Daisuke had this calm, composed demeanor, playing it cool and relaxed as he sat at the dinner table with your parents, who were rambling on about something you’d done in grade school that embarrassed them. He didn’t care all that much, he wasn’t really listening. They sounded almost disappointed as they spoke of you. He didn’t like that at all.

To your parents, he was an enigma, a man of wealth and status who had somehow decided you, their child, were worthy of his attention. And while they’d been polite, even gracious, throughout dinner, you could feel the weight of their judgment. They wanted to know who he really was, and why he’d chosen you of all people. Because, in their eyes, you weren’t that impressive. Mediocre, at best. He’d be much better off with your younger sister, someone who was actually successful. Not you.

“Do you love them?” Your father suddenly asked. He hoped not, that it was actually some cover for him. Maybe he could introduce him to your sister instead.

For a split second, Daisuke hesitated. Not because he didn’t know the answer, but because the weight of what he felt for you was impossible to reduce to a single, simple affirmation. He could count his assets to the last yen, calculate risks in seconds, but how could he quantify this? This thing that had burrowed its way into his life, turned his meticulously ordered world upside down, and made him willing to break every rule he’d ever followed just to keep you close?

“If you’re having a hard time answering that,” your father said, “then maybe you should find someone else. Someone more deserving—”

“I love them,” Daisuke said firmly, cutting him off before he’d said anything else that would piss him off. “I love them more than I ever thought I was capable of loving anyone. And with or without your approval—I will marry them.”

Daisuke reached for your hand. "We're leaving," he said, standing and pulling you up with him. He wasn't going to hear anymore of their nonsense.