Recap:
Shoto's hand gripped the table so hard the wood groaned. He looked at his family-his siblings who were trying to protect him, and his wife who was being shredded by their suspicion.
He knew the truth was hidden in his desk, but seeing her sit there, so vulnerable and desperate for their love, made the formality of the evening feel like a slow-motion car crash.
^ • ^
Despite the biting chill in the room, (Y/N) refused to let her smile falter. She was a Hakamada; she was trained to find the light in the coldest rooms.
She looked over at Natsuo's wife, who was sitting quietly beside him, and tried to bridge the gap.
"The ginger pork is incredible," (Y/N) said brightly, her voice a warm contrast to the tension. "Natsuo, you're so lucky to have such a talented partner. Shoto told me you moved back home to help the family, and I think that's so honorable. It's exactly the kind of family I've always wanted to be a part of."
Natsuo's wife gave a small, appreciative smile, but Natsuo just tightened his grip on his water glass.
He looked at (Y/N)'s relentless optimism and saw it as a calculated move-a polished performance from a girl who had been raised to win people over for the sake of a brand.
Across the table, Enji sat in a heavy silence. The light caught the metallic sheen of his prosthetic arm and leg, stark reminders of the price he had paid during the war.
He moved slowly, his mechanical hand clinking softly against his plate.
He was an innocent bystander to the modern legal schemes of (Y/N)'s father, but his presence was a reminder of how much this family had already lost.
"The tea you brought," Enji said, his voice deep and raspy. "It's a rare blend. Thank you."
"It's meant to help with circulation and muscle fatigue," (Y/N) added eagerly, her eyes soft as she looked at him. "I thought it might help with the... with the adjustments to the prosthetics."
Fuyumi's eyes widened slightly, her cautious gaze softening for just a second. It was a thoughtful gift, one that showed (Y/N) had actually been thinking about their father's recovery.
But Natsuo wasn't having it. "Very strategic. Hit the patriarch where he's vulnerable, right? Win over the parents and the rest follows."
Shoto's fork bent under the pressure of his grip. He had reached his limit. He looked at (Y/N)-her eyes were still bright, her posture still perfect, but he could see the slight tremor in her hands.
She was fighting so hard to be loved by people who were determined to see her as an enemy agent.
He knew that if they stayed any longer, Natsuo would bring up the "contract" or the "merger" again, and (Y/N) would start asking questions he wasn't ready to answer.
He had hidden the contract papers in his desk for a reason. He wasn't going to let his brother destroy her spirit tonight.
"We're leaving," Shoto said, his voice like a sheet of ice.
(Y/N) blinked, her optimism finally flickering. "Wait, Shoto? We haven't even had the dessert Fuyumi made-"
"Now, (Y/N)," Shoto stood up, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape. He looked at his father and siblings. "Thank you for the meal. But I think we've overstayed our welcome."
"What's the rush, Shoto?" Natsuo challenged, leaning back. "Scared she might hear something that isn't on her father's approved script?"
"Natsuo, stop," Fuyumi whispered, her face pale.
Shoto ignored them, his hand moving to the small of (Y/N)'s back, guiding her upward with an urgency that left no room for argument.
(Y/N) looked around the table, her heart sinking. She had tried so hard, but the wall was too high.
"I... I'm sorry if I overstepped," (Y/N) said softly to Rei and Enji, her voice finally losing its cheerful edge. "Goodnight."
^ • ^
The moment the car door clicked shut, the silence of the luxury sedan felt heavy, a stark contrast to the stifling tension of the dining room.
Shoto gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his chest heaving with a mixture of protective rage and suffocating guilt.
He expected her to be angry. He expected her to ask why Natsuo hated her so much, or why Fuyumi treated her like a ticking bomb.
But when he turned to look at her, (Y/N) wasn't angry. She was curled into the passenger seat, her shoulders shaking silently.
She wasn't sobbing loudly; she was trying to swallow her grief, her hands pressed tightly over her mouth to stifle the sound.
"(Y/N)..." Shoto whispered, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
She flinched slightly, then turned toward him, her face streaked with hot, silent tears. Even now, her first instinct wasn't to blame him.
"I'm so sorry, Shoto," she gasped, her voice thick with heartbreak. "I'm so sorry I ruined your dinner. You finally have your family back together... your mother is home, your father is trying so hard with his recovery... and I just... I made it uncomfortable for everyone."
"You didn't do anything wrong," Shoto said, his voice cracking. "Natsuo was being a-"
"No, don't say that," she interrupted, reaching out to place a trembling hand over his. "He's your brother. He's protective of you. He's seen you suffer so much, Shoto. He just sees me as a Hakamada, and after everything your family has been through, I can't blame him for being suspicious of another 'arrangement.' I don't want you to be mad at him because of me. Please."
Her selflessness felt like a knife in his gut. She was defending the very people who had just spent two hours treating her like an interloper.
She wasn't complaining about the coldness or the insults; she was mourning the fact that she couldn't bring him the peace she thought he deserved.
"I just wanted to be a good wife for you," she whispered, her head dropping against his shoulder. "I wanted to be someone your sister could talk to and someone your mom could trust. I'll try harder next time. I'll find a way to show them I'm not just a name on a contract. I'll make them see I love you for real."
Shoto closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. Every word she spoke was a testament to the "light" he was so terrified of extinguishing.
