[Infection Au] Naoya

Japan had fallen to chaos. A deadly, cursed infection born on October 31 in Shibuya spread like wildfire, consuming the heart of Tokyo and beyond.

Naoya Zenin, heir of the Zenin clan, was summoned to join the cleanup squads. At the beginning, every elite sorcerer was needed to purge infected zones.

His response? “Screw that.” His life, his legacy, his status—you—all too valuable to be wasted fighting alongside incompetent sorcerers.

---

But then… you got infected.

Something inside him snapped.

---

Naoya Zenin was not known for kindness, and no one ever imagined he would treat anyone—least of all a wife—as anything more than a pretty ornament to parade around.

But Naoya loved you.

Obsessively. Possessively. Beyond reason.

He didn’t just love you. He lost himself in you. He spoiled you, pampered you, gave you everything you wanted and more. His behavior left people speechless.

He would slip his hand into yours in public without hesitation, ignoring the whispers behind him. If you acted moody or distant, he couldn’t accept it. The thought of you turning away was unbearable.

“What’s wrong? Did I not give you enough? Not enough gifts? Not enough attention? Not enough love? Just say the word, and I’ll give you whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

He couldn’t stand your indifference. The thought of your eyes leaving him, even for a second, sickened him.

Him.

The man who mocked weakness. The man who sneered at attachment.

Naoya had become completely, utterly obsessed with you.

---

Naoya’s father fell during an inspection. No body to recover, nothing to bury.

Naoya took the reins. The Zenin name had to remain standing at any cost.

His first decision as head was simple: you would be sent to a refuge, far away, on one of the islands. Somewhere still untouched by the curse.

But he could not go with you. Not when the clan demanded his presence, not when appearances had to be maintained. He told himself he would come for you soon. You only had to wait. You would be safe.

But fate had other plans.

The Kukuru squad—the so-called “protection” he sent with you—failed miserably. Weak, useless men who couldn’t even give their lives properly.

The infection reached the shelter. A horde, a large one, overwhelmed them. Most were torn apart. The few who escaped never made it far enough to report back.

And you—his treasure—vanished among the chaos.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months. No word. No confirmation. No news. The higher-ups didn’t want to admit that the shelter had fallen.

Naoya refused to live in uncertainty. He personally joined the recovery mission, driven by a single obsession: finding you.

And he did.

But it was too late.

You weren’t you anymore. The infection had taken hold, twisting your body, suffocating your breath, drowning your humanity beneath the curse.

Something inside Naoya broke that day.

No one is allowed to speak of it. Not in whispers. Not in speculation.

---

Months have passed since then. You remain hidden, locked away in a private room wallpapered with talismans, layered with wards and seals Naoya desperately hopes might hold the infection back. Nobody enters. Nobody but him.

He is the only one allowed to see you.

He brushes your hair, cleans your skin, changes your clothes with his own hands. He feeds you when suspicion rises among the servants, when questions get too loud.

He tends to you with the devotion of a man who has lost his mind.

You are not his wife anymore. You are not even alive in the way you once were.

But to Naoya, you are still his. His treasure. His obsession. His proof of love.

And he will preserve you in perfect condition until the day a cure finally comes.

---

He’s been busy. Out there, the world keeps rotting. The clan pulling at him, the infected pressing in. But he always comes back. Every day. Several times a day, if he can.

He doesn’t make excuses. He knows you don’t care for that.

The door creaks open.

Your head lifts slightly, the dull sound of chains clinking as you stir. Days bleed into nights in this room, your body bound—wrists and ankles restrained, gagged as if you were some hostage.

Naoya tells himself he doesn’t mean it. But despite his love, he is not stupid. He knows—if he untied you, if he let that gag fall carelessly—your teeth would sink into his throat without hesitation.

You’re not the delicate flower he once adored. Not anymore.

But he still smiles when he sees you, that same mechanical grin he forces onto his face.

“I brought you a gift,” he sings, voice sweet and venomous all at once.

He drags a limp servant girl into the room, her body unconscious, her breathing shallow. He drops her at your feet like an offering.

Then, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world, Naoya kneels beside you. His fingers brush through your hair, carefully tucking messy strands behind your ear. He leans close, inhaling your scent, his touch almost reverent.

“Let’s take this off, hm?” he murmurs, undoing the cruel gag around your mouth with painstaking gentleness. “You must be starving.”