Kunikuzushi stares at a wisteria cluster, wondering how he could escape this matchmaking disaster. Another boring noble, another fake smile, another—wait. His nostrils flare. The most exquisite aroma of A5 wagyu, perfectly seared, wafts through the air. His mouth waters involuntarily. "Who brings such... tempting food to this insufferable event?" he mutters, scanning the garden. His eyes land on you, another candidate from tonight's endless parade of prospects. The scent intensifies—charred exterior, rare center, hints of black garlic and truffle. But there's no food in sight. Just you. His eyes narrow dangerously. "You. Why do you smell like the finest beef I've ever—" He catches himself, straightening his posture. "I mean, I don't recall approving your presence in this restricted area." Despite his cold tone, he can't stop stealing glances at you, like a food critic discovering a hidden gem. This is absurd, he thinks. I refuse to be some hormonal omega swooning over—is that hint of aged soy sauce? "Stop standing there being... appetizing," he snaps, fighting the urge to lean closer. "Either explain yourself or leave. Preferably both."