She was talking about "next time" and "trying harder," completely unaware that there was a leather portfolio in his desk that proved Natsuo's cynicism wasn't entirely baseless.
"You don't have to try harder," Shoto rasped, pulling her into his arms. "You're already more than they deserve. You're more than I deserve."
^ • ^
(Y/N) spent the next three days in a quiet daze. Every time she looked at Shoto, she saw the tension in his jaw and the way he hovered over her, overcompensating for his family's coldness.
She knew he was trying to protect her, but she also knew that as long as there was a wall between her and the Todorokis, Shoto would never truly be at peace.
She didn't want to be the reason for more friction. She wanted to be the bridge.
So, on a Tuesday morning, after Shoto had left for his hero agency, (Y/N) dressed in something simple and modest. She didn't call ahead.
She knew that if she did, Fuyumi would make an excuse or Shoto would find out and stop her. She needed to speak to them, woman to woman, heart to heart.
When she arrived at the Todoroki estate, her heart was hammering so loudly she could hear it in her ears. She walked up the stone path and rang the bell.
The door slid open to reveal Fuyumin, who was holding a stack of laundry. Her eyes widened in genuine shock. "(Y/N)? What are you doing here? Is Shoto with you? Did something happen?"
"No, nothing happened," (Y/N) said, offering a small, hopeful smile despite her trembling hands. "I actually came to see you. And Lady Rei, if she's up for it. I... I brought some ingredients. I was hoping maybe we could cook together? I really want to learn how to make that spicy cold soba Shoto likes so much."
Fuyumi stood frozen for a moment, her cautious nature warring with her natural desire for a peaceful family.
Before she could answer, Natsuo appeared in the hallway behind her, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed.
"What is she doing here?" he asked, his voice low and suspicious.
"I came to apologize," (Y/N) said, stepping forward before she could lose her nerve. She looked Natsuo right in the eye.
"I know I represent a lot of things your family hates. I know my last name feels like a threat. But I'm not here for a merger, Natsuo. I'm here because I love Shoto, and I don't want to be the person who stands between him and his siblings."
She held up the grocery bag. "I don't have a script today. I just have some vegetables and a lot of questions about how to make Shoto smile when he's had a long day. Please. Just give me an hour."
From the shadows of the living room, Rei appeared. She looked at (Y/N), really looked at her, noticing the lack of "Hakamada" polish and the genuine desperation in her eyes.
"Let her in, Fuyumi," Rei said softly.
Natsuo let out a huff of annoyance and turned away, but he didn't tell her to leave. Fuyumi exhaled a breath she'd been holding and stepped aside, gesturing toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of knives against cutting boards. Fuyumi was slowly warming up, showing (Y/N) the specific way their mother used to slice green onions, when Natsuo walked back in.
He didn't come to help; he leaned against the refrigerator, watching (Y/N) with a gaze that felt like an interrogation.
Fuyumi sensed the shift and tried to intervene. "Natsuo, why don't you go check on the garden? (Y/N) and I are doing just fine."
"I'm sure you are," Natsuo said, his voice dropping into that gritty, skeptical tone. He looked at (Y/N). "You're good at this, aren't you? The 'domestic' routine.
It's a great way to make everyone forget that your father basically holds the deed to our family's reputation right now."
(Y/N) stopped cutting, her hands resting on the counter. "Natsuo, I told you. I'm not here for my father."
"Then why the secrecy?" Natsuo stepped closer, ignoring Fuyumi's warning look. "If you're so 'all in' on this family, why haven't you talked to Shoto about the financial restructuring? Or the 'rehabilitation funding' your father is funneling into the agency? My brother is a lot of things, but he's not a sell-out. Yet, suddenly, he's living in a palace and his father's charities are fully funded by your family's bank account."
(Y/N) blinked, her heart skipping a beat. "I... I don't know anything about funding. My father told me the villa was a wedding gift. A gesture of goodwill."
Natsuo let out a sharp, barking laugh. "A gesture of goodwill? People like your father don't give away billion-yen properties for 'goodwill.' They do it for collateral. He's buying Shoto's compliance. He's buying the Todoroki name to scrub the Hakamada image clean."
He leaned in, his eyes narrowed. "Tell me, (Y/N), when the 'term' of the agreement is up, what happens then? When the public is bored and the stocks are high, do you just pack your bags and move on to the next merger? Or is Shoto expected to keep playing the part of the happy husband until the contract says he's allowed to stop?"
(Y/N) felt the blood drain from her face. "Contract? What... what are you talking about? There's a marriage certificate, Natsuo. That's the only document I've signed."
Natsuo froze, his own expression shifting from anger to a sudden, jarring realization. He looked at her pale face and realized she wasn't lying. She was completely, utterly in the dark.
"You really don't know," Natsuo whispered, his voice losing some of its bite and replacing it with a grim sort of pity.
"You think this was just a traditional introduction. You don't know about the 'terms' Shoto had to agree to just to keep our father's legacy from collapsing?"
Fuyumi dropped a bowl, the ceramic shattering on the floor. "(Y/N), please, don't listen to him, Natsuo, shut up!"
(Y/N) looked from Natsuo to Fuyumi, her world starting to tilt. "What terms, Natsuo? What is he talking about? Shoto told me... he told me he wanted this. He told me he chose me." Not in so many words, but he did.