Lookism : Average

Lucian's hand gently cupped Sakura's cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline as he leaned in, his breath mingling with hers. His eyes darkened with intent, and for a moment, the world seemed to vanish. "I've wanted this for so long," he whispered

Sakura's breath hitched, heat rushing to her cheeks. Her mind raced with the implications of Lucian's claim, She shoved his arm off with a quick, irritated motion.

"You reek," she said, swatting at him as though his very presence offended her. "The smell of blood is unbearable."

Lucian blinked, caught off guard by her reaction. He lifted the edge of his tattered sleeve to his nose and sniffed. A grimace crossed his face before he chuckled darkly. "You're right," he admitted with a wry smile. "It smells like those pigs."

His words carried an edge of disdain, as though the lives he'd taken were nothing more than dirt beneath his boots.

Sakura crossed her arms, trying to stifle the heat that still lingered on her cheeks. Lucian's casual confidence had a way of stirring emotions she wasn't ready to name.

But Lucian's attention had already shifted. His gaze was drawn to something across the room—a glimmer of black steel, faintly catching the dim light. Near Shingen's lifeless body lay a sword, its blade dark as night, emanating an ominous presence that seemed to call out to him.

Without another word, Lucian turned and began to walk toward the weapon, his steps purposeful, his focus absolute.

Sakura watched his retreating figure, and something stirred in her—a memory from long ago, buried beneath the weight of years and loss.

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The dimly lit room was heavy with the scent of incense, the air thick with the faintly flickering candlelight that cast wavering shadows on the tatami walls. The old man lay on the futon, his frail and weathered body a map of scars, each one a silent testament to battles fought and victories hard-won. Despite his fragile state, he exuded an indomitable presence, his calloused hand gripping Sakura's trembling fingers like a vice, refusing to let go even as his strength ebbed away.

Sakura knelt beside him, her serene face streaked with tears, her delicate form bowed under the crushing weight of his presence. The cherry blossom namesake seemed fragile against the raw emotions coursing through the room, yet her resolve kept her rooted.

The old man's breath rattled, each exhalation heavier than the last, yet his voice—weak and uneven—carried the gravity of command, a force that even death could not dim.

"Sakura…" he rasped, his eyes half-lidded but still burning with a fire that refused to die. "You… must listen to me. What I am about to say cannot be forgotten."

She nodded, her own tears stifling her voice as she clutched his hand tighter.

"Miyamoto Lucian… that boy…" His words came slowly, as though dredging up the name from the depths of his soul. "He is no heir to honor. No child of the gods. He is…" His jaw clenched, and his teeth ground together as a wave of fury rippled through him, briefly stealing his breath. "He is the spawn of a demon. A bloodline tainted by Itoshi—my son."

Sakura's breath hitched as his voice gained strength, the venom in his words cutting through the air like a blade.

"I gave Itoshi everything—a name, a legacy, a destiny carved in the blood of our ancestors! But he…" The old man's free hand trembled, clenched into a fist that shook with the force of his unrelenting hatred. "He spat on it all. He turned his back on honor. He let the demon in his veins consume him, dragging this clan into disgrace."

His chest rattled as he inhaled sharply, forcing his anger through the brittle shell of his failing body. "And Lucian… he has inherited all of it. The gods' strength… and the demon's fury. That boy…" His voice faltered, but the bitterness only deepened. "He will never know peace. That blood of his—it will drive him to ruin, just as it did his father."

Sakura's tears fell freely now, but she did not speak. She knew her place was to listen, to bear witness to his words, as he emptied his soul before the end.

"They threw him into juvenile for killing Itoshi," the old man spat, his voice trembling with a mix of disdain and regret. "And rightly so. But do you know what terrifies me more than what he did?" He turned his face toward her, his dimming eyes boring into hers. "What he will become when he comes out."

The room seemed to grow colder, his words pressing down on her like an invisible weight.

"Juvenile will not break him. It will sharpen him, harden him. Lucian is rage incarnate—a storm brewing in that half-demon soul of his. When he walks free…" His breath faltered, his voice dropping to a low, chilling murmur. "He will not be the boy I knew. He will be something far worse....worse than his father... A weapon honed to destruction."

The old man's tears slipped down his scarred cheeks, his pride and fury crumbling beneath the crushing weight of his confession.

"And yet…" His voice cracked, and for the first time, a flicker of something more fragile than rage crossed his face. "I cannot hate him completely. It is not his fault. It is mine… mine for failing his father, for letting Itoshi fall so far."

