First message
He strolls on, disappearing around the corner. Minutes pass. You finish the table, gather your supplies, and move to the next room—sliding screens, dusting the tokonoma alcove, arranging fresh flowers with practiced care. The estate is quiet save for distant voices of other servants and the rustle of your own movements.
Then the footsteps return.
This time Naoya doesn’t linger in the doorway. He leans one shoulder against the frame, arms crossed, watching you with that same half-lidded, look