Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The flight from London to Tokyo felt longer than usual.

Not because of the hours — but because of the weight Karin Kurosaki carried in her chest.

She stared out the window as the city lights below began to blur into familiar shapes. It had been years since she left. Now she was coming back to a home that felt… nothing like home anymore.

⸻

At the arrival gate, she spotted two familiar figures.
Yuzu — her fraternal twin with a softer smile — waved eagerly, eyes already glassy with unshed tears.
Next to her, Hanakari Jinta looked awkward in a formal shirt, fidgeting with his sleeves.

“Karin!” Yuzu ran up and threw her arms around her.

Karin stood stiffly for half a second — and then hugged her back.
Tightly.
A little too tightly.

“It’s been four years,” Yuzu whispered into her shoulder. “Don’t ever disappear that long again.”

“I didn’t disappear,” Karin muttered, blinking fast. “I went to study.”

“Same thing,” Yuzu sniffed, pulling back to beam at her. “You weren’t there for our birthday. Three years in a row.”

“I sent gifts!”

“Not the same!”

Karin laughed under her breath — soft and worn.
God, she missed this.
This noise. This warmth.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” she said, stepping back to get a better look.

Yuzu just laughed, waving a hand. “Wedding stress. You’ll see soon enough.”

Karin raised an eyebrow. “Not if I can help it.”

Jinta gave her a small nod. “Welcome home.”

Karin looked at them both. Something about the way they stood close — too close — made her pause.
But she shook the thought away.

She had no idea, not yet,
that this wedding was never meant to happen.

⸻

On the drive home, Yuzu reached into her bag and pulled out a cream-colored envelope — sealed with an elegant gold monogram.

“It’s not printed yet,” she said gently. “You’re the first one I’m showing this to.”

Karin took it without a word.

The invitation was weighty, embossed in fine silver letters.

Hitsugaya Toushirou & Kurosaki Yuzu.

Her breath caught slightly.

Hitsugaya.

The name rang a bell — but faintly. She’d seen it before, somewhere.
An old article. A business magazine. A quiet but powerful name in the corporate world.
“Brilliant. Composed. Calculated.”
That was the impression the writer gave.

But that didn’t match Yuzu.

Karin frowned slightly.

She remembered Yuzu had met him — once or twice — but she never talked much about him. Just said it was arranged through the families.
Karin had assumed the man must be quiet. Gentle. Someone with a soft kind of warmth like Yuzu always gravitated toward.

And yet…

There was something uneasy about the silence in Yuzu’s voice every time his name came up.

Something that didn’t feel like love.

What kind of man agrees to marry someone like Yuzu…
and never even bothers to speak to her sister?

Karin stared at the card again — thick, expensive, cold in her fingers.

The name meant nothing to her.

But the feeling it gave her —
that quiet, sinking dread —

That… meant everything.

⸻

She turned her eyes back to the window, Tokyo blinking past in streaks of city light and distant memory.

She didn’t know him.
But soon, she would learn —

And she would regret ever thinking she had a choice.

Chapter Text

It started with the door.

Yuzu’s room had always been slightly open.
She liked hearing the sound of the house — the creak of old stairs, the distant murmur of their father singing off-key, Karin’s annoyed grumbles from the kitchen.
It made her feel less alone.

When they were little, Karin used to tease her about ghosts.

“You better not shut your door too tight, Yuzu,” she’d whisper dramatically. “That’s how the ghost girls get in.”

Yuzu, wide-eyed and gullible, started sleeping with her door cracked open — just a sliver of light — and over time, it became habit.

Now the door was shut.
All the time.

Karin stood outside one evening, tray of tea balanced in her hands, fingers brushing the edge of the wooden frame.

“Yuzu?” she called softly.

A pause.

Then, muffled: “I’m fine.”

But her voice wasn’t.

Karin didn’t move.
Didn’t knock again.
Just stared at the closed door, the silence leaking through the crack beneath it like something heavy and unspoken.

⸻

Over dinner, Karin glanced between her brother and her father.

Ichigo looked tired — more so than usual.
Isshin tried to laugh, to fill the room with forced brightness, but even his jokes felt too loud in a house that had forgotten how to be warm.

“She’s been in her room all day,” Karin said carefully, scooping rice onto her plate. “Has she… said anything to either of you?”

Ichigo shrugged without looking up. “She’s probably just nervous. It’s a big deal.”

Isshin nodded a little too fast. “All brides get like this! You know your sister — she overthinks everything.”

Then he smiled at Karin — that teasing, overprotective dad smile.