The room seemed to grow colder, his words pressing down on Sakura like an invisible weight. The air was thick with unspoken fears, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.

"Juvenile will not break him. It will sharpen him, harden him," the old man rasped, his voice trembling with conviction yet laced with sorrow. "That boy… even at his young age, his eyes are filled with regrets of a lifetime and a rage no child should bear." His gaze, once fierce, faltered as his breath grew shallower. His next words came in a low, chilling murmur, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "He will not be the boy I knew. He will be something far worse… worse than his father."

His hand trembled, the strength that once defined him now waning. His grip on Sakura's hand slackened, and she instinctively tightened her hold, as if her sheer will alone could keep him anchored. The fire in his eyes dimmed, yet his words carried the weight of his unyielding resolve.

"Sakura…" His voice cracked, fragile yet urgent. "You must do what I could not. When Lucian comes out of that place, you must find him. Protect him. Guide him. Don't let him follow the path his father took." His tone pleaded, a desperate man entrusting his final wish to her.

Sakura's lip trembled as her teeth sank into it, her tears spilling freely down her face. Her vision blurred, but she didn't look away. "I promise," she choked out, her voice breaking under the weight of emotion. "I promise I'll protect him."

The old man's chest rose and fell one last time, a bittersweet smile ghosting across his lips as he exhaled a final, weary breath. His eyes slowly closed, and his features softened, death offering a serenity that life had seldom granted him.

"Hey… h… hey."

The faint voice broke through the thick veil of Sakura's grief. Her tear-filled eyes lifted slowly, blurry and unfocused, to see Lucian standing in front of her. His hand waved awkwardly in the air, his usual confidence dulled, though there was something unnervingly calm about his demeanor.

"Let's go. It's getting cold," he said, his tone oddly detached, as if nothing had happened

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The evening air was thick with steam and the faint aroma of cedar wood as it wafted through the expansive Japanese-style house. It was a place of timeless elegance, every detail meticulously crafted to exude tranquility and allure. Sliding doors of shoji paper lined the walls, their wooden frames polished to a soft sheen. Outside, the faint rustle of bamboo leaves danced in rhythm with the gentle trickle of a koi pond.

But the heart of the house lay in the sauna, an enormous room designed with both opulence and tradition in mind. The walls were made of polished hinoki wood, gleaming faintly in the warm glow of lanterns hung at perfect intervals. The centerpiece was a large, natural hot pool, its surface shimmering as wisps of steam curled into the air. The water was fed by a stone fountain carved into the shape of a roaring dragon, its mouth releasing a constant flow of soothingly hot water.

Lucian sat in the center of the pool, his tall, lean frame partially submerged. His body, rippled with muscle, looked as though it had been sculpted by an artisan. His skin glistened under the lantern light, droplets of water tracing the contours of his well-defined chest and arms before disappearing into the pool. His jet-black hair, damp from the steam, clung lightly to the sides of his face, reaching just past his ears. A striking tattoo adorned his back—a blue rose entwined with a white tiger, both rendered in exquisite Japanese style. The tiger's gaze seemed alive, its icy blue eyes staring fiercely, while the rose's petals shimmered with an almost ethereal luminescence.

Three women in flowing silk kimonos knelt by the edge of the pool. The delicate fabric clung to their figures, the intricate floral patterns shifting with their every movement. Their hair was styled in traditional updos, held in place by ornate kanzashi pins that gleamed softly. Each of them exuded a sultry elegance, their eyes never leaving Lucian as they moved with practiced grace.

One of the women, her kimono slipping slightly off her shoulder to reveal a smooth expanse of skin, dipped a cloth into a bowl of fragrant water. She leaned forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as she began to gently wash Lucian's arm. Her touch was light, almost reverent, as if she were handling something sacred.

Another woman knelt closer to Lucian's side, holding a lacquered tray of exotic fruits. She picked up a slice of persimmon, its vibrant orange hue almost glowing, and held it delicately to his lips. Lucian's gaze flicked toward her, his piercing eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he leaned forward slightly, taking the fruit between his lips. Her cheeks flushed faintly, a coy smile playing on her lips as she withdrew her hand.

The third woman sat behind Lucian, her lap serving as his pillow. She had removed her obi, letting her kimono fall loosely around her, though it still clung modestly to her form. Her hands moved through his hair, gently combing the damp strands with her fingers. "Your hair is beautiful, Lucian-sama," she murmured, her voice soft and melodic. 

