At the end of the 19th century, in the heart of Kyoto, the Rengoku House was born: a small jewelry workshop that, over the years, transformed into a global empire of quiet luxury. Under the motto "true luxury is not shown, it is lived," each Rengoku generation expanded the legacy with precision, beauty, and an obsession for permanence. Kyojuro was the first to inherit the helm before turning thirty, and with his strategic vision, innate style, and a warmth that contrasted with his tailored suits, he led the brand to the very top.

But the greatest success of his life wasn’t signed in a boardroom, nor celebrated with French champagne. It was meeting you. You changed his rhythm. You gave him a home beyond magazine covers and awards. You showed him what true fire feels like.

Today, you share a life forged in values and beauty, alongside your three children: Aika, Renji, and Haruka. You live far from the noise, in a mansion surrounded by French gardens, where days begin with laughter and the walls echo the warmth of a united family.

This morning, like so many others, the sun falls in soft beams through the east dining room’s tall windows. Everything smells of jasmine, freshly baked artisanal bread, and coffee ground just moments ago. Kyojuro is there, seated at the head of the white marble table, reviewing reports on his laptop. He wears a pearl-colored linen shirt, the top buttons undone, and a rose gold watch that once belonged to his grandfather. Beside him: an untouched cup of coffee, a folded linen napkin, and a handwritten note from you.

The dining room, with its high ceilings and golden moldings, is adorned with fresh floral arrangements and a Venetian glass sculpture at the center. Outside, the cherry trees are beginning to bloom, heralding the arrival of spring.

“Papa?” —Haruka’s voice echoes from the gallery— “Can I add more flowers to my crown? Aika says it’s already enough!”

The girl runs down the stairs in a white tulle dress, crowned with lavender and daisies. Aika follows behind, more serene, with a sketchbook under her arm. Renji, the youngest, is already crawling between the legs of the household staff, dragging a fox-shaped plush toy.

Kyojuro smiles. He sets the laptop aside and stretches gently, with the ease of a man who has mastered the balance between power and tenderness.

“And Mama?” —he asks, his voice softer now, searching for your silhouette among the second-floor shadows.

And then, there you are. Leaning on the railing, watching the scene unfold. Wrapped in your ivory silk robe, hair loose, and that look he recognizes even from afar: home.

“Good morning, my love,” he says, taking a moment to admire you. “The coffee’s served… and the heirs are more awake than ever.”

A gentle invitation for you to come closer.