The days that followed were unexpectedly peaceful.
The Port Mafia's abrupt intrusion — and the equally abrupt beating they received — seemed to have sent a message to the neighborhood's less reputable elements. Petty gangs and small-time thugs kept their distance. Aside from the occasional scuffle between minor groups, the block remained intact. Not a single pane of glass was broken.
For Zhongli, life settled into a quiet rhythm. The funeral home required little of him; without major ceremonies to oversee, even his ceremonial duties as master of rites were light. His days consisted of sipping tea at work, avoiding unnecessary labor, cooking in the evenings, and — perhaps most importantly — raising the boy who now shared his home.
Chuuya Nakahara, still recovering from the sterile nightmare of the lab, adapted in small, almost imperceptible ways. He spoke more fluently now. He wandered the house without hesitation. But the lingering wariness in his eyes — the way his gaze would sometimes flick to corners as though expecting danger — had yet to fade.
The calm lasted until the funeral for the late Mr. Shingu.
A steady drizzle fell over the cemetery. Black umbrellas dotted the rows of headstones; mourners, dressed in dark attire, exchanged muted conversation beneath them. The solemnity of the occasion was tempered by the quiet social undercurrent — for some, funerals were as much about connections as remembrance.
It was in this subdued atmosphere that Tiaoye Caiju approached. The blind young man, white cane in one hand, wore a faint smile.
"Long time no see, Mr. Zhongli," he greeted lightly.
"It has been only two weeks," Zhongli replied, setting down the funeral register he'd been reviewing. "Hardly long enough to call it 'a long time,' Mr. Tiaoye. What is it you wish to discuss?"
"You wound me," Tiaoye said with mock offense. "After fighting side by side against the Port Mafia, I thought we were friends."
"In terms of universal civility, perhaps," Zhongli said, leaning back against the table with measured ease. His tone suggested that civility did not necessarily extend to trust.
Tiaoye caught the nuance immediately. The rock was showing cracks — subtle, but enough for him to guess the reason.
…He suspects I leaked the boy's location.
—He cares about the boy.
—And he's angry.
Suppressing the satisfaction that thought brought, Tiaoye kept his tone mild. "Ah, about that. My apologies. To make amends — there's a private concert in Yokohama soon. May I have the honor of inviting you?"
Zhongli's amber eyes narrowed faintly. "A concert?"
"Yes," Tiaoye continued, producing an envelope. "The composer is not famous to the public, but quite respected in the industry. If you have… relatives or friends who might enjoy it, they're welcome as well."
The meaning was clear: this was an apology, and an opening.
Zhongli did not take the envelope immediately. He stood in still contemplation, eyes half-lidded. Tiaoye waited patiently, hand extended, smile unwavering.
"…Very well," Zhongli said at last, accepting the invitation. "To refuse would be discourteous. But…" His voice dropped, the shift in tone carrying the weight of stone grinding against stone. "I trust you understand there are matters you would do well not to touch, Mr. Tiaoye."
The pressure in the air made Tiaoye's fingers twitch against the envelope. "Ah… now that sounds more like the Mr. Zhongli I know."
---
Three days later, Zhongli arrived at the appointed hall in immaculate formal wear. Chuuya walked beside him, his steps careful but steady.
It was the boy's first time in a place this crowded since leaving the lab. His small hand clung tightly to Zhongli's, blue eyes darting between the unfamiliar architecture, the strangers in fine clothes, and the glittering chandeliers above.
Because it was a private concert, the guests were few but well-connected. Each one who passed cast a curious glance at the unusual pairing — a refined man in a tailored coat, and the red-haired boy at his side.
"Mr. Zhongli, over here." Tiaoye Caiju stood at the entrance, cane in one hand, the other raised in greeting. Beside him loomed a pale-faced man whose expression suggested he'd rather be anywhere else.
"This is the organizer and composer, Mr. Harada Kazuya," Tiaoye introduced.
Harada's forced smile barely softened the sharpness of his features. "A pleasure, Mr. Zhongli. I've heard much about your refined tastes."
Zhongli inclined his head politely. "I understand a little of such things, yes."
After brief pleasantries, Harada excused himself and retreated into the hall. Zhongli's gaze lingered on his back, brows drawing ever so slightly.
"What is it?" Tiaoye asked.
"Nothing," Zhongli said, squeezing Chuuya's hand. But inwardly, he was certain — the man carried a cursed energy far stronger than anything he'd encountered in Yokohama thus far.
Chuuya felt it too. The boy's grip tightened instinctively, his expression sharpening for a moment before settling back into the guarded blankness he used when unsure how to react.
Tiaoye, perhaps sensing Zhongli's disinterest in discussing it, shifted his focus to Chuuya. "And who might this be? Your adopted son?"
"Yes," Chuuya said shortly, his voice calm but his posture stiff. "Chuuya Nakahara."
"Oh, what a polite young man," Tiaoye said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Zhongli cut in before the probing could go further. "Let's head inside."
Yet before they could take more than a few steps, Zhongli froze.
Leaning casually against a pillar was a man with short black hair, scarred lip, and the dense build of a seasoned fighter. Even without the name, Zhongli recognized the type — predator. This was Zenin Toji, before infamy had fully claimed him.
Their eyes met briefly. Toji's lip curled in a faint smirk. Then, from somewhere backstage, an explosion shattered the quiet.
The hall erupted into chaos. Guards drew weapons; guests were herded toward exits. Toji didn't spare Zhongli another glance, striding toward the disturbance like a man answering a personal call.
Zhongli's decision was instant. He pressed Chuuya into Tiaoye's care. "Stay close, but don't stray too far from me," he instructed.
"Eh—?" Tiaoye caught the boy awkwardly, still processing. But Chuuya, brow furrowing, gave a sharp, almost commanding, "Hurry."
The corner of Tiaoye's mouth twitched. "Strawberry candy?" he asked suddenly, fishing a wrapped sweet from his pocket.
"…Eat," Chuuya said after a beat, remembering Zhongli had trusted this man — reluctantly granting that trust himself.
Tiaoye unwrapped the candy… and popped it into his own mouth.
Chuuya stared.
Tiaoye laughed.