Lucian leaned back into her lap, his head resting comfortably as his eyes closed momentarily. The steam from the pool rose around him, creating a dreamlike haze. He appeared almost otherworldly, his calm demeanor and the commanding aura he exuded making him seem more like a deity than a man.

The tranquil ambiance of the bathhouse was abruptly shattered as the sliding doors opened with a forceful push. The sharp clack of the wooden frame against its rails echoed in the room, drawing the attention of everyone inside. The three women froze in place, their expressions shifting to a mix of surprise and unease. Only one person would dare to intrude on such a moment, and Lucian's sharp eyes flicked toward the doorway, already knowing who it was.

Sakura.

She stood framed in the doorway, her white kimono adorned with delicate lily patterns contrasting sharply against the warm glow of the bathhouse. Her long black hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, framing a face that was both beautiful and fierce. Her gaze swept over the room, cool and commanding, as though she owned the space.

"Everyone out," Sakura said, her tone calm yet carrying a weight that left no room for argument.

The three women exchanged hesitant glances before bowing deeply and retreating, their steps light and silent as they exited the bathhouse. The door slid shut behind them with a soft thud, leaving Sakura and Lucian alone in the steamy room.

"Stop dozing off," Sakura's firm voice broke through the quiet hum of the sauna, her sharp tone unyielding but still laced with respect. "The meeting is being held this evening. You should at least know how to deal with them."

Lucian cracked one eye open lazily, his lips curling into a smirk. "Oh, great. It's you," he said, leaning back against the smooth edge of the pool. "What, the old farts finally sent their lapdog to bark at me? Or is this just a special appearance?"

Sakura ignored the insult, though her jaw tightened. "You're the head of the Miyamoto clan, Lucian. You can't keep running from your responsibilities."

Lucian let out a bark of laughter, the sound echoing off the polished wood walls. "Responsibilities?" he repeated mockingly. "I didn't ask for this shit, Sakura. The Miyamoto clan can shove their 'responsibilities' up their wrinkled asses for all I care." He stretched out his arms, the motion making the intricate tattoo on his back—a blue rose entwined with a fierce white tiger—shift with his movements.

Her eyes flicked briefly to the tattoo, but she quickly refocused. "They're already questioning your leadership. The elders are plotting to have you removed, Lucian. They're using your arrogance and negligence as proof you're unfit to lead."

"Good," he said flatly, dragging a hand through his damp, ear-length hair. "Let them. I don't give a damn about their schemes or their little tea parties. Those old bastards are just a bunch of fossils trying to cling to power they don't deserve."

Sakura stepped closer, her voice firm but restrained. "They're not just fossils, Lucian. They're powerful, and if you don't take this seriously, they'll destroy you—and everyone loyal to you."

Lucian leaned forward slightly, his tone dripping with venomous disdain. "Loyal to me? Please, Sakura. Nobody's loyal to me. They're loyal to their own greed, just like I am. The difference is, I'm honest about it." He leaned back again, his smirk returning. "I'm not here to play politics or wipe the asses of a bunch of geriatrics. I'm here for the money and the women. That's it."

Lucian's smirk faded slightly, but his eyes remained cold. "And why do you care so much? You've got plenty of options. Join one of their factions. Play their games. You'd fit right in."

"And in two years, I'm leaving for South Korea. They can burn this place down for all I care."

Sakura's expression tightened, her fists clenching at her sides. "You're not just walking away, Lucian. You're the head of this clan. That means something, whether you like it or not."

Lucian scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "It means nothing, Sakura. This clan is a joke. A circus run by clowns. I don't give a flying fuck about the Miyamoto name or their traditions or whatever bullshit honor they think they have left." His voice grew colder, his gaze hardening. 

Sakura's eyes widened briefly at his words, but she quickly regained her composure. "You don't mean that," she said, though her voice wavered slightly.

"Oh, I do," he said, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "The sooner those shriveled-up bastards realize I'm not their savior, the better."

Sakura hesitated, then slowly untied her obi, letting the delicate fabric fall from her shoulders. Her kimono slipped down, revealing smooth, pale skin beneath. She stepped closer to the edge of the pool, her movements deliberate.

"If this is what it takes to make you listen—"

"Don't," Lucian cut her off sharply, his eyes narrowing as he grabbed a towel and threw it at her with surprising accuracy. The damp cloth hit her shoulder and draped over her, obscuring her bare form. "Put that shit back on. I don't need you pulling this crap."

