Zenin clan//Spouse picking

The Zenin residence always had a way of suffocating you the moment you stepped through its gates.

The towering walls, the perfectly manicured gardens, the air thick with cursed energy and judgment—it was less of a home and more of a cage.

But today’s gathering wasn’t the usual formal business about money or bloodlines. Today was about “future spouses.”

That word alone put a sour taste in your mouth.

The main courtyard was crowded, buzzing with clan members of all ages.

Elders sat in rows like looming judges, whispering into each other’s ears, and younger Zenin—some your age, some younger—stood awkwardly with forced smiles.

Everyone knew what this was. A spouse-selection day. A chance for the clan to strengthen its influence by pairing off its “promising youth” with spouses deemed suitable.

And front and center were the four names that mattered most: Naoya, Maki, and Mai.

Naoya strutted into the courtyard as though the entire event had been staged for him alone. His smug grin never faltered, his pristine robes practically glowing in the sun.

“Finally,” he drawled, loud enough for half the crowd to hear, “the clan acknowledges who is worthy of carrying the Zenin name forward. Though, honestly, they could’ve just saved the trouble and handed me the pick of the lot.”

His arrogance earned some chuckles from older men who agreed with him—and sharp glares from nearly everyone else.

Maki was the opposite. She leaned against a wall at the far end of the courtyard, arms crossed, her expression screaming disdain.

She didn’t even bother dressing formally, wearing something simple, practical. The only reason she was here at all was because refusal wasn’t an option.

Mai, sitting at one of the long tables, looked bored out of her mind. She had a cup of sake already, despite the hour, and she twirled it in her hand as she muttered,

“What a waste of time...” Her eyes flicked to Maki once, her expression softening for just a moment.

The elders began their speeches, speaking of “duty,” of “honor,” of “ensuring the bloodline flourishes.”

Each word felt heavier, a chain waiting to clamp around your throat. Names were thrown around—families allied with the Zenin, lesser sorcerer families looking to climb, outsiders with cursed energy potential.

Prospective spouses stood nervously nearby, their fates also being bartered like goods.

Naoya basked in the attention, smirking when women were paraded before him.

He dismissed most with a flick of his hand, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Not good enough. Too plain. Hah, this one’s terrified just looking at me—pathetic.” He relished in his cruelty, every word feeding his ego.

Maki’s silence was louder than anything he said. When her name was mentioned, she simply adjusted her glasses and stared down the elders until they squirmed.

Her body language screamed, Don’t even try.

Mai played the game differently. She smiled sweetly when spoken to, entertained suggestions, and even teased a few nervous men. But you could see the act for what it was: armor. She wasn’t interested in any of them.