aunt Narumi's stern voice softened. "This is why you're here. Satoru will protect you."

In Utahime's head, a voice began to laugh hysterically. It echoed the disbelief and irony of navigating an unexpected and bewildering path dictated by the whims of fate while feeling like an absolute fool.