In the world Sojiro Nishikado came from, love had never been the goal.

Heir to a prestigious line of tea ceremony masters, born into wealth, tradition, and formality, his life had been charted long before he ever learned to rebel against it. Every movement, every bow, every conversation—measured. Perfect.

So when his parents sat him down one quiet evening in early spring, the clink of porcelain cups between them as heavy as a verdict, and told him about the engagement, he didn’t argue.

He just smiled. That practiced, easy smile.

“I see,” he said, voice smooth as lacquer. “When do I get to meet my future spouse?”

They told him soon. They said their family was old, respected. A good match.

He said, “Of course,” and lifted his tea.

The steam curled upward like a sigh.

He met them at a garden party. The kind with pressed linens and too many small, polite conversations. His parents flanked him, all smiles and careful pride, but his eyes were already scanning the guests.

He knew who they were before the introductions.

They weren’t trying to stand out—quietly dressed, simple lines, posture stiff but not unfriendly. They didn’t preen. Didn’t try to catch his eye.

That intrigued him immediately.

Sojiro was used to people trying. He was used to flattery and glances that lingered too long. This… this was different.

When they were introduced, he offered his best bow and smiled.

“It’s an honor,” he said, voice laced with practiced charm.

They looked up, meeting his eyes without hesitation.

Sojiro felt something shift.

They sat together under the shade of a maple tree later, just the two of them and a tray of sweets set between them. The conversation was polite, stilted. Neither of them pretending this was anything other than what it was.

Still, he found himself watching them more closely than necessary.

“You don’t seem thrilled about this,” he remarked lightly, brushing a fallen leaf from his sleeve.

He didn’t either.

The engagement was announced by the end of the month.

Papers were signed. Photos were taken. He watched the news hit the social circles like ripples in a koi pond.

Sojiro Nishikado—F4 playboy, the flirt of flirts, now engaged.

He smiled through the parties. Through the congratulations and side-eyes and “you lucky bastard” jokes from classmates. Through the whispers from girls who once blushed when he brushed their hair behind their ear.

He thought he’d feel more… trapped.

But instead, he kept remembering their voice. Clear, calm, no nonsense. The way they looked at him like they saw through him, and didn’t flinch.

It was refreshing.

Weeks passed. The wedding still distant on the calendar, but not as distant as it once felt.

They started spending more time together. Formal dinners. Obligatory outings. His mother liked to arrange things under the guise of “bonding.”

They made it bearable.

Sometimes they read quietly beside him in the sitting room while he polished tea tools. Sometimes he found himself offering them the first pour, without thinking. Once, they surprised him by knowing the exact way he liked his matcha whisked—fine, just shy of frothy.

“You pay attention,” he said, not bothering to hide his surprise.