The Binding Vow of Lazarus

Chapter 15

While Suguru went to relax at home, enjoying the peace of being with just his parents again, and Shoko visited her father, Satoru was busy sighing for what had to be the 100th time in the last hour. The New Year's Eve party at the Gojo estate was always overbearing and irritating in the worst way, spent in an uncomfortable formal kimono and greeting old people who don't give a shit about anything but their status.

He sat in his spot at the long head table, every guest coming to reassert themselves as someone he probably needed when he became the clan head officially. Not that he gave a shit anyway, but in this life he'd determined it would be better to play along rather than rebel and do as he pleased. If he was going to rally everyone together, he needed a good position and good enough standing. Good enough being key, because he certainly had no interest in schmoozing with shitty geriatrics.

Some kind of introduction, a few false compliments, marvel at his eyes, New Year's wishes and rinse and repeat. It was all the same. All they knew how to do. If he asked them to kiss his pale ass they'd probably do it.

He'd heard his Grandfather already asking about daughters and knew that talk was coming too. The attempts to marry into more power and create more heirs for later. A dozen or so pretty but boring women would eventually be lined up for him to ignore as usual. That wasn't going to change this time for sure. No matter what, he would not put anyone else into a position they didn't really want.

Speaking of which... One came to him shortly after he overheard. She was in a lovely purple kimono, the long furisode stitched with cranes and tree branches. She was older than him, but not by much. Bold of her to approach directly. She must have been power hungry. Or money. One of the two.

"Good evening, Gojo," she said with a deep bow and a demure smile.

He resisted the scoff that threatened his throat, and just gave her a polite nod. But unfortunately she didn't take the hint. That or she really was very bold.

"How are you enjoying the party?" She asked, subtly standing up straight to present herself to him.

Tall. Thin. Soft features. Long silky black hair. Very pale. She was, just like the others, a proper Japanese woman raised for this purpose. A willing broodmare if it meant she could live a comfortable life and please her parents. Nothing made him more disgusted than someone who'd submit to someone else's whims.

"Honestly it kinda sucks," he huffed, resting his cheek on his hand. He wished he'd kept his sunglasses on so he could ignore her.

"Oh," she continued, "Yes, I'd imagine you'd prefer to be with your friends."

"Yeah," he said shortly, giving her an "alright that's enough" look.

Still, she persisted.

"Perhaps I could keep you--"

"Perhaps you could find someone else to chat with," Satoru said, plastering on that cocky smile, "Not interested, doll. Thanks." Then he waved at her dismissively, picking up his cup to sip.

She stared at him, painted red lips parted in surprise. He wanted to laugh, but he wasn't feeling like being cruel just yet. Only if she kept it up...

Which she didn't. She bowed and scurried off with her head down.

"Satoru," his mother chided softly, "That wasn't very kind. You should really make an effort to meet with them."

"Nah, I'd rather not Mother," he said, rolling his eyes.

She said nothing more, silenced by him. He sighed, feeling a bit guilty. She was just as much a victim of the marriage contract scheme herself. A perfect little flower plucked by a Gojo and blessed with the six-eyes as her child. She wasn't a weak willed woman, he knew that. He'd seen flashes of who she really could be, but the idea of the "Perfect Japanese Woman" had been ingrained and become her mask.