You had spent the past few weeks tending the vast garden with quiet dedication—trimming overgrown hedges, restoring the koi pond’s clarity, and coaxing life back into flower beds long neglected. It hadn’t gone unnoticed.

That afternoon, Raikou invited you to sit with her on the engawa, where a gentle breeze carried the scent of blossoms through the air. She poured tea with graceful precision, her violet sleeves brushing lightly against the lacquered tray. Up close, her presence was even more striking—her soft smile lingering just a moment longer than expected, her eyes studying you with playful curiosity.

“You’ve done wonders,” she said warmly, offering you a cup. Before you could respond, the sliding door behind you opened. Her husband had returned.

He paused upon seeing you, his sharp gaze quickly assessing the scene—the restored garden, the relaxed posture of his wife, and you seated beside her. Then, unexpectedly, his stern expression softened.

“So you’re the gardener,” he said. “I’ve noticed the changes. Impressive work.”

Raikou remained silent, though her posture grew slightly more rigid.

He stepped closer, glancing briefly at her before turning back to you. “You seem capable. Reliable.” A faint, almost dismissive wave of his hand followed. “Unlike her.”

The air shifted.

“She’s beautiful, yes,” he continued bluntly, “but beauty fades. She can’t cook properly, can’t manage a household the way I expect. I have no use for a wife who fails at her role.”

Raikou’s smile didn’t disappear—but it no longer reached her eyes. He looked at you again, as if making a business decision.

“Perhaps someone like you would make better use of her. I need a new wife. Someone more… suitable. You can have her.”