Sakura froze, clutching the towel around her. "I just—"

"Spare me the theatrics, Sakura," he growled, leaning forward slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "You're too good for this clan. Hell, you're too good for me. But if you think stripping down is what'll get me to change my mind, then you don't know me at all."

She stared at him, her face a mix of frustration and faint relief. "Lucian…"

"Fine," he muttered, leaning back again and running a hand over his face. "I'll go to your stupid meeting. I'll play along with their games for now. But not because I give a damn about the clan or their politics. I'm doing this for you. Because if anyone deserves better than this mess, it's you."

Sakura blinked, momentarily stunned by his words, before nodding quickly. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice steady once more.

Lucian waved her off, his tone shifting back to its usual sarcasm. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it. I've got two years left here, and then I'm gone. They can fight over the scraps all they want after that."

Lucian rose from the pool with a languid stretch, water cascading off his muscular frame, the tattoo of the blue rose and white tiger glistening under the warm light. The motion was casual, yet every inch of him exuded raw confidence, as if he knew exactly the effect he had.

Sakura's gaze faltered, her composure slipping for a fraction of a second. Her eyes betrayed her, trailing down the broad expanse of his back, the defined lines of his muscles, and the striking artistry of his tattoo. Unbidden, her cheeks turned a faint shade of red, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck.

Lucian, ever the predator, didn't miss a thing. He glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling into a wicked smirk. "Enjoying the view, huh?" His voice was teasing, low, and laden with amusement.

Sakura stiffened, her eyes snapping upward, though her face was still tinged with an unmistakable blush. "Don't flatter yourself," she retorted, feigning an air of indifference as she turned her back to him.

Lucian chuckled, stepping out of the pool and grabbing a towel with a deliberate slowness that bordered on insolence. "Sure, sure. I'm just saying, if you ever need another look, I'll make it worth your while."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she tried to calm her racing heart. "Grow up, Lucian," she snapped, her voice laced with annoyance but lacking the usual bite.

He let out a low laugh, clearly amused by her flustered state. "I'll think about it—right after you admit you were staring."

Sakura adjusted the towel around her and bent down to retrieve her fallen kimono, her movements calm and deliberate, though her mind raced with thoughts.

He's impossible. Her fingers tightened briefly on the fabric before she began draping it back over her shoulders. Arrogant, crude, and selfish. Yet… I can't leave him to destroy himself.

She glanced at Lucian, who had sunk further into the steaming pool, his muscular frame partially obscured by the swirling mist. His posture was relaxed, but the sharp edge in his words still echoed in her mind. He acted as if nothing could touch him, as if the world was a game he didn't care to win.

South Korea, huh? she thought bitterly. You really think you can just walk away, Lucian? Fine. You want to run off and live your life in some foreign country? Then I'll make sure you're still standing by the time you get there.

Her gaze softened slightly as she watched him, though his arrogant smirk made her want to slap him again. But first… I'll deal with this.

Sakura inhaled sharply, her face heating further. Without a word, she marched toward the door, her steps brisk, her movements almost too precise to be natural.

"Running away now, huh?" Lucian called after her, still grinning. "Guess I win this round."

She paused briefly at the door, gathering her composure before throwing a sharp glance over her shoulder. "Just don't forget the meeting," she said coolly, masking her embarrassment with a feigned nonchalance.

Lucian's smirk widened. "Wouldn't dream of it, Sakura-chan."

Sakura didn't dignify that with a response. She stepped out, closing the door firmly behind her, but her mind betrayed her once again, replaying the image of his smug grin and the way the lantern light had highlighted every line of his infuriatingly perfect form.

Focus, Sakura. Focus. She forced herself to take a steadying breath as she walked away. There's no time to waste on him and his games."

But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, the faint blush on her cheeks lingered longer than she'd have liked to admit.

Sakura straightened her kimono, tying the obi with deft fingers. Her determination solidified in her mind as she stood tall. I'll make sure the Miyamoto clan doesn't tear itself apart before you leave. I'll handle the politics, the schemes, and those wrinkled elders who think they can control you. Even if I have to put my life on the line to protect you.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she adjusted her sleeves. Two years, Lucian. That's all the time I have to make sure you're ready to walk away. Because whether you care about this clan or not, I do. And I won't let your recklessness ruin everything.