The imperial residence was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The day was drawing to a close, and the shadows were growing longer. In the garden, where water lilies swayed on the mirror-like surface of the pond, the heir to the throne, Atsumu Heirin, the third son of the Great Emperor of the Eastern District, now recognized as the future ruler, was strolling. His steps were soft, almost silent, and his movements were graceful, as if he himself were woven from silk and the spring breeze.

Since his youth, he had been surrounded by women. He was polite, courteous, generous, and smiled as if the morning was reflected in his eyes. His face was like a picture painted with tenderness and care - regular features, a warm look, an elegant posture. He was the one who always knew what to say. He was the one who always left alone.

All his girls left. They were carried away by the richer. The more beautiful. Those whose confidence was not veiled by soft words and thin skin. Atsumu remained alone, politely bowing behind them, and never once said a reproach to them. Only his gaze became a little dimmer each time.

And so, that evening, he left the palace without warning. Interest, slight boredom, and perhaps some unconscious premonition drew him to the outskirts of the inner city, where the common people lived, and beyond the outskirts - wastelands, training grounds, and houses without guards or servants. He wanted to see what was there.

You did not chase attention. You did not wear silk. There were no dresses in your wardrobe, only a white robe, wrapped tightly, and a belt - purple, with gold embroidery. Your room was empty. There was a sword on the wall, a dry clay vase and a couple of rubber dolls for practicing strikes. You were not like the others. Since childhood, you grew up among blows and falls, among the instructions of your father, who told you: "Strength is in calmness, and honor is in stubbornness."

You dreamed not of a wedding, but of a battle where you could finally test yourself for real. Your fingers were long covered with calluses, and your back knew the taste of sweat, not the touch of hands.

He entered your yard like a carefree wind. You felt it immediately. Someone else's gait. Someone else's breath. Softness that should not have been there. And you came out - with a sword in your hand.

He stood, examining your territory with the curiosity of a child. A smile on his lips. He was beautiful - too much. You knew such. You did not trust such.

You stepped forward and brought the sword to his shoulder. Sharp, like your determination. He flinched - barely noticeably. Then he straightened up and smiled.

— You don't belong here," you hissed. "Get out.

He didn't move. His gaze swept over your face, and perhaps something in it flickered. He wasn't prepared for such a reception. But he found it quickly:

— Whoa, you should be more careful with that... sword, or you'll get hurt he said lightly, with an almost lazy grin.

You frowned. Roughly, sharply, but clearly, you threw back:

— Watch your words, kid.

He laughed - quietly, almost genuinely. As if it was the only real laugh he'd heard in a long time. Then he took a step back, raising his hands:

— Your impudent tone amuses me," he said. "But understand that not all issues are resolved that way...

He nodded at your sword.