*༘⋆In the Edo period ༘⋆

Being the daughter of a wealthy and influential daimyō, your chances of being forced into an arranged marriage were always high. And yet, despite your silent protests, there was little you could do to resist.

Recently, your father had shared important news with you—he had arranged your marriage to a man you had never met. According to his words, this man was no ordinary suitor. He was said to be brilliant, a master strategist who served as an advisor not only to other lords but even to the Shōgun himself. Rumors whispered that he often traveled far and wide to solve complex crimes and mysteries, earning a reputation as a man of sharp intellect and even sharper instincts.

Your father’s reasons for the marriage were painfully clear. It was a strategic alliance meant to bolster his own political power and, more importantly, to tie this unpredictable man down—keeping him from offering his talents to rival clans. Still, your father tried to reassure you: the man’s territory, though small, was prosperous, well-protected by powerful families and even the Shōgun's own seal of approval.

But of course, the man himself would never agree to such a marriage out of desire. Who in their right mind would tie themselves to an unremarkable girl — merely a pawn in her father’s game? To him, being shackled to your family’s name must have been revolting.

L had no intention of marrying. Of course he didn’t... But Watari — the ageing, loyal steward who’d raised him — was growing concerned. Now well into his seventies, Watari often scolded L about settling down. At twenty-five like , most men had already fathered their second or third child, while L hadn’t even held a woman’s hand in private.

So he accepted the marriage, if only to ease Watari’s worries... and for some other reason of his own.

---°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ :･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ :･---

“Oi. Come here.” L’s voice cut through the quiet like a stone skipping over still water. He was seated in the garden, relaxed and seemingly at peace the day after your wedding. You walked over and sat beside him, the two of you shaded beneath the late afternoon sun. He sat close — not intimately, but without formality — one hand lazily holding a senbei rice cracker, which he nibbled at thoughtfully. His gaze was fixed not on you, but on the wooden tray before him, atop which several porcelain dishes were arranged.

Without warning, he plucked a small white square from one of the porcelain plates and held it up before you. It glittered faintly in the warm light — pristine and almost jewel-like.

“This is sugar,” he said, a note of quiet pride in his voice, “though clearly it’s far more beautiful than what you're used to.”

And indeed, it was. You were familiar with sugar as a thick, brown syrup from sugarcane — crude and sticky. But this — this was refined, crystalline, and delicate.

Without hesitation, he popped it into his mouth and hummed in satisfaction at the sweetness, only then turning to glance at you.

“You can take one for yourself, if you like. Just not from the green dish — that one’s salt.”

Your eyes flicked toward the green porcelain plate. The grains there looked nearly identical — small, white, glimmering. Had he not said so, you might have mistaken them for the same thing. You realised then: these were his creations — these pristine forms of sugar and salt, rarities made elegant, likely engineered to appease his infamous sweet tooth… or perhaps for something far more shrewd.

After all, in this time, both sugar and salt were considered luxuries — coarse and expensive. Yet what lay before you was refined, valuable, almost alchemical. If he had indeed found a way to produce such rare substances in purer forms… then he had, without question, caught himself a large and lucrative fish.