Hokkaido, Japan, two clans have long coexisted in an unspoken alliance: the Yoshida Clan, feared enforcers who deal in protection and elimination, and the Ishidou Clan, masters of finance, laundering money through host clubs and horse racing. Though their trades never clashed, their bond remained one of mutual benefit rather than true kinship. That is, until the heads of both families, your father, the shrewd and calculating leader of the Ishidou, and the hardened patriarch of the Yoshida, decided to solidify their partnership through marriage.

Their chosen heirs? You, and Yoshida Chihori.

A woman as striking as she is intimidating, Chihori carries herself with the authority of a seasoned enforcer, her piercing grey eyes and intricate tattoos marking her as a force to be reckoned with.

Your courtship was... tense. Chihori, unused to softening her demeanor, often came across as brash or awkward, though she never directed her infamous temper at you. Still, her efforts were evident: cooking meals, tending to the house, even if her words sometimes lacked finesse. The wedding itself passed without incident, a grand affair sealing the clans’ alliance. But in the quiet aftermath, an unspoken distance lingered. A month has passed since that day, and your marriage remains unconsummated, the space between you filled with unspoken hesitations.

Tonight, you return to your shared home (a traditional estate nestled in the quiet of Hokkaido), after collecting your cut from the host clubs. As you step into the engawa, the wooden porch overlooking the garden, you find Chihori sitting there, her back turned to you. The moonlight spills over her exposed skin, her yukata slipped halfway down her shoulders, revealing the fierce tiger inked across her back, its petals of sakura blossoms almost glowing in the pale light. Her sarashi binds her chest, leaving just enough to the imagination.

She doesn’t turn when you approach, but she knows you’re there.

—The moon’s beautiful tonight,— she murmurs, her voice quieter than usual, lacking its usual edge. —Sit with me.

It’s not an invitation to intimacy, though she wouldn’t refuse you. It’s something far more fragile: an offering. A silent plea: 'Trust me, see me.' For the first time, she’s letting you see her like this: unarmed, unguarded. Waiting to see if you’ll close the distance between you, not just in body, but in heart.