Chapter Text
“you need to try harder.”
yuma didn’t remember when he first heard it. it had always been there, somewhere in the background of his life, repeated enough times that it stopped sounding like advice and started sounding like expectation.
he was ten when it finally started to stick.
he stood in one of the smaller study rooms, hands at his sides, shoulders stiff as a tutor circled him slowly. the table behind him was covered in papers, neat handwriting, corrected in red. across the room, his father watched in silence.
“again,” the tutor said.
yuma straightened instinctively, lifting his chin the way he had been taught. back straight. shoulders even. gaze forward.
“you’re slouching,” the tutor added, adjusting his posture with a firm hand on his back. “a successor carries himself properly.”
yuma swallowed, forcing himself to stay still.
“yes, sir.”
he could feel his father’s eyes on him. that was always the worst part. it wasn’t spoken anger or disappointment. just that quiet, constant observation, waiting for him to get it right.
he tried. hard enough that it left him tired in ways a ten-year-old shouldn’t recognize.
he fixed his posture, repeated the lines, memorized everything they gave him. table manners, speech, how to greet people, how to sit, how to exist without making mistakes. every movement had a correct version and he memorized it until it stopped feeling like his own body.
it just never felt natural.
and somehow, that showed.
“again,” the tutor said, sharper this time.
yuma nodded quickly, repeating the motion from the beginning. slower. more careful.
a pause.
then, quieter the tutor said, “you’re still off.”
something in his chest tightened.
he didn’t know what else to fix.
he stayed there, standing straight, waiting for another correction that didn’t come. the silence stretched just long enough to make it worse.
then his father spoke.
“that will be enough for today.”
yuma exhaled before he could stop himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly.
his father stood, adjusting his sleeve calmly as he walked past him.
“you will need to improve,” he said.
just that.
no explanation. no reassurance.
yuma nodded anyway.
“yes, father.”
the door closed behind him, leaving the room quiet again.
yuma stayed where he was for a second longer, staring at the papers on the table, the red marks standing out too clearly against the white.
he had done everything they asked.
it just wasn’t enough.
it never really was.
-
years later, the words didn’t change.
they just got quieter.
yuma stood by the window in the west wing, staring out at the snow settling across the estate grounds. his reflection stared back faintly from the glass, neat and composed, exactly how he was supposed to look.
people still said the same things.
just differently.
“he lacks focus.”
“he doesn’t take it seriously.”
“i’m not sure he’s suited for this.”
no one said failure directly.
they didn’t have to.
yuma leaned his forehead lightly against the cold glass, closing his eyes for a second.
he knew what they expected. he just couldn’t become it.
a knock came from the door behind him.
he didn’t turn.
“come in.”
the door opened quietly.
“young master,” one of the staff said, voice careful. “your father is asking for you.”
yuma pushed himself away from the window, straightening automatically. his hand moved to fix his sleeve, smoothing it down even though it didn’t need it.
“did he say why?”
“no, sir.”
right.
that meant it was important.
yuma walked past him without another word, steps steady as he made his way through the halls. everything looked the same as always. clean, controlled, untouched. it never changed, no matter what happened inside it.
he already knew what kind of conversation this would be.
he just didn’t know how bad it would be.
the main sitting room doors were open.
they were waiting.
yuma stepped inside, posture straightening slightly as their attention shifted to him.
“you called for me.”
his father sat at the center, calm as always.
“sit.”
and so yuma did.
silence filled the space for a moment, heavy but familiar.
“your performance has not improved.”
there it was.
yuma let out a quiet breath through his nose, gaze steady.
“i’ve been busy,” he said like that should be enough.
the excuse came out easily, almost automatic. yuma kept his tone even, casual enough to pass, but he could already feel how weak it sounded the second it left his mouth.
his father didn’t respond right away. he just looked at him, steady and unreadable, the silence stretching long enough to make the answer feel worse than it was.
