The next morning, Saori Misawa was heading toward Saginomiya Tower. She hadn't slept the night before. Again and again, the sensation of signing the contract came flooding back. The weight of the pen. The texture of the paper. And then, Kyoichiro's cold voice. (Is this really okay?) Even as she thought it, her feet kept moving forward. From Nerima on the Shinjuku Line, via Akasaka-Mitsuke. Jostled by the morning commute, Saori found herself thinking. About those two men from yesterday. That man with the cold eyes. Deep black hair, refined features. Dark brown eyes that had looked at her as if appraising merchandise. Kyoichiro Saginomiya. Thirty-one years old. The patriarch of a family that ruled this nation. And the other one. Handsome, with gray eyes that seemed kind. Ao Nanjo. But something was hidden behind those eyes. Something immeasurable. Something dark. The train swayed. Saori gripped the hanging strap. The cherry blossom birthmark on her left wrist was just barely visible beneath her suit sleeve. They entered Chiyoda Ward. The Saginomiya Tower visible through the window gleamed in the morning sun. That light was about to change her life in a major way. 8:50 AM. Saori stood before the tower's main entrance. A vast glass-walled lobby. Marble floors. An ornate chandelier. A different world. She felt as though she'd stepped into a place she had no right to be. "We've been expecting you. Kyoichiro-sama is waiting." A suited attendant spoke to her politely. Saori nodded and stepped into the elevator. The 37th floor. When the doors opened, what spread before her was—a different world entirely. Not an ordinary conference room. Black floors. White walls. A large mirror. A chandelier. An ornate dining table. A space like a ballroom. And there, two men stood waiting. "You came." A low, composed voice. Kyoichiro. Dressed in a black suit, a small piercing glinting at his right ear. That cold gaze swept over her from top to bottom, as if licking her with his eyes. "I told you to arrive at nine in the morning, yet you're eight minutes late. First, fix that sense of time." (Eight minutes?) That's what she thought. But she didn't say it aloud. Saori bowed her head. "I sincerely apologize." Polite words. But her voice trembled. "First, your posture. Straighten that hunched back. Spine straight, chin tucked, eyes forward. A lady cannot stand any other way if she expects to be taken seriously." Kyoichiro issued his instructions. Saori straightened her spine. "Chest out more. You are not merchandise—or rather, yes. You are merchandise. Which is precisely why appearance matters." Those words pierced her heart. "I shall prepare some tea." A gentle voice. Nanjo. He moved with practiced ease, preparing a ceramic tea set. A pristine white cup. Steeped tea with its fragrance rising. The steam soothed her heart, just slightly. "You'll be fine. Everyone feels anxious at first." Nanjo smiled. That smile seemed genuinely kind. But Saori sensed it. Something behind those eyes. "Thank you." She accepted the tea. It was warm. When she drank it, the aroma of Earl Grey spread across her tongue. "Now we begin training. Table manners." Kyoichiro instructed her to sit at the table. Saori took the seat across from him. Multiple knives and forks lay arranged on the table. "This is the most basic of basics. Outside to inside. Knife on the right. Fork on the left. If you don't even know this rule, you'll be laughed at in high society." The strict instruction continued. How to hold the fork. How to use the knife. Where to place the napkin. How to hold the glass. Each detail was intricate and complex. "That's not how you hold the fork. From above. No, not like that—" Again and again, she was told to start over. Her hands trembled. Tension made her body unresponsive. Once, a glass nearly tipped over. Saori caught it in a panic. "Clumsy. Or rather, fatally clumsy. You can't even manage basic manners?" Kyoichiro's words carved into her chest. Tears welled up. Saori fought desperately to hold them back. (If I cry, it's over. If I cry here, everything ends.) That's what she thought. She clenched her teeth. "Again. This time, do it correctly." The morning passed this way. Failure and criticism and correction, over and over. Then, noon. "Let's take a break." Nanjo's voice was truly gentle. Saori stood from her chair. Her legs felt unsteady. Exhaustion had accumulated throughout her body. She was led to a seating area where a table held warm tea and thinly sliced sandwiches. "Please, eat." Nanjo urged her. Saori sat down. She could feel her hands shaking. "Kyoichiro-sama is strict, but it's for your sake. He's training you thoroughly now so you won't fail in high society." Saori nodded at Nanjo's words. That was probably true. But. (Is it really?) That's what she thought. There was something else in Kyoichiro's gaze. Not evaluation, but domination. An intention to make her move completely according to his will. "Here, your tea will get cold." Nanjo offered her the cup. Saori drank. Suddenly, Nanjo's hand touched her arm. Just for a moment. But in that instant, his eyes changed. Those pale gray eyes seemed to darken for just a second. It wasn't kindness—it was something else. Possessiveness. Obsession. And then it was gone. "My apologies. I was merely steadying you—" Nanjo spoke politely. Saori pulled away. (No.) Her heart sounded an alarm. This man looked kind on the surface, but he was hiding something else. The afternoon training continued. This time, how to walk. "Spine straight, chin tucked, walk slowly. A lady's gait reflects her family's standing." Under Kyoichiro's instruction, Saori began walking in heels. Unfamiliar heels. Her feet wouldn't cooperate. "Too slow. Slower still. But fluidly. In other words, slow, but gliding. Do you understand?" She didn't. But she tried. Again and again. And then she nearly fell. "Ah—" In that instant, Nanjo extended his hand. Saori grabbed it. A warm hand. But. That hand held her arm longer than necessary. "Are you alright, Misawa-san?" A gentle voice. But his eyes were different. That gaze seemed to cling to her. Saori pulled her hand away. Nanjo released it immediately. And smiled. "Do be careful." That smile seemed somehow eerie. (This person is—) That's what she thought. Kyoichiro's coldness was easy to understand. But Nanjo's kindness seemed to be made of something else entirely. Past five in the evening. "That's enough for today." Kyoichiro said it. Saori felt relief wash over her. Her feet ached. Her arms ached. And her heart was exhausted. She sank into a chair. "Your performance was quite poor. You possess not a single quality that would work in high society. Your posture is bad. You know no manners. Your bearing is entirely dull." Despairing words. Saori looked down. (Five million yen for this...) That's what she thought. Would her life really change because of this? "But—" Then Kyoichiro continued. "Your willingness to stand back up without giving up is not bad. That determination is necessary." At those words, Saori looked up. Faintly, deep in Kyoichiro's eyes, she thought she saw something else. It wasn't coldness—it was something warm. Just barely, but it was there. "Come at the same time tomorrow. Training continues." "Yes. Thank you very much." As Saori said this, Nanjo smiled. "You did well today, Misawa-san. Let's do our best again tomorrow." That smile was kind. But Saori could feel it. The immeasurable emotion hidden behind it. As she descended in the elevator, Saori was thinking. Who were these two men? What were they thinking? Kyoichiro's desire to dominate. Nanjo's obsession. Both were directed at her. (What have I gotten myself into?) When she stepped out into the lobby, Saori's gaze fell on her left wrist. The faint cherry blossom-shaped birthmark. It felt as though that mark held some meaning. But Saori couldn't understand what it was. She walked through the nighttime Tokyo streets. Neon lights glowed. People passed by. In this city, who was she? From a contract employee at an ordinary company to the fiancée of a conglomerate heir in a single day. To play that role, a hellish training had begun today. Tomorrow, and the day after, this training would continue. Under Kyoichiro's cold instruction. Within Nanjo's eerie kindness. And how far could she go? That answer was still nowhere in sight.