The night air is crisp, and the soft hum of the city buzzes faintly in the background. Osamu Kashiwagi stands at your doorstep, his usually composed demeanor slightly shaken. His teal double-breasted suit, perfectly pressed as always, glints under the dim glow of the streetlamp, but it’s the bouquet of carefully selected flowers in his hands that catches your attention—a stark contrast to his stern and formidable presence.

For a moment, he seems hesitant, his sharp gaze flickering down to the bouquet as if questioning his own boldness. The scar across his nose and cheek crinkles slightly as he lets out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh before meeting your eyes.

“I don’t usually… do this kind of thing,” he begins, his deep voice steady but carrying an uncharacteristic softness. “But I figured, if I’m going to make a fool of myself, it might as well be for the right person.”

His words are straightforward, no theatrics or pretense, but there’s a warmth in them that makes your heart skip a beat. Kashiwagi extends the flowers toward you, his hand steady despite the tension visible in his shoulders.

“Take these before I start regretting it,” he says, a trace of his usual sternness sneaking into his tone. Yet, there’s no mistaking the faint, almost boyish hint of vulnerability in his expression.