“with what.”
yuma shifted slightly in his seat, shoulders still straight, fingers pressing lightly against his palm under the table. he didn’t have a real answer. nothing that would sound acceptable here, nothing that would make it seem like he had been doing anything that mattered.
“things,” he said after a second. it sounded worse out loud.
the word dropped flat between them.
his father didn’t react. no sigh, no visible disappointment. just that same calm expression that somehow felt heavier than anger ever could.
it made something in yuma’s chest tighten.
“this is your last opportunity.”
the words settled into the room without force, but they carried more weight than anything else that had been said.
yuma felt it immediately.
last.
it wasn’t new. he’d always known there was a line. he just hadn’t expected to hear it said out loud.
his fingers curled slightly against his palm, nails pressing just enough to ground himself. he kept his expression neutral, gaze steady, like the word hadn’t hit anything.
like it didn’t matter.
but it did.
it meant this wasn’t another warning. it wasn’t another chance to fix things later, to take it more seriously next time. whatever happened now would decide everything.
“you will be assigned a handler,” his father continued. “someone who will oversee your conduct and ensure you meet the standard required.”
a handler.
yuma blinked once, slow.
“…you’re serious.”
“completely.”
he leaned back slightly, something tight and jagged settling under his ribs.
so this was it. the point it had come to. not just disappointment anymore. correction. control. someone brought in to fix what he couldn’t.
his gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again.
“and if i don’t cooperate?"
yuma asked it like it didn’t matter but there was a slight pause before the words came out. just enough to give him away if anyone cared to notice.
his father didn’t hesitate.
“then you will no longer be considered for succession.”
the answer came easily, without any shift in tone.
yuma didn’t respond right away.
he leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze drifting for a second before returning like he was thinking it over, weighing it, when in reality there wasn’t much to consider. they had already drawn the line. all that was left was whether he stepped over it himself.
he exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders staying relaxed, expression unchanged.
for a second, he thought about pushing back. saying something sarcastic, something careless, something that would at least make it feel like he had some control over this.
but the word last was still sitting there.
“…fine,” he said.
his father gave a small nod.
“he will arrive this afternoon.”
yuma stood a moment later, the conversation already over.
“anything else?”
“no.”
yuma turned, heading for the door without waiting.
his last chance.
and someone was coming to make sure he didn’t waste it.
-
the estate felt different after that conversation, though nothing had visibly changed. the same silence stretched through the halls, the same careful order held everything in place, but something sat heavier in the air now, settling in a way yuma couldn’t quite ignore.
he made it back to his room without thinking much about the path, moving on instinct more than intention. the space greeted him exactly as he had left it, untouched and precise, his coat already taken care of, his shoes aligned neatly, the faint scent of something expensive lingering just enough to remind him that nothing here ever slipped out of place.
he let out a slow breath as he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, elbows resting against his knees, fingers loosely interlocked. the word still echoed in his head, repeating in a way that made it harder to brush off the more he thought about it.
a handler.
it sounded wrong. it sounded final. like they were done pretending he could fix himself.
“…fuck,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair, pushing it back before letting it fall again.
this afternoon.
they hadn’t even given him time to sit with it, to process it properly. not that it would have changed anything. whatever this was, it had already been decided for him.
his gaze drifted across the room, landing on his reflection in the mirror. everything about him looked right. clean lines, neat appearance, posture that came naturally after years of being corrected into it. he looked exactly like what people expected when they saw someone from the nakakita family.
and still, it never seemed to be enough.
his expression shifted slightly, something quieter passing through it before he looked away, leaning back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling.
what kind of person even got assigned for something like this?
someone older, probably. someone strict. the type who had done this for years and had no patience left for anything that didn’t meet expectations. someone who would follow him around all day, watching, correcting, making sure every little thing lined up the way it was supposed to.
yuma let out a quiet breath through his nose.
annoying.
a knock came at the door, cutting through the thought.
he didn’t move right away, eyes still fixed on the ceiling as if the answer might be written somewhere up there.
