"Lady Black Fang, if I might, could you tell me about your past? As someone born into the Fujimori clan, I'm dying from curiosity. My father never told me you were a Fujimori."
Her tone softened. "But I understand that speaking about our past is deeply personal and might cause pain. I fully understand if you'd rather not open up about it."
For a moment, no one spoke. The heat hummed in the background, the only sound in the room.
Black Fang didn't make a single move; she didn't part her lips to answer.
Her eyes stayed locked on Ayame, unreadable beneath the haze. Then, slowly, her thighs shifted, one crossing over the other with silent grace. She reached for the ladle and poured another stream of water over the stones.
A hiss split the stillness. Steam rushed upward, rolling across the benches and swallowing everyone in thick, white heat.
"My past…" she whispered.
Ayame hesitated. "Did I ask something I shouldn't have?"
No reply.
