Im'the son of the Villainess's at the Academy

The echo of Naoko Rotschy's heels had barely faded when silence returned to the grand living room of the Rotschy estate, thick and velvety. Gilded chandeliers cast their soft golden light across the obsidian floors, while the fireplace crackled with a lazy indifference, throwing long shadows that danced with secrets of their own.

Jin stood unmoving, his crimson eyes gleaming like molten rubies under the soft light. His posture was effortless, the very picture of dangerous ease — black leather gloves with open fingers, tailored coat that clung to him like a second skin, and pale skin like porcelain untouched by time or warmth.

He turned to look at Sion, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well," he said with his usual lazy drawl, "there goes Mother. And here we are… all alone again, my ever-loyal knight."

Sion, who had been leaning casually against the arm of a velvet couch, gave him a slow, theatrical sigh. Her reddish-brown hair shimmered like copper in the firelight as she tossed it over her shoulder. "And once again, your wicked little tongue has managed to get us both into trouble," she said, her voice a purr.

Jin cocked his head slightly, amused. "Oh, don't flatter yourself. If I've been corrupted, it's entirely your fault, Sion. You raised me on sarcasm, shadows, and far too much exposure to tight leather."

Sion smirked and strolled toward him, hips swaying with confidence. She stood just a breath away, close enough for her warmth to brush against him like a whisper. "You looked charming today, Jin," she said, her tone half-teasing, half-sincere. "Though I must admit… Rina stole what was supposed to be my wedding night."

Jin chuckled, low and unhurried. "You're too old for me," he said with a mock grimace. "Besides, I prefer my women a little less… clingy."

Sion gasped in mock horror and flung herself dramatically onto the couch, throwing an arm over her face. "How dare you! After all the nights I stayed up guarding your bratty teenage self, keeping nightmares and assassins at bay, you've chosen some little redheaded heir with emotional baggage?"

Jin raised an eyebrow, walking toward her with a predator's grace. "Redheaded, fiery, and a little emotionally unstable… it's a Rotschy family tradition," he said with a sly grin.

Sion peeked at him through her fingers, her brownish-red eyes glinting with mischief. "So tell me, my little heir — is she your type? Or are you still fantasizing about someone a little more... experienced?"

Jin shrugged, feigning indifference. "I fantasize about tea being served on time, the silence of the moon, and never having to hear you fake cry again."

"Oh, I don't fake all of it," she replied with a wink.

There was a beat of silence between them, comfortable and brimming with tension. Then, casually, Jin sat on the couch armrest beside her, one leg crossed elegantly over the other.

"So," he said, his voice silken, "are you ever going to tell me the truth?"

Sion blinked. "About what?"

Jin's grin widened, infuriating and charming all at once. "The color."

She blinked again.

"Of your… favorite lace," he added smoothly.

Sion barked a laugh. "You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm always serious about the important things in life," Jin replied, inspecting his gloved hand. "Color says a lot about someone's… intentions."

Sion leaned closer. "You first, then. What's the length of your… twenty-first finger? Is it long and slender, or short and stubby?"

Jin's eyes gleamed. "Wouldn't you like to know? Some things are best left to the imagination. You, on the other hand, are much easier to picture."

Her laugh was bright and musical, completely at ease. "Well, I'll tell you this — if you had ever been curious about my… lingerie preferences, you should've just opened my dresser while I was gone."

"Tempting," Jin murmured. "But I'm more of a mystery guy. I prefer my illusions intact."

There was a pause. Then, his gaze sharpened slightly — still playful, but curious.

"Tell me," he said, quieter now. "Your first time… was it love?"

Sion tilted her head, smiling like a cat who knew too much. "Oh, Jin," she said, "you wound me. I'm still a gentle, untouched flower in this cruel world."

Jin leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice like velvet laced with thorns. "So you're still waiting for a fairytale?"

She laughed again, shaking her head. "More like a dark comedy."

He leaned back again, lazily folding his arms behind his head. "Then I suppose I'm not your prince."

"Certainly not," she said. "You'd burn the castle down before the first kiss."

"That's not a no," Jin replied with a wink.

They laughed together, the firelight flickering in their eyes, casting mischief and memory between them. Jin — sharp, unreadable, dangerously detached. Sion — warm, loyal, and always just one step away from crossing every line.

And above it all, lingering like a silent ghost in the rafters, was the echo of Naoko Rotschy's cold voice:

> "Feel nothing, Jin. Emotions are shackles. Do not cry. Do not bend. Do not love. You belong to me."

But tonight, for just a moment… Jin laughed. And it wasn't cold.

... 

 heat: Thank you very much for reading.