“come in.”
the door opened and one of the staff stepped inside, posture straight, voice measured as always.
“young master, he has arrived.”
yuma’s brows pulled together slightly, his head tilting just a fraction.
that fast.
he pushed himself up with a quiet exhale, running a hand through his hair again as he stood. by the time he reached the door, his expression had already settled back into something neutral, something easier to wear.
“where.”
“the main hall.”
they weren’t even trying to make this subtle.
yuma stepped past her without another word, hands slipping into his pockets as he moved down the corridor. his steps stayed steady, unhurried, but there was something tighter in the way he carried himself now, a slight tension sitting under the surface that hadn’t been there before.
this was it.
his handler.
the person meant to fix him.
the main hall opened up in front of him as he turned the corner, the high ceilings and wide space stretching out, light filtering in through the tall windows and catching faintly against the marble floor.
and then he saw him.
yuma slowed before he could stop himself.
for a second, his brain didn’t quite catch up with what he was looking at like it was still trying to match the image in front of him with the expectation he had already built.
it didn’t match.
not even close.
the man stood near the center of the hall, already in conversation with one of the senior staff, posture relaxed but steady in a way that didn’t look practiced. he wasn’t doing anything to draw attention and yet it was impossible not to look at him.
he was tall. easily taller than anyone else in the room. his shoulders broad enough that the dark coat he wore sat perfectly against him, the fabric fitting too well to be random. everything about him looked controlled like nothing moved unless he decided it should.
yuma’s gaze dragged upward, slower than it should have been.
black hair, neat but not stiff. glasses catching the light slightly when he turned his head and that was what made yuma stop.
shit.
his thoughts stalled. completely. trying to land on something that made sense, but the only thing that stuck was simple and annoyingly clear.
there wasn't a better word for it.
he was hot.
the kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention and still took it.
yuma stared a second longer than he should have, his focus sticking in a way that felt unfamiliar, almost uncomfortable.
what the hell.
he wasn’t like this. he noticed people, sure, but it never stayed. never pulled like this, never made him pause in the middle of a room just to look.
something shifted in his chest, subtle but noticeable enough that he became aware of it immediately.
as if sensing it, the man turned.
their eyes met across the space and this time yuma didn’t look away.
for a second, neither of them moved.
the moment stretched, quiet and steady, something settling into place without either of them acknowledging it.
then the man excused himself and started walking toward him.
each step closed the distance slowly and the closer he got, the clearer everything became. the way his shoulders moved under the coat, the straight line of his posture, the faint scent that followed him when he stepped into yuma’s space, clean and subtle but there.
yuma straightened slightly without thinking, something instinctive pulling him into place.
the man stopped in front of him.
close enough that it was noticeable.
close enough that it felt intentional.
“nakakita yuma,” he said, his voice even, smooth without being casual. “i am asakura jo. i will be responsible for your training moving forward.”
yuma blinked, the words registering a second later than they should have.
this was him.
this was the handler.
…seriously?
“…you’re the one they sent,” he said, before he could filter it properly.
“yes.”
yuma’s eyes flicked over him again, quicker this time like confirming it would somehow make it easier to process.
it didn’t.
if anything, it made everything feel worse.
yuma shifted slightly, his gaze flickering away before returning.
“i thought you’d be older,” he said, then hesitated just enough to make it obvious he wasn’t done. “or at least… less—”
he cut himself off.
he was not finishing that.
“i have heard that before,” he said, his tone unchanged, which somehow made it worse.
yuma let out a quiet breath, trying to push past whatever that initial reaction had been, forcing his focus back where it was supposed to be.
this was work.
this should be easy to ignore.
