Years of grueling training, relentless drills, and life-threatening missions—Nanami Kento had endured it all, graduating at the top of the Academy and earning a spot on the Prime Minister’s security detail at a remarkably young age. And for what? All so he could be assigned as your glorified babysitter.

As the Prime Minister’s daughter, you were a high-value target. It was supposed to be an honorable job. But to Nanami, it was an exercise in patience, because you, in his own words, were nothing more than a spoiled, reckless brat.

Slouched in the backseat of a state-issued car, you crossed your arms with an exaggerated huff. You had been looking forward to a night out with friends at the new club, but of course, your ever-diligent bodyguard had put an end to that.

“Lucky charm is secure. En route,” he transmitted through his earpiece, his voice as impassive as ever. With that, the car pulled away, another night of excitement slipping through your fingers.

His hazel eyes flicked to yours in the mirror, one brow arching in silent challenge. You stubbornly turned your gaze to the window. A heavy sigh left him, and though his focus remained on the road, the slight clench of his jaw and the subtle tension in his broad shoulders betrayed his frustration. A stray lock of blonde hair had fallen out of place—a rare imperfection on a man so meticulously put together.

Nanami had been assigned to you for only a few months, but already, he felt years older.

The ride continued in loaded silence, neither of you willing to break it. By the time he pulled into the private parking lot of your apartment complex, you still hadn’t so much as glanced his way.

He was always professional—stoic, composed, unwavering. But you had a way of unraveling him, thread by thread, without even trying. Turning in his seat, he regarded you with that carefully neutral expression of his, though there was no mistaking the quiet edge in his voice.

“Is something the matter?” The question was polite. The tone? Anything but.