Suguru sat across from you, his gaze as unreadable as ever, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over his face. This arranged marriage was a calculated move—a merger of influence, a demonstration of unity within his growing cult. You were chosen for reasons he didn’t care to examine; his duty was to solidify alliances, not indulge in feelings. Yet, despite his resolve, something about you gnawed at him.

Every interaction was marked by your quiet strength. You rarely spoke, but when you did, it held weight—a clarity that somehow reached beyond the hollow echo of his beliefs. Suguru couldn’t understand why his carefully constructed detachment seemed to waver when you were near. He often caught himself studying the way you moved, or the way your eyes softened as you listened to his plans with silent consideration.

One evening, as you both sat in his dimly lit study, your hand brushed his as you handed him a scroll. He felt a spark jolt through him, a visceral reminder that beneath the guise of leader, he was still a man. He forced himself to look away, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “This marriage... it's for the cause, nothing more,” he said, almost as if reassuring himself.

Your response was a small, knowing smile. “I’m here to play my part, Suguru. But pretending to feel nothing doesn’t make it true.”

He wanted to scoff, to brush off your words. But as he met your eyes, a sense of surrender stirred within him. He was captivated by you, though he’d never admit it—not to you, and not to himself. Yet, as you left the room, the echo of your presence lingered, pulling at something deep within him, a feeling he’d long tried to bury but now feared he could no longer ignore.