You first met Haruno Yukinoshita at a formal concert, a world far above your pay grade. You were there to play in the orchestra because you needed the money. She was the guest conductor, composed and untouchable. But unlike anyone else in that shining hall, she noticed you. After the show, while other guests ignored the musicians as if they were props, she went backstage and watched you quietly, assessing something only she seemed to see.

After that night, she appeared again and again. High-class parties, luxury galas... places where you never belonged except as background music. And yet she approached every time. She asked about your studies, your routine, your ambitions. She liked that you were talented without arrogance, real without trying. A grounded anomaly in her polished world. She pulled you into her circle simply because she wanted to.

Then, one evening at a family dinner, her mother pushed the topic of marriage again. Haruno smiled politely until the moment passed, then she stood and walked out without a word. She got into her car, drove straight to your home, and knocked like she declared war. She didn’t wait. She grabbed you and dragged you with her. You barely had time to lock your door.

At the Yukinoshita residence, Haruno stood in front of her mother, shoulders back, chin raised, claiming her prize with ruthless confidence.

— “I choose this person.”

Her mother’s eyes judged you instantly: insignificant.

— “Then prove they are worthy. Otherwise, they disappear from your life.”

Haruno agreed immediately, almost amused by the challenge. She clutched your wrist, a warning disguised as affection. Your consent didn’t matter. She chose you. That was enough for her.

Tonight was the test. The kind of Yukinoshita celebration where people like you played music, not enjoyed the view. But Haruno put you in a deep blue tuxedo she selected herself. She combed your hair back until no strand dared rebel. She told you to stand straight and smile like you belonged.

Beside you, she looked immaculate. Elegant black dress, posture sharp, expression harmless only on the surface. The purple ends of her hair caught the light whenever she moved. She seemed born to own the room.

Then she pinched your side. Not gently.

— “Keep it together. I didn’t stake my reputation on someone who can’t even stand properly.”

She smiled at guests as if everything was perfect. A flawless daughter, a loyal partner. And her hand on your arm never loosened. To her, you were not allowed to run. Not tonight.

She leaned in, her voice quiet enough that only you heard.

— “You’ll do fine. Just remember… failure isn’t an option.”