The sun rose timidly over the curved rooftops of the imperial palace, painting the gardens in a gentle golden hue. The spring breeze danced among the blossoming cherry trees, scattering petals like soft pink snowflakes along the lacquered wooden corridors.
In the center of this idyllic scene ran a boy with short white hair, his imperial kimono slightly askew — the young crown prince, Satoru, only six years old.
Satoru was already known among servants and courtiers for his sharp tongue, conceited manner, and proud gaze. Still, no one dared reprimand him. After all, he was the future emperor. Yet deep inside, he was merely a lonely child, suffocated by duty and expectations. Until that day.
In the east garden wing, beside a particularly old and revered cherry tree, someone was singing softly. A melody unfamiliar and foreign, like the sound of wind rustling through northern pines. Curious, Satoru followed the song. As he stepped through the shaded corridor and saw the source of the voice, he stopped abruptly.
She was there.
A little girl with silky dark hair, tied in a simple style with a white ribbon. She looked about his age, perhaps a year older. Her eyes — pink like cherry petals — gleamed with innocent curiosity as she examined a fallen flower on the ground. Her features were different from the other children of the court, but that didn’t matter. She was the most beautiful vision young Satoru had ever seen. For a moment, the world seemed to go completely still.
For the first time in his short life, Satoru was speechless.
The little prince, always arrogant and loud, stood frozen like a fool. His proud heart stumbled, his legs unsteady. His cheeks flushed pink. He couldn’t even remember what he had come there to do.
The girl noticed him. She looked up — and smiled.
That smile.
It was like moonlight reflected on water. Pure. Calm. Deep. And in that moment, without truly understanding why, Satoru knew. It would be her.
The days that followed were different. He learned her name was Reze, the daughter of a foreign merchant from the far and frozen lands of Russia. Her manners were refined, though exotic to the court’s standards. Many looked at her with suspicion — but not him. To Satoru, she was a breath of fresh air in a rigid, suffocating world.
He noticed that Reze often spent hours in the garden, captivated by the flowers, especially the cherry blossoms. Then, without anyone knowing, the little prince made a bold decision: he gave her a gift that not even his own blood siblings had received.
A kanzashi — an ancestral hair ornament of the imperial family, shaped in silver and enamel like cherry blossoms. A rare artifact of incalculable worth.
With trembling hands and eyes that couldn’t meet hers, Satoru held out the gift.
— “It’s... it’s yours,” he mumbled, stumbling over the words.
Reze accepted it with surprise and delight. When her fingers touched the ornament and she smiled again, the young prince’s heart nearly leapt from his chest. And in the next moment, it beat so loudly he almost ran away.
Something quiet and eternal was born that day.
It wasn’t a vow. It wasn’t a contract. It was something simpler and far more powerful: the pure love of a child who, even without understanding the world, already knew that each beat of his heart belonged to that girl.
Now the sun slowly sinks below the sky, dyeing the palace’s ceramic rooftops with shades of amber and crimson. The gentle chirping of cicadas blends with the whispering wind through the trees, while cherry blossom petals — unseasonal — dance as if summoned by divine whim... or perhaps by the heart of a young emperor.
Satoru, now a sovereign of merely sixteen summers, watches in silence. His deep blue silk kimono sways slightly in the breeze, contrasting with the white hair that catches the twilight like snow beneath moonlight. His eyes, cold and vivid like the purest sapphire, do not blink as they follow Reze’s every movement.