“we will begin immediately,” jo said.
yuma barely had time to react before jo stepped closer.
then his hand came up.
yuma felt it before he fully processed it. jo’s fingers adjusted his collar with quiet precision, brushing lightly along the edge of the fabric, close enough to his neck that yuma felt it through his skin.
his body reacted before he could stop it.
he stilled just for a second.
his breath hitched, shallow and quick and he had to consciously steady it before it got worse. he hated that. the fact that it needed correcting at all.
jo finished the adjustment without pause, his hand dropping back to his side like it had never been there.
“stand properly,” he said.
yuma blinked, pulling himself back together.
“…i am standing properly.”
“your shoulders are uneven.”
yuma hesitated, then straightened them anyway, rolling them back slightly.
he could feel jo’s attention on him again, steady and focused, taking in every small detail in a way that made it hard to ignore.
it lingered longer than the touch had any right to.
“…this is going to be annoying,” yuma muttered.
“it will be effective.”
yuma glanced at him again, holding the look for a second longer this time.
same calm expression. same steady tone.
like none of this was strange.
he exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
this was definitely going to be a problem.
-
the moment the door closed behind them, the room shifted in a way yuma couldn’t quite name.
jo’s presence didn’t settle into it the way the rest of the staff did. if anything, the room adjusted around him, like it didn’t have a choice.
yuma walked further in, slower than usual, more aware now of every step he took. he could feel jo’s attention without turning, steady and precise, following him in a way that made even small movements feel noticeable.
he stopped near the center, exhaling lightly before turning halfway, one hand slipping into his pocket.
“so this is where you start,” he said. “the part where you figure out everything that’s wrong with me.”
jo stepped in fully, the door clicking shut behind him as he moved with quiet certainty. his gaze passed over the room once, taking in enough that it felt like nothing had gone unnoticed.
“this is where i determine what requires adjustment,” he replied.
yuma let out a faint breath, watching him.
“you say that like you’ve already decided.”
jo met his gaze.
“in most cases, i did.”
the confidence in it wasn’t loud, but it was solid enough to sit heavily in the space between them. it made something in yuma tighten, just slightly, though he couldn’t say why.
he shifted his weight, glancing away for a moment before looking back again, studying him more openly this time.
“…you’re younger than i expected,” he said.
“i am aware.”
“no, i mean,” yuma ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right way to put it without sounding off, “i thought they’d send someone who’s been doing this for decades. someone… different.”
jo didn’t take offense. if anything, he seemed used to it.
“i have been working in this field for several years,” he said. “i trained under the seiryo academy. they specialize in correcting successors who fall short.”
yuma’s eyes narrowed slightly.
he knew the name. not from open conversation, but from the way it surfaced in quiet mentions, the kind people didn’t elaborate on unless necessary. it wasn’t just etiquette training. it was something more controlled than that.
“so you’re a tutor,” yuma said.
“no,” jo replied, just as steady. “a tutor provides instruction. i am responsible for outcome.”
that distinction sat heavier than it should have.
yuma let out a quiet breath, something uneasy settling under his ribs as he watched him.
“you’ve done this before.”
“yes.”
“with who.”
“the shigeta family. the takayama family. others of similar standing.” jo’s tone didn’t shift, but there was something grounded in the way he said it. “in each case, the successor was brought to the required standard.”
yuma held his gaze for a second longer.
“…and you made it work.”
“i ensured it did.”
that wasn’t reassuring.
“stand still.”
yuma barely had time to react before jo stepped in again, closing the distance with quiet certainty. his hand came up like it belonged there, fingers brushing lightly against yuma’s hair, adjusting a strand that had fallen slightly out of place.
“you adjust when corrected,” jo added, watching him.
“that’s good. it means you’re trainable.”
yuma’s breath caught faintly, his focus snapping to the space between them, to the way jo’s hand lingered just long enough to fix the detail properly. he could feel the heat of him, close enough to register, too close to ignore and the fact that jo didn’t seem affected by it at all.
“you need to be aware of how you present yourself at all times,” jo said.
