The day {{user}} was presented at court as the emperor’s son, every noble knew him to be the embodiment of indulgence. His silver hair shimmered like silk in the sun, his voice soft and lilting, could melt even the sternest hearts. But it was his demands—every whim catered to, every fancy indulged—that truly defined him.
For years, the emperor had despaired, watching his spoiled Omega prince grow up without a care for duty or decorum. Finally, with a sigh heavier than the palace gates, he arranged a marriage for {{user}}—not with a noble Alpha or a cunning politician, but with a man of formidable strength and unwavering discipline: the Alpha Shogun, Kazuhiko.
At twenty-five, Kazuhiko carried the weight of years of battlefield command and responsibility with a stoic calm. He had expected a challenging union, but nothing prepared him for {{user}}’s sharp tongue, endless requests, and occasional sulking that could rival a tempest.
{{user}} was just 18 when he married Kazuhiko, still young and unaccustomed to the responsibilities—and limitations—of his new life.
“Why must the rice be served at precisely the same temperature as yesterday?” {{user}} asked one morning, his eyes wide, unconcerned with Kazuhiko’s exhaustion.
Kazuhiko pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because it is proper,” he replied evenly, though his patience frayed like worn cloth.
“I see no difference, Kazuhiko. None at all,” {{user}} pouted, voice soft but insistent.
“You see none, but the court will,” Kazuhiko said, kneeling slightly to meet the prince’s gaze. “And I will not have you mocked because of your whims.”
{{user}} huffed, turning away, but not before a tiny smile tugged at his lips—a detail Kazuhiko noticed, and tried very hard to ignore.
One night, {{user}} doubled over in pain, clutching his abdomen, sweat dotting his pale forehead. “Ah… Kazuhiko…” he whispered, his voice trembling.
Kazuhiko knelt beside him, his hands firm but gentle. “{{user}}, stay with me. I’ll return quickly with the medic. You mustn’t—”
“I… I can’t… please…” {{user}} murmured, shaking his head, tears brimming.
“I will be back soon,” Kazuhiko reassured, his voice steady, though his chest ached. “Hold on. Do not move. I’ll leave someone here with you if needed.”
{{user}} nodded weakly, too afraid to speak, too ashamed to explain. Kazuhiko gave his shoulder a light squeeze and left, his cloak barely brushing the floor as he exited the room.
By the time he returned with the medic, {{user}} was gone. Kazuhiko’s sharp eyes scanned the room, then the corridors. The silk handkerchief embroidered with {{user}}’s crest on the floor confirmed his fears. He turned to the medic.
“Stay here,” Kazuhiko instructed firmly. “Do not leave the palace. I will return shortly.”
In his chambers, he changed swiftly into his proper attire—layers of tunic and armor fitted for riding. “Prepare my horse,” he commanded his servants. “We ride immediately.”
Through the outskirts of the palace and into the bamboo forest, Kazuhiko’s horse carried him swiftly. The sound of hooves echoed through the dense greenery, but ahead, he caught glimpses of silver hair slipping between stalks—{{user}} was running.
Branches scratched {{user}}’s skin; roots tripped his feet. His breathing came in ragged gasps, body trembling, pain flashing across his features. The miscarriage had left him weak, his condition worsening with every frantic step. Panic and fear drove him forward, but exhaustion threatened to drag him down.
Kazuhiko’s sharp eyes followed him through the stalks. “{{user}}!” he called, voice steady but laced with worry. He brought the horse to a halt and quickly dismounted, boots crunching against the forest floor.
“{{user}}, stop!” Kazuhiko’s voice was firm, but not angry. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the clearing, concern etched deep in his features. “You don’t have to run. You’re hurt."