Oh this inspired me to write something very dumb.
Naoya Zenin didn't hate women.
Oh, he found them whiny, overly emotional, shallow and caring only for appeals to empathy instead of cold empirical reason. He hated how their art and cultural output revolved only around emotional connections and romance without any practical thoughts or concerns for the world around them. Their mannerisms, their dumb gossip and droning chatter, disgusted him on a spiritual level. He hated how they acted and spoke and interacted with one another. It made him nauseous.
But he didn't hate them for their inherent nature or biology, nor did he think those traits were innate to them. There were some women throughout history that have transcended their meager status and even surpassed their male counterparts. The likes of Catherine the Great of Russia, Jeanne D'Arc, the pharaoh Hatshepsut, Empress Wu Zetian, Caterina Sforza, Takiyasha-Hime and Sorghaghtani Beki. All of them were women who wielded the cold ambition and ruthless efficiency of men. But they were merely exceptions that proved the rule, there were no women in this modern age who would rival them in brutality and dominance.
He had found that he didn't so much hate women as much as he hated the femininity they possessed. That socialization ingrained into them from birth taught them to be emotionally sensitive, empathetic and nurturing to others regardless of circumstance, that taught them to be passive and meek and to never resort to violence or rage. Disgusting. He found this femininity disgusting.
The only good women were the ones who cast off their femininity and became as ruthless, efficient and ambitious as possible. The ones willing to do anything in the name of achieving their goals, the ones who possessed the will to change the world and the stomach for the wrong type of violence. The ones who had left their emotions behind and never conceded to the despair and weakness of empathy. Those were the women he admired.
That is why, as he watched his cousin massacre every last member of the Zenin Clan one by one, ripping limbs from limbs and caving skulls open with her fists, he couldn't help but feel admiration for her. She had abandoned her disgusting femininity, her empathy and emotions, and acquired the cold brutality and ruthless pragmatism he desired everyone to possess. Here was a woman who he could truly admire, one with the will to destroy everything and the stomach to commit the “wrong” type of violence, who had become an empty vessel of rage and bloodshed.
Naoya smiled to himself as he watched the carnage. He could respect Zenin Maki. At least she was emulating not just a man, but the best man to have ever lived.
