Kyoto Shrine Grounds – Morning, Day One
The ancestral shrine was wrapped in morning mist and soft bells. Guests today were only family, elders, and blood-bound retainers. No press. No public.
This day was about legacy.
Not spectacle.
The hall was silent as they entered from opposite doors.
Renjiro Hayama, in formal black montsuki and hakama, walked with the gravity expected of a son carrying centuries of blood.
Aika Tachibana stepped forward in her white silk uchikake — the crane and phoenix shimmering with every step. Her veil fell softly across her hair, secured with heirloom kanzashi pins. Her movements were slow, practiced — as if she had rehearsed this walk in dreams she never asked for.
Renjiro turned to look at her.
And something inside him stalled.
She was radiant — not just beautiful, but timeless. The kind of image that burned into memory, the kind you couldn't forget even if you wanted to.
But he held his expression still.
Straight-faced.
Detached.
She's always been like this, he told himself.Perfect. Cold. Untouchable.
The ceremony proceeded.
Vows spoken not with passion, but with ancestral weight.
Rice shared. Sake exchanged.The priest intoned blessings dating back hundreds of years.
When Renjiro placed the final ceremonial ring on Aika's finger, his hand brushed hers.
She didn't look at him.
And neither of them smiled.
That Evening — Hayama Estate, Private Family Dinner
The estate was dimly lit in warm golds, the low hum of familial voices echoing beneath laughter and formal toasts.
Aika sat between her mother and Suzu, her plate half-touched. Her eyes were gentle but far away.
Renjiro arrived late.
He greeted his parents, nodded at the elders, and took his place beside Aika.
Their shoulders almost touched.They didn't speak once.
When the final toast was made, the family cheered:
"To unity, to legacy, to a new beginning!"
And still, they said nothing.
That Night — Their Shared Room
The wedding suite was quiet. A soft lantern glow washed the room in amber warmth. Delicate seasonal flowers were arranged beside the futons.
Aika sat on the edge of the bed, still wearing her bridal kimono. Her hairpiece had been removed, but the silk robe remained—too beautiful, too sacred to shed so soon.
She had waited.
Waited for him to arrive.
But the clock turned past midnight.
And he never came.
Eventually, she lay down, hands folded gently over her waist, and fell asleep with silent tears drying beneath her lashes.
Hours Later — 2:17 a.m.
The door opened with a soft slide.
Renjiro, smelling faintly of sake and wood smoke, stepped into the darkened room. His steps were quiet but unsure.
His eyes fell immediately on her figure.
Still in her dress.
Still untouched.
Sleeping, alone.
He stood at the doorway for a long time, guilt stirring like something sour in his gut.
She waited.
He stepped closer, lowering himself slowly beside the futon, his eyes fixed on her sleeping form.
He spoke quietly. Not sure why. Not sure who he was speaking to anymore.
"Why do you make me hate you?""Why do you make it so hard to let go?"
His voice cracked—barely.
He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her cheek without touching her skin.
"If you would just leave… maybe it wouldn't hurt."
He didn't expect an answer.
But then—her lashes fluttered.
And slowly, her eyes opened.
They were red.
Not from sleep.
From crying.
And for the first time… he saw it. Not poise. Not grace.Just pain.
Her gaze locked with his for one long second.
But she didn't speak.
She slowly turned away, pulling herself just a little farther from him on the futon.
Then closed her eyes again.
She said nothing.
And that silence cut deeper than any reply.
The Morning of Day Two — Hayama Estate
The sun rose gently over the estate, casting light across lacquered floors and white paper screens. Aika had been awake before the maids.
She rose quietly, as if the weight in her chest would crack if disturbed. Her bridal kimono had been folded carefully away, reverently. Today's gown waited in a separate suite, hidden behind silk screens and hushed anticipation.
Today was not about vows or ancestors.
Today was for the world.
The second ceremony: a grand reception in the Hayama Garden Hall, built specifically for events of legacy and scale.
Media were allowed — but only pre-approved journalists, luxury broadcasters, and elite society writers. No tabloids. No paparazzi. Every guest had been screened twice.
This was not a spectacle.
It was a statement.
Renjiro's Room – Mid-Morning
Renjiro woke alone.
The room was empty, the morning air already warm. Sunlight painted gold across the floor where Aika had once slept—where he had sat, watched, whispered things he didn't remember.
His head throbbed faintly from last night's drinks.
Where is she?
He sat up slowly, noticing the covered tray on the side table — breakfast, still warm.
A maid entered quietly, bowing. "Madam woke early and left for the bride's preparations, Hayama-sama."
Left without waking me?
A strange pang tugged in his chest.
He scoffed to himself and took the tea.
Of course she didn't wake me. Or maybe she did and I just ignored her.Good.
Still… something about her face that night lingered.Red eyes. The silence. The space between them on the futon.
He took a bite of rice, scowled.
Why should I care?
Afternoon – Hayama Grand Garden Hall
The transformation was breathtaking.
Floor-to-ceiling floral installations.A glass aisle that ran over a koi pond.Gold-thread banners bearing both family crests.Waitstaff dressed in black and silver moved with practiced grace.A quartet played soft strings as the venue filled with guests — CEOs, ambassadors, artists, fashion figures, and royalty-level families.
Then the music changed.
And the doors opened.
The Bride Appears
Gasps. Murmurs. The faintest wave of awe.
Aika stood at the top of the steps, sunlight behind her, casting a soft glow along her veil.
Her gown — soft ivory, sleek and elegant — hugged her form like a secret only she knew.The organza draped along her shoulders like flowing water.Plum blossom embroidery climbed diagonally across the bodice and dipped into the train — subtle, stunning.A hidden thread shimmered faintly with her every step.
The fabric, the cut, the design — it was unmistakable to a certain echelon of guests.
"That's AT," someone whispered."It has to be.""But AT doesn't do bridal.""She must have commissioned it exclusively.""Only the highest-tier clients even get access."
Photos clicked from every corner. Questions filled the air.
Renjiro stood at the altar, eyes locked on her.
And for the first time since they were children…
He forgot how to breathe.
Throughout the Ceremony & Reception
She moved like silk and steel.
Smiling to guests. Thanking elders. Carrying herself with quiet pride.
And Renjiro couldn't stop watching her.
Every time he tried to look away, he found his eyes drawn back — to the shape of her smile, the tilt of her chin, the way she owned the space like she'd been born to it… and yet didn't look like anyone else in it.
He walked beside her. Stood behind her. Touched her waist for photos.
But he said very little.
Inside, he was overwhelmed.Drowning in questions.When did she become this?Was she always like this and I never looked?
Evening – Reception Banquet
A toast from Hiroto.A speech from Masaki.A bow from Aika and Renjiro.
And still, his gaze never left her.
His friends noticed.
Naoya leaned in during a brief lull at the groom's table, smirking.
"You're staring."
Renjiro didn't even blink. "I'm not."
"Yes, you are. And you've been doing it for hours."
Renjiro scowled, taking a sip of his drink. "She's the bride. People look at brides."
Naoya raised a brow. "Not like that. You didn't look at her like that last month."
Renjiro didn't reply.
Because he didn't have an answer.
Because something in him was beginning to fray at the edges.And for the first time since this engagement began…
He wasn't sure if he still hated her.
Or if he was beginning to hate how he made her feel.