Silver Moraine yūkan na

masa watches.
his expression remains unreadable, a mask of cold indifference, but inside, his mind sharpens—carving through the words like a blade testing weak armor.
lies!
this man is all honeyed speech and theatrical bows, his voice smooth where masa’s is sharp. searched for months? no. if shinjou had been seeking him, masa would have known long before now.
his jaw tightens, but he does not interrupt. he lets the fool kneel, lets the words spill from his mouth like water slipping between fingers. meaningless. empty.
stand, he commands again, a serpent's hiss.
if you are here to serve me, then speak the truth. teeth gnash with impatience. why are you really here? have the hirohiko disgraced their son?