The warmth of the coffee cup that Kyoichiro had silently handed her last night still seemed to linger in her palm. Saori fastened her seatbelt while gazing out the window. The black luxury car driven by Minjo—apparently a company vehicle for the Saginomiya Group—had an interior so impossibly quiet that no outside sound penetrated it. Back at the apartment in Nerima, she could hear the television from the next room bleeding through the walls late at night. (A different world. Really.) As they approached Meguro Ward, the atmosphere of the city shifted. Buildings grew incrementally larger. Greenery increased. The clothing of the people walking the streets was somehow different. Not a single person in worn-out jogging clothes like you'd see in Nerima. "Ms. Misawa, we've arrived," said quietly. Saori lifted her head. ——There was a gate. A large iron gate. Beyond it, a gravel path stretched out. Rows of green trees lined both sides, and the building in the distance wasn't yet visible. When Minjo operated the intercom on the gate pillar, the gate opened slowly and without a sound. The car moved slowly onto the gravel path. The sound of tires crunching on gravel reached even into the vehicle. *Crunch, crunch, crunch.* That sound seemed oddly loud. As if announcing her presence to this place. The garden came into view. Vast. Far wider than she'd imagined. Manicured lawn, a large pond. Koi swam leisurely through it, clearly visible even from inside the car. And—— There was a cherry tree. A massive weeping cherry. Its leaves were full now, but the thickness of its trunk and the spread of its branches spoke of an age beyond reckoning. Later, when she asked Minjo, he said it was a hundred and twenty years old. (A hundred and twenty years.) This tree had been standing here long before Saori was born. The car stopped in front of the entrance. Saori opened the door and stepped out. She stepped on the gravel. *Crunch*—this time the sound came from her own feet. "Welcome," a woman said. She stood before the entrance. In her sixties, perhaps. White apron, white hair pulled back neatly. Her posture was perfectly straight, her expression serene, but there was something stern in the depths of her eyes. "I am Shimizaki, the head housekeeper. We have been expecting you." A polite bow. Deep and precise. Saori hurried to bow as well, at the angle she'd learned during her training. "I'm Saori Misawa. Thank you for having me." Shimizaki smiled. But there was little warmth in that smile. It was the smile of someone dutifully fulfilling the role of "welcoming the young lady." (I am not welcome here.) Saori sensed it. And sensed it, but showed nothing on her face. "This way, please." Into the main building. The entrance opened onto a marble floor. The ceiling was high. A staircase stood directly ahead, its banister intricately carved. Paintings hung on the walls—Saori couldn't tell if they were genuine, but she was certain they were. Absolutely certain. With each step down the hallway, her footsteps echoed. The *click-click* sound seemed jarringly out of place in this quiet space, and Saori unconsciously tried to soften her steps. "I'll show you to the Shion Room on the second floor." The Shion Room. A reception room, apparently. Saori followed Minjo up the stairs. When the door opened, heavy furnishings lined the space. Antique-style furniture. Deep red curtains. Delicate patterned wallpaper on the walls. The garden was visible through the windows, and that massive weeping cherry could be seen in the distance. Kyoichiro was sitting on the sofa. Deep black short hair. A small piercing in his right ear. A black suit. Cold dark brown eyes that looked at Saori. Slowly, from top to bottom. Three seconds of silence. "You cannot go out in public dressed like that." It was his opening line. Saori was wearing what she'd thought was the "best" outfit she had today. A navy blouse and a neat skirt. She'd put far more thought into it than on the first day of training. "...I apologize." "I'm not asking for an apology." Kyoichiro stood from the sofa as he spoke. "For next week's party, I expect you to dress appropriately. I'll have clothing prepared. Shoes, bags, jewelry—everything." He continued matter-of-factly. "What I'm discussing today comes before all that." Saori remained standing, facing forward. She suppressed the urge to flee. Kyoichiro walked toward her. He stood directly in front of her. His height of one hundred eighty-five centimeters loomed with an oppressive presence. "Your posture." A single, clipped word. "...What?" "Your back is rounded." Saori hurriedly straightened her spine. "Your chin is down. Raise it." She did. "Your gaze. Don't look down. Look at the eyes of the person you're speaking with—more precisely, look at the space between their eyes and nose. Looking directly can come across as intimidating." Saori looked at Kyoichiro's face as instructed. Between his eyes and nose. Was this right? Would this do? "Your word choice. 