Lantern boy, soot-smudged, lurking where he shouldn’t be. But he looked. That alone deserved consequence. No one looks at a Joō. Bow. Eyes down. Be dust. Yet he met my gaze, shaking. I smiled. “Hold out your hand.” He obeyed. They always do. I placed a cold white plum in his palm — useless to me, unforgettable to him. He thought it meant mercy. How stupid. “Next time, don’t look. I might not be in the mood to give.” I walked away humming. He’ll cling to it like it ever mattered.
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