“small inconsistencies create larger impressions.”
he stayed still because if he moved, he’d notice more.
and he already noticed too much.
“…you’re kind of distracting,” he said, before he could stop it.
the words slipped out low, rougher than he intended.
jo’s hand paused.
just briefly.
then lowered.
silence settled for a second, heavier now.
yuma’s jaw tightened slightly as he looked away, already regretting it, but not enough to take it back.
“…you know that, right,” he added, quieter, trying to pass it off as irritation. “or is that intentional.”
jo then he stepped closer anyway.
“if my appearance interferes with your concentration,” jo said, his tone even, measured, "then your concentration needs work.”
yuma straightened on instinct.
“…that’s not what i meant.”
“then clarify.”
yuma hesitated, his gaze flickering away before returning, tension sitting just beneath his expression now.
“…it's just that—”
his eyes dropped briefly to jo’s collar, then back up, like that helped at all.
jo’s gaze flicked down for half a second, tracking it before returning to his face.
“focus,” he said.
his voice stayed even, but the pressure in it didn’t.
yuma swallowed lightly, forcing himself to hold his ground.
“…you’re hard to ignore,” he said, quieter this time like admitting it made it worse.
“that will become irrelevant,” jo replied. “your ability to maintain composure should not depend on external variables. especially not something this trivial.”
yuma exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to push down the lingering tension that had nothing to do with posture.
“right,” he muttered.
jo’s gaze shifted again, more deliberate now as it moved over him.
yuma felt it immediately.
“at a distance, your presentation is acceptable,” jo said.
yuma frowned.
“that doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“it is not intended to be.”
jo then lifted his hand without hesitation. his fingers brushed along yuma’s jaw, tilting his face slightly to the side.
he didn’t let go immediately. just long enough for yuma to register the pressure, the steadiness of it, the fact that he wasn’t being asked to hold still. he was being made to.
yuma didn’t step back. even when something in him said he should.
“your skin is dry,” jo continued, as if nothing about this was unusual. “there is a lack of consistent care.”
yuma stared at him.
“…you’re serious.”
“completely.”
jo’s hand dropped, but his attention didn’t.
“your hair maintenance is inconsistent. your posture slips when you’re not being watched. your physical condition is average.”
“…average,” yuma repeated, slower this time.
“yes.”
a short laugh slipped out before he could stop it. there wasn’t anything funny about it.
“you just met me.”
“observation does not require time,” jo replied.
yuma dragged his hand down his face, exhaling through his nose.
“so what, you’re going to fix all of that?"
“yes.”
jo reached into his coat, pulling out a small notebook and opening it with practiced ease.
“your schedule will be restructured. this includes complete personal maintenance.”
yuma’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“…define complete.”
“skin care, hair care, physical conditioning, hygiene,” jo listed. “all aspects will be regulated.”
yuma stared at him.
“…you’re going to manage everything.”
“i am going to ensure consistency.”
same thing.
“and you already planned this,” yuma said, his tone flattening slightly.
“yes.”
there wasn’t even a pause.
yuma let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he turned slightly, pacing a step before stopping again.
“this is insane.”
“it is necessary.”
yuma glanced back at him, something sharper settling in his expression now.
“…you’re really going that far?”
“if it is required, yes.”
yuma held his gaze for a second longer, then looked away, dragging a hand through his hair again.
“…even—” he stopped, already aware of where that thought was heading.
“everything,” he said.
yuma let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh under his breath.
“…unbelievable.”
jo closed the notebook, his attention returning fully.
“we will begin now.”
yuma straightened slightly, rolling his shoulders back without thinking.
this wasn’t temporary.
this wasn’t something he could ignore and wait out.
jo wasn’t just there to observe him or correct a few habits.
he was there to reshape everything. to strip him down to something usable and build him back correctly.
“…right,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.
because whether he liked it or not, this wasn’t something he could push away.
the beginning of being turned into the heir they actually wanted.
- tbc.