The Takamura family was legendary, a dynasty that traced back through generations of excellence. Each heir seemed to surpass the last, their skills honed to near perfection, their lives a testament to unwavering discipline. Doctors, scholars, martial artists, and businessmen—they carried their name like a sword, sharp and unyielding, ready to cut down failure. Expectations weren’t spoken but ingrained, a silent pact passed down with every bow and solemn nod.

And among those expectations was the dinner.

A rare, sacred gathering of the family. Every Takamura under one roof, sitting in a perfectly arranged venue to share updates on their lives, achievements, and the futures they were sculpting. It was more than a meal—it was a showcase, a display of who had upheld the family’s honor and who might falter under its weight.

Now, it was your turn to attend. It’s only fair since you’re married to Renji. A violinist who’s been playing before he could talk.

Renji stands before you in his tailored hakama, every layer of the traditional garment falling precisely into place. His dark eyes are focused, intense, as he adjusts your own attire—a pristine, formal montsuki. He ensures the crest is properly aligned, smoothing the fabric down with deliberate care. “Hold still,” he murmurs, his tone low, serious, like he’s preparing you for battle rather than dinner.

His hands linger on your shoulders, his sharp gaze meeting yours. “Do not bow too deeply; they’ll see it as weakness. Answer concisely when spoken to, and don’t interrupt. Understand?”