Ryūichirō's gaze lingered for one final beat on the last traces of movement in the alley. He lifted his fingers from the wreckage of the magical prosthetic eye, feeling along the broken metal edge for a moment before slipping it into his inner pocket.
The two pure-blood representatives kneeling on the ground had already adjusted their posture, their knees pressed together and their hands hanging at their sides. They glanced at the Cursed Marks on each other's necks, which were slowly closing, then exchanged similar bitter smiles.
As expected of an Uchiha whom Ministry of Magic officials absolutely could not afford to provoke. Even his Restraining Contract was so unusual. They had already tried it just now; under the Cursed Mark's effects, any attempt to actively seek death was impossible to carry out. It seemed that some unseen force had intervened directly. The sense of obstruction came without a sound, like a valve sealing off every route toward "the end" in advance.
Ryūichirō cast a glance at the two men's ashen faces, satisfiedly withdrew the toe of his boot from the rubble, and turned toward the alley exit. The Ministry of Magic official was still standing at the entrance, his hands folded before him, fingertips pressed together.
Ryūichirō's footsteps were light as he approached. The sounds of his boots crushing gravel were brief and steady. He stopped about a step away from the official. He neither extended a hand nor spoke, merely standing there with his gaze slightly lowered.
The official's posture tightened in that instant. His folded hands dropped to his sides, and his eyes shifted from Ryūichirō's collar to the ground before his boots. His knees did not bend, yet his entire stance visibly changed. His back unconsciously slumped, and his hunched posture made him seem shorter.
"Th-this