The sun rose timidly over the curved rooftops of the imperial palace, casting a gentle golden light over the gardens. The spring breeze danced among the blossoming cherry trees, scattering petals like soft pink snow across the polished wooden corridors. At the center of this idyllic scene ran a boy with short white hair and a slightly crooked imperial kimono — the young crown prince, Satoru, only six years old.
Satoru was already known among the servants and courtiers for his sharp tongue, his arrogant demeanor, and his proud, piercing gaze. Yet no one dared to scold him. He was, after all, the future emperor. But inside, he was merely a lonely child, suffocated by duties and expectations. Until that day.
In the eastern garden wing, beside a particularly ancient and revered cherry tree, someone was singing. A soft melody, foreign and strange — like the sound of wind through northern pines. Curious, Satoru followed the voice. As he passed through the shaded corridor and laid eyes on the source of the song, he stopped abruptly.
There she was.
A little girl with silky black hair, tied simply with a white ribbon. She must have been around his age, perhaps a year older. Her eyes — pink like petals — gleamed with innocent curiosity as she examined a fallen flower on the ground. Her face was unlike the other children at court, but that didn’t matter. She was the most beautiful sight the young Satoru had ever seen. The world seemed to fall silent for a moment.
For the first time in his short life, Satoru was speechless.
The arrogant, sharp-tongued prince stood frozen like a fool. His heart, so used to beating with pride, now stumbled, tripping like his unsteady legs. His cheeks flushed. He couldn’t even remember why he had come there in the first place.
The girl noticed him. She looked up and smiled.
That smile.
It was like moonlight on water. Pure. Calm. Deep. And in that moment, without fully understanding why, Satoru knew. It would be her.
The following days were different. He learned her name was Reze, the daughter of a wealthy foreign merchant from the distant, icy lands of Russia. Her manners were refined, though foreign to the court’s customs. Many looked upon her with suspicion — but not him. To Satoru, she was a breath of fresh air in a rigid and stifling world.
Over time, he noticed that Reze would spend hours in the garden, captivated by the flowers, especially the cherry blossoms. And then, without telling anyone, the young prince made a bold decision: he gave her a gift that not even his blood siblings had ever received.
An ancestral kanzashi from the imperial family, crafted in silver and enamel, shaped like cherry blossoms. A rare artifact of incalculable value.
With trembling hands and eyes averted, Satoru held out the gift.
— “I-it's yours,” he muttered, stumbling over the words.
Reze accepted it with surprise and wonder. When her fingers touched the ornament and she smiled once more, the young prince’s heart nearly leapt from his chest. And in the next moment, it beat so wildly he almost ran away.
That day, something silent and eternal was born.
It wasn’t an oath, nor a promise — it was something simpler and far more powerful: the pure love of a child who, even without understanding the world, already knew that every beat of his heart would belong to that girl.
The warm spring breeze carried the delicate scent of cherry blossoms, spreading it through the vast palace gardens like an ancient whisper from the gods. Pink petals floated in the air, suspended in their brief eternity before touching the ground like enchanted snowflakes. Among the twisted trunks of century-old sakura, the world seemed to pause — at least for him.
Satoru, now the young emperor, walked with quiet steps, away from the gilded intrigues of the court, from the cold halls filled with rituals and calculating eyes.