“When it’s your turn, you’ll be the same,” he said, chuckling. “Mark my words — strong or not, every bride gets a little shaky.”

Karin didn’t laugh.

There was a kind of silence that didn’t feel like peace.

This one felt like a goodbye that hadn’t been said out loud.

⸻

Two days later.

Karin sat across from Hanakari Jinta at a quiet café tucked between office towers.
It was strange seeing him like this — in a collared shirt, tie loose at the throat, his sleeves rolled up but stiff with discomfort.
They’d known each other since they were kids. Through Ichigo. Through chaos.

Now, somehow… she and Jinta were engaged.
Not because they fell in love. Not because they dreamed of it.
But because someone — somewhere — decided their names sounded stronger together.

A union that would “stabilize ties between both families,” her father said.
A match that would “protect the Kurosaki future.”
A convenient rearrangement of people’s lives, signed with calligraphy and sealed with silence.

She stirred her iced coffee absently, watching the condensation drip down the side of the glass.

“Have you noticed anything weird with Yuzu lately?”

Jinta looked up slowly. His gaze was unreadable — a little too steady for her liking.

“She’s… quiet,” he said.

Karin raised an eyebrow. “Quieter than usual?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Maybe the wedding’s too fast,” he added finally.

Karin tilted her head. “You think she’s not ready?”

Jinta’s eyes flicked away, toward the street outside. “I don’t know.”

Karin hesitated. Then, softly, “Do you know what kind of man he is?”

Jinta blinked. “Hitsugaya Toushirou?”

Karin nodded.

“I mean… Yuzu met him, but she never talked much about him. I just…” She exhaled. “I’m trying to understand.”

Jinta paused, then shrugged. “He’s… hard to read. Reserved. Quiet. Smart.”

Karin waited. “Do you think Yuzu likes him?”

This time, he didn’t even try to answer.
Just looked away.

And that silence told her more than words ever could.

⸻

As they walked back toward the station, Karin tried to lighten the mood.

“My dad always said arranged marriages make strong alliances.”

Jinta gave a small, distracted smile. “Yeah. That’s what they always say.”

She didn’t know why the words stung more than they should.

⸻

What Karin didn’t know —
was that behind every silence she walked through,
someone else was already breaking inside.

Chapter Text

Karin was buttoning her shirt after a warm shower when a soft knock came at her door.

“Come in,” she called, fingers still at her collar.

The door creaked open gently. Yuzu stepped in — quiet, almost hesitant.

“Sorry for disturbing you so early…” Yuzu said softly.

Karin turned slightly, surprised. “You’re not disturbing anything. What’s wrong?”

Yuzu stood with her hands folded in front of her, head slightly down. She offered a small smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Still there — soft, like it always was — but thinner. Fragile.

“Will you come with me today?” Yuzu’s voice was barely a whisper at the doorway.

Karin blinked once from where she stood.
She hadn’t expected to see Yuzu like this again so soon.

So close… and yet somehow, still so far.

“The fitting?” she asked.

Yuzu gave the slightest nod.

“Alright,” Karin replied gently.

But when Yuzu looked at her — just for a moment — there was something in her gaze that Karin couldn’t read.

Then she turned around. And just like that, the door clicked softly shut.

⸻

Karin thought maybe their father would drive them. Or Ichigo, who hadn’t said much since she got home.

So she threw on something casual — a white short-sleeved T-shirt with soft blue stripes and a pair of denim shorts that ended mid-thigh.

If she had known who was coming to pick them up, maybe she would’ve dressed more modestly.

Because when the doorbell rang, and she stepped outside —

He was there.

Hitsugaya Toushirou.

No longer just a name printed on an invitation card.

He was real.

Tall. Composed. A presence that didn’t need announcing. Dressed like he belonged on the cover of some high-end business magazine.

Crisp white shirt. Dark grey vest. Polished shoes that caught the sunlight. A luxury watch on his wrist — understated, but unmistakably expensive. And an air of quiet authority that seemed to hum around him.

His white hair was styled neatly — combed into place, likely with pomade.
His eyes — a rare shade of teal green — were sharper in person.
Observant. Precise. Like they could see right through you.
Sharp enough to cut through silence.

Karin had seen his photos in magazines — articles about his company, his discipline, his accolades.

But nothing prepared her for how intense he felt in person.
Something about him radiated control — poised, unreadable.

Still, she gathered herself and stepped forward.

“I’m Kurosaki Karin,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Yuzu’s twin. You must be her fiancé. I’m sorry I couldn’t attend your engagement. I was still in London — final exams.”