'I apologize' is an apology. In upper-class settings, too many apologies signal weakness. Learn alternatives." "...Yes." "'Yes' is acceptable, but your inflection is weak. Speak with more volume. A woman who mumbles stands out in social settings." (I understand. But asking me to speak loudly right now...) Those words swirled in Saori's mouth. She didn't say them. Couldn't say them. "Hand placement. Both hands should rest together in front of your body. However, if you grip too tightly, the whiteness of your knuckles will betray your tension." Looking down, Saori's right hand was gripping her left hand tightly. Her finger joints had turned white. She quickly relaxed her grip. Kyoichiro walked around her in a circle. He moved to her back. Saori didn't move. It felt like she shouldn't. "Have you received training in how to walk?" "...Minjo has taught me a little." "A little is insufficient. Walk to the end of the room." Saori hesitantly walked to the far end of the room. She turned around. Kyoichiro said nothing. That was his answer. "Your right shoulder drops. It's because you're landing on your heels. Be conscious of landing from your arch instead." Minjo stood quietly in the corner of the room, taking notes. When his eyes met Saori's, he gave a small nod. Whether it was encouragement or sympathy, his expression could be read either way. "Do you understand?" Kyoichiro had returned to face her. "...Yes." "I'll confirm each point. Your posture?" "Straighten my spine and raise my chin." "Your gaze?" "Look at the space between the other person's eyes and nose." "Your volume?" "...Speak a bit louder." "'A bit louder' is not a proper answer. Be specific in your awareness." Her throat tightened. She didn't know the right answer. "...Speak from my diaphragm." "That will do." Her breathing eased slightly. But the next words came. "I'm going to have you learn the minimum standards of behavior befitting a fiancée. This is not a negotiation. These are the minimum conditions I require of anyone standing beside me. If you cannot understand that, you're welcome to withdraw immediately." His voice was low and quiet. Emotionless. The tone of someone merely stating facts. "You will be treated as my possession. In social settings, you will walk one step behind me. You will not contradict my judgment. If you cannot endure that, withdraw now." Possession. That word pierced her chest. (Possession.) Saori's hands naturally clenched into fists. Her finger joints turned white again. This time she didn't hide it. (I knew. I knew from the start. This is work. A contract for money.) But hearing it said to her face was different. The image of her brother's acceptance letter floated into her mind. That single line that read "I won't lose." The night she'd cried and still decided not to run away. "...I understand." Her voice trembled. But she said it. Kyoichiro paused for just a moment. His eyebrows rose slightly. The gaze that had been looking at her as "a problem to be dealt with" changed into something else for the first time—or so it seemed. It was only for an instant, so Saori couldn't be certain. But something definitely changed. Kyoichiro looked away again. "Minjo. Rearrange next week's schedule. Add supplementary lessons in deportment for Misawa." "[serious] Understood." "You can go home today." The words were directed at Saori. "Write down everything I've pointed out today and memorize it. If there's no improvement the next time you come, we have nothing to discuss." "...Yes." This time, she was conscious of adding a bit more volume. The drive back took the same route as the way there. They left the gravel path, the gate closing behind them. The upscale residential neighborhood of Meguro gradually transformed back into an ordinary city. Saori leaned her back against the seat. Her strength had drained away. "You did well," said quietly. "...Thank you." Minjo opened the glove compartment with one hand and pulled out a bottle of water. He offered it to Saori in the back seat. She took it. She drank. The cold water seeped into her throat. "That was quite something," said. "...Was it?" "Well, but—the voice you used at the end was good. Much more solid than before." Saori was slightly surprised. She hadn't expected to be praised. "Thank you." The evening light illuminated Minjo's profile through the window. She thought he had a beautiful face. Neat eyebrows. Sharp, narrow eyes. A mouth that seemed gentle. But there was something in that profile. Saori couldn't put it into words. She could only call it a sense of dissonance—something lurking somewhere in Minjo's expression. The words from last night came back to her: "You should belong only to me." (What is he thinking right now?) "Kyoichiro is... well, he's a lonely person, despite appearances." It came suddenly. Saori looked at Minjo. "He was raised as an heir from childhood. He's been forbidden from expressing emotion his entire life. So that's the only way he knows how to communicate." Minjo continued quietly, still facing forward. "He's not angry. He simply—doesn't know how to interact with people." Saori tried to measure the meaning of those words. But she couldn't quite grasp it. (Lonely. That cold person.) She remembered when Kyoichiro had silently handed her the coffee. Without turning back. What had that meant? "Why are you telling me this, Minjo?" "...I wonder why myself." Minjo smiled slightly. But that smile resembled Shimizaki Toyo's smile from today. A smile that fulfilled a role. A smile that concealed the truth. Not a real answer, Saori thought. (This person is hiding something. About Kyoichiro, about the meaning of his words to me.) Still holding the water bottle in both hands, Saori looked out the window. The evening Tokyo flowed past. In the orange light, the familiar cityscape returned. Ordinary buildings. Ordinary traffic lights. Ordinary people. Saori belonged here. Not to that gravel path, not to the Shion Room, not to that weeping cherry tree. But today, in that place, she had said "I understand." Even trembling, she had said it. That much was real. The silence continued in the car. Minjo said nothing more. The evening sun illuminating the window grew deeper in color. Saori quietly glanced at her left wrist. A faint cherry blossom-shaped mark. (It's not over yet.) Whether she could stand beside that person in that mansion—she still didn't know. But the night she'd decided not to run away was real. Outside the window, the sun sank below the horizon.