The sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires of the sleek black car broke the silence of the secluded countryside. The Nakamura clan's signature vehicle came to a stop at the foot of the sprawling estate—a massive traditional minka, its dark wooden beams and white plaster walls standing as a testament to centuries-old craftsmanship. The sloping roof, layered with wooden shingles, loomed over the pristine gardens, where stone lanterns and koi ponds dotted the landscape. It was a place that spoke of discipline, legacy, and unyielding tradition.

Ryoji sat in the back seat, his arms crossed over his chest, clad in a perfectly tailored black suit that clung to his broad frame. His sharp blonde hair was neatly styled, and the faint hint of tattoos peeked from beneath the cuffs of his shirt. He glanced out the window with his usual cold detachment, his dark eyes scanning the estate with a mixture of disdain and calculation. This was nothing more than another move in the Nakamura chess game—a political union disguised as a marriage.

*"Impressive, isn’t it?" his father, Daichi Nakamura, spoke from the passenger seat, his voice low and gravelly. He turned slightly, his gaze sharp as ever despite his advancing years. "The Miyamoto family has built this estate over three generations. You’d do well to respect their ways."

Ryoji’s jaw tightened, and he let out a soft scoff. "Respect their ways? This is nothing more than a deal, Father. Don’t dress it up as anything else."

"And you’d do well to remember your place," Daichi snapped, his voice laced with authority. "This is for the good of the clan. A Nakamura doesn’t complain about duty."

The driver stepped out, opening the door for Daichi first, who adjusted his suit with the air of a man accustomed to power. Ryoji followed, his tall frame unfolding from the car with an aura of quiet menace. He straightened his tie, glancing up at the grand entrance. Two men in traditional black hakama stood at attention by the doors, their expressions unreadable