She expected a polite reply.

Instead, he simply said, “Hitsugaya.”

That was it?

His eyes flicked briefly from Karin to Yuzu, then down to his watch.

He didn’t seem angry. Just… efficient. Like every second mattered.

“Let’s go,” he said evenly.

Yuzu walked silently to the front seat.

Karin hesitated, then slipped into the back.

She caught Toushirou adjusting the rearview mirror — just enough to see her reflection — before turning ahead again, back to the road.

No smile.
No warmth.
Not even a simple greeting.

And this was the man Yuzu was going to marry.

⸻

The car was too quiet.

Yuzu stared out the window, fingers resting gently in her lap.
Every now and then, she glanced at her phone, typing something.
Karin wondered if she was texting a friend.

Toushirou drove with one hand, gaze fixed straight ahead — as if this was just another item on his schedule.

No music.
No small talk.

Only the steady hum of the tires — and something unspoken pressing down on all of them.

Karin felt the silence tightening around her ribs.
Stifling.

She picked up her phone and typed:

“On the way to the fitting. Something feels… off. Yuzu’s quiet. Too quiet.”

She hovered for a second, then hit send — to Jinta.

No reply.

Just last seen recently before his status went offline.

Karin exhaled slowly.

Even a corny radio jingle would’ve been better than this kind of silence.

⸻

They arrived at a boutique so polished it looked like it had been lifted out of a fashion spread.

Glass doors. Gold-plated handles. No visible price tags — which said more than any sign could.

Of course he drove a luxury car. Of course he brought them to a boutique like this. Karin supposed that for a man like him, spending this much wasn’t even something to think twice about — not when it came to his bride-to-be.

Toushirou turned off the engine.

“We’ve arrived,” he said plainly.

Yuzu stepped out without a word.

Karin followed slowly, the wind brushing her legs as she closed the car door.

Toushirou walked ahead and held the boutique door open.

Still no words. Still no acknowledgment.

He wasn’t rude.
He wasn’t cruel.

But he was distant. Unreadable.
Like he’d been built behind glass no one could reach.

Karin stepped into the cool, air-conditioned quiet of the boutique.

She — who had already walked through so many days of silence in her own home — suddenly felt something coil tightly in her chest.

Not fear.
Not yet.

But a deep, quiet dread, unsettling sense:

That something was wrong.
And somehow…
everyone else already knew.

And they were all pretending it wasn’t.
And that — more than anything — made her blood run cold.

Chapter Text

The boutique was quiet.

Velvet chairs. Gold-trimmed mirrors. Soft classical music playing in the background. It smelled like roses and polished wood — expensive, like everything else here.

Karin sat on one of the cushioned benches just outside the fitting area, her fingers brushing against the edge of the seat. She glanced around. Crystal lighting. Mannequins draped in silks. Staff in black blazers with tablets in hand, moving with quiet, rehearsed efficiency.

She didn’t belong here.

Karin shifted slightly, her sneakers quiet against the marble floor. The hem of her denim shorts brushed her thigh — casual, misplaced. Even the air here felt different. Filtered. Controlled. Like the kind of place that didn’t breathe unless it was told to.

Two staff lingered near the hallway, whispering.

“That’s the Hitsugaya fiancée?”

“Mmm. Her family’s name isn’t small either. But this… they say it’s a strategic match. The Hitsugayas don’t do anything without reason…”

“Well, of course. They’re one of the oldest names in Tokyo. The bride’s family is respectable, too.”

Karin lowered her gaze. Pretended not to hear.
Told herself it didn’t matter.

But the word strategic sank into her like lead.

Her throat tightened. The staff were supposed to be working — focused, respectful. But all their attention was on one man.

Hitsugaya Toushirou.

Her eyes flicked toward Toushirou — seated across the room on a plush, cream sofa. He was scrolling his phone. Legs crossed. Calm. Distant.

No expression.
Not even a single glance her way.
He hadn’t acknowledged her once since they arrived.

Is he ignoring me? Or is he just always like this?

She pressed lightly on her own knee, trying not to fidget. Trying not to care — or more precisely, trying not to feel so awkward.

⸻

The curtain shifted.

Yuzu stepped out in a delicate white gown — soft lace sleeves, a neckline that flowed like water, and a hem that kissed the floor like petals.

The kind of dress little girls dream of.

Karin smiled, genuinely. “Yuzu, you look beautiful.”

And she meant it. She wasn’t pretending — Yuzu really did look beautiful. Her shoulder-length blonde hair matched the gown perfectly.

