Hayate sipped his coffee in the quiet of his penthouse, the city stretching endlessly beyond the glass walls. The night before felt distant already — the laughter, the deals, the polished masks.
But not her.
Rin Nishina's stubborn glare lingered in his mind more vividly than any chandelier-lit memory.
The elevator chimed. He didn't have to look to know who it was.
Hana swept in without knocking, heels sharp against the marble floor. She looked immaculate, as always, her expression equal parts irritation and charm.
"You left without telling me."
Hayate didn't flinch. "Yes."
She narrowed her eyes. "Do you have any idea how that looked? People noticed. They asked where you'd gone."
He set his cup down. "Then tell them I had business."
Her laugh was brittle. "Business? Hayate, you're not even trying. You let her—"
"Careful." His voice cut through hers, quiet but final.
Hana's jaw tightened. She leaned against the counter, folding her arms. "You think she belongs in your world? That girl barely knows how to stand in a boardroom. Meanwhile, Miyu—"
"I don't want to hear about Miyu." His interruption was soft, steady, but it silenced her all the same.
Hana studied him for a long moment, her polished mask faltering just slightly. "You've changed."
Hayate finally met her eyes, calm and unreadable. "Maybe. Or maybe I just stopped pretending."
She exhaled sharply, frustrated, but said nothing more.
When she finally left, the apartment fell silent again. Hayate poured himself another cup of coffee, his reflection faint in the glass.
He could still hear Kazehiro's small laugh from the night before, the absurdity of choosing fried chicken over politics. It had been a relief, a reminder that simplicity wasn't weakness.
His gaze shifted to the skyline. Somewhere in that expanse was Rin — stubborn, unpredictable Rin — trying to carry herself as heir while storms gathered around her.
Hayate let out a breath, steady as the tide.
There would be a time to move. But not yet
By noon, Kazehiro arrived — punctual as always, hands in his pockets, his calm face betraying none of the sarcasm Hayate knew lurked beneath.
"Busy morning?" he asked, glancing at the half-empty coffee pot.
"Annoying one," Hayate replied evenly.
Kazehiro smirked. "Ah. Hana came by."
Hayate didn't answer, which was answer enough.
"She's not going to stop, you know," Kazehiro went on. "She's too used to having you within reach. And Miyu? She's already playing the long game. Neither of them will give up easily."
"I don't expect them to," Hayate said, walking toward the window. The city stretched endlessly below, all steel and glass, too loud and too empty at once. "But they're not who I'm thinking about."
Kazehiro followed his gaze, leaning on the frame of the window. "Then you are thinking about her."
Hayate stayed silent.
"You could at least admit it," Kazehiro pressed. "I've known you long enough to tell when someone's in your head. And Rin Nishina — she's there. More than you'd like."
Hayate finally turned, calm but firm. "She doesn't belong in this world. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
"And you do?"
The question landed like a pebble in still water, rippling quietly.
Hayate exhaled through his nose. "This is my world. I built it. But I don't have to like it."
Kazehiro tilted his head. "So she doesn't belong, and you don't want to belong, but you won't walk away from either. That sounds… messy."
A faint smile tugged at Hayate's lips. "You've always been annoyingly perceptive."
Silence settled for a moment, both men watching the traffic below. Then Hayate spoke, his voice lower.
"She changed on that island. I watched her burn rice, then laugh at herself. I watched her carry water until her arms shook, then go back for more. She could have complained, begged, cursed the storm for what it took from her. Instead… she adapted. She fought. She became someone new."
"And you?" Kazehiro asked.
Hayate's eyes softened despite himself. "I stopped being alone."
For a long moment, those words lingered in the air. Kazehiro didn't mock him, didn't prod. He only nodded, the faintest sign of understanding.
"Careful," Kazehiro said finally. "If Hana didn't notice last night, she will soon. And Miyu? She'll see before anyone else does. She's sharper than she looks."
"I know."
"And Rin's father—"
"Already doubts me." Hayate's tone was steady, but there was a hard edge beneath it. "He sees me as a man who stole his daughter, who left her stranded. He doesn't care about the reasons. To him, I'll always be suspect."
Kazehiro folded his arms. "So what's your move?"
Hayate's eyes returned to the skyline. "For now? Nothing."
"Nothing?" Kazehiro repeated.
Hayate nodded. "Storms don't end because you fight them. They end because you wait. Rin's father, Hana, Miyu — they're all storms in their own ways. I can outlast them."
"And Rin?"
Hayate's silence said enough.
Kazehiro gave a small huff of amusement. "You've always been patient, Hayate. Too patient. Just don't wait so long that the girl thinks you've left her behind."
Hayate's lips curved faintly. "If she knows anything about me by now, it's that I don't leave without reason."
When Kazehiro finally left, Hayate remained by the window, coffee gone cold in his hand.
The city moved endlessly below — businessmen with briefcases, taxis honking, lights flickering on as dusk began to touch the edges of the sky.
He thought of Rin again, her defiant eyes across the dinner table, her clenched jaw at the gathering, her stubborn refusal to look away even when she wanted to.
She was fighting storms she didn't yet understand. But she was learning. She was surviving.
And when she was ready, Hayate knew, he would be there.
Not as a savior. Not as a shield.
But as the man who had chosen solitude — and then chosen her instead.