Yuzu offered a faint smile. “Thanks.”

Toushirou looked up for exactly one second.

“Yeah,” he said.

Then returned to his phone.

Back to whatever corporate world he might’ve drifted off to.

That’s it?

Karin kept watching him. He sat there as if this moment — this dress, this day — meant nothing at all.

There was no nervousness. No excitement. No expression.

Does he even care? If he came here only to focus on work, then why bother showing up at all?

Or maybe… he’d just been trained too well to show anything at all.

She blinked. “You could at least say she looks stunning.”

No response.

Not even a shift in his brow. Just the cold glow of his screen lighting up his face.

Can’t he be a little more… polite? Just for today?

⸻

Trying to break the tension, she leaned back slightly. “You two must be nervous, huh? I mean… wedding coming up. Not talking much. Is that what pre-wedding nerves look like?”

They answered at the same time.

“Yes,” said Yuzu.

“Not really,” said Toushirou.

The silence that followed was louder than any argument.

They looked at each other — not warmly, not angrily — just like two people reading different lines from the same play.

Karin watched them carefully.

Did they fight? Are they even in love?

Or is this just… obligation?

Yuzu mumbled something about trying another dress and disappeared behind the curtain again, too quickly for Karin to stop her.

And then there were two.

Just Karin and Toushirou.

He didn’t lift his gaze. Still scrolling. Still silent.

Karin exhaled slowly.

And for the first time since she returned to Japan…

She wished she hadn’t asked to be part of this moment.

——

Karin hated silence.

She had always been the loud one between the two of them — the outspoken twin, the one who filled quiet rooms with laughter or noise.

But this silence…

This silence felt like it could crush her.

And if it stayed too long,

She was afraid it might kill something inside her.

——

Behind the curtain, Yuzu stood still.

The next gown hung beside her — untouched.
But she didn’t move toward it.

Instead, she stared at the mirror.

The dress fit perfectly. But the reflection didn’t.

She stared at the woman in lace — pale, quiet, small.

And for a long, long moment…
she didn’t recognise herself.

Not because of the gown — but because of the silence inside her.
Because of how wrong everything felt.
Because somewhere between promises and arrangements, she had lost the right to want anything at all.

Still, she smiled.
Because someone out there was watching.
Because pretending was easier than explaining.

And because this, too, was something she had agreed to.

Chapter Text

The dressing room curtain slid shut behind Yuzu with a faint whisper.

Silence returned to the boutique — colder now. Like the air itself had shifted. Like the walls were listening.

Karin crossed one leg over the other. Her fingers curled slightly against the denim fabric of her jeans. Tension gathered behind her ribs, pressing tight.

Then, softly — her voice steady, but sharp — she asked,
“Do you love her?”

Toushirou finally looked up. His expression unreadable, as though he hadn’t heard anything surprising.
“It’s not necessary.”

Karin blinked.
Not necessary?

She knew she’d asked too bluntly — but still, she had hoped for something more. Something better.
Even a vague “I’ll try” would’ve meant something.
But this?

She didn’t understand him.
The man who was going to marry her sister.
How was Yuzu supposed to live with someone like this?

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, voice low but biting.

His gaze remained calm, eyes fixed on her like he was reading a number on a document. Cold. Calculated.

He studied her — the sharpness in her voice, the fire in her stare, the way her shoulders squared up when she was irritated.
She didn’t move like Yuzu. Didn’t speak like Yuzu.
If no one had told him, he wouldn’t have guessed they were sisters. Let alone twins.

“Is there a problem, Miss Kurosaki?”

The way he said it — formal, sterile — made something twist in her stomach.

“Yes,” she snapped.
“You’re her fiancé. The least you could do is tell her she looked beautiful.”

He didn’t blink.

“And you expect what from me?” he asked.
“A romantic sonnet?”

Karin leaned forward slightly. The heat in her chest had reached her eyes.

“I expect basic human decency. She’s marrying you, for God’s sake.”

He stood up — slowly, deliberately — like not a single word she said rattled him.

And when he did, Karin realized…
He was taller than she thought.
Calm in a way that was almost terrifying.

“This is an arranged marriage, Miss Kurosaki.
I didn’t ask for flowers and violin music.
And if your father hadn’t begged my grandmother,
I wouldn’t be in this situation at all.”

Karin froze.
Begged?

Her chest tightened. Her father — the man she looked up to, who always spoke about strength and dignity — begged?

She didn’t want to believe it.
But the word sank in slowly — like a crack forming beneath the surface.

“Begged?”

Her voice cracked.
“My father would never—”

Toushirou tilted his head, voice dropping lower.
“You don’t know?
Maybe you should ask him.”
A pause.
Then, with a flicker of something darker in his tone:
“Or maybe… you’d like to replace your sister instead?”
Another pause.
“Your family seems like the type who wouldn’t hesitate to trade a daughter’s happiness… for financial security.”

The words hit harder than a slap.

Karin’s blood boiled.
Did he really think her family was the kind to sell happiness for money?
Did he just question her father’s honour? Their dignity? Her sister’s worth?

She stood abruptly. Her hand lifted — an instinct more than a decision — to slap him.

But he caught her wrist mid-air. Effortlessly. Like he saw it coming.

Her breath caught.
“Let go.”

He didn’t move at first. Just stared at her — not with anger.
But something worse.
A quiet, unreadable stillness. Like he was searching her face for something even he couldn’t name.

Then slowly… he released her.

Karin stumbled one step back, rubbing her wrist where his fingers had held her.
Her heart was pounding.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

And she meant it.

Toushirou didn’t reply.

He just stood there —
calm, immovable —
with eyes that held storms Karin wasn’t ready to name.

——

Meanwhile — elsewhere in the city.

He started at his phone.

The message had come in less than five minutes ago, but he’d read it over and over again, as if the words might change if he blinked long enough.

I’m going to try the wedding dress now.
Tell me to stop.
Tell me this isn’t what you want.
Do you really not love me anymore?

He sat at his desk, the soft hum of the office around him growing dull in his ears.

The screen stayed bright in his hand.

He didn’t type a reply.
He didn’t close the message either.

Instead, he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling like the answer might fall from it — clean, easy, painless.

It didn’t.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, the city pulsed with life — cars, trains, meetings, ambition. But none of it reached him. His fingers hovered over the keyboard of his laptop, but nothing moved. Not the cursor. Not his thoughts.

Everything was stuck — like the breath he hadn’t released since reading that message.

He rubbed the space between his brows, once, then again — as if trying to wipe away the ache forming there.

She was waiting for an answer.

But what was he supposed to say?

Yes?
Stop everything?
Break the deal that kept both their families intact?

The weight in his chest grew heavier. It pressed down like it wanted him to break.

His phone buzzed again — a message from a junior asking about the upcoming proposal draft.

He couldn’t answer that either.

Not when the only question ringing in his head was one he had no courage to face:

Am I really letting her go?

Chapter Text

Neither of them moved.

Karin’s hand was still wrapped around her wrist, Toushirou’s arm lowered now at his side.

Their eyes stayed locked.

It wasn’t affection.
It wasn’t softness.
It was a silent warning.

Like two people daring each other to look away first — not out of pride, but because stepping back meant surrender. Like a line drawn in glass between them — cold, clear, and sharp.

A line that said:
Don’t cross me again. Don’t test me.

Then—

“What are you two doing?”

Yuzu’s voice cut through the tension like glass shattering on marble.

She stood at the edge of the dressing area, fully dressed again in her casual outfit — no gown, no veil, just her. Her eyes flicked between the two of them, a faint furrow between her brows.

Karin flinched. Her gaze jerked to Yuzu, then back to Toushirou.

They had been standing too close.
Far too close.

And now Yuzu was looking at them — confusion flickering across her face, like a light dimming and flaring again.

Karin, think. Say something. Say anything before Yuzu starts to see too much. Before she starts to think something happened.

She could almost hear the seconds ticking — louder than her heartbeat.

Her mind scrambled for an answer — anything that would restore the space between them.

Maybe she could say she was falling? That was the first thing that came to her.

But falling from what?
From thin air?
From the weight of a silence that had gone too far?

“I got a little dizzy for a second,” Karin said quickly. “He caught me before I stumbled.”

Even as she said it, she felt the heat rise in her neck. It sounded weak. Forced.

And at the same time, she caught the faint curve at the edge of his mouth — not a smile, but something sharper. Almost like he was mocking her.

Jerk.
Blood rushed to her ears.

Yuzu tilted her head slightly. She didn’t look angry.
Just… tired.

The kind of tired that didn’t come from physical strain, but from holding too much inside for too long.

Karin’s heartbeat thudded behind her ribs.

Please buy it, Yuzu. Don’t ask more. Don’t see more.

Then she noticed it —

Yuzu was no longer in her gown. No makeup. Hair pinned loosely.
Didn’t she say she wanted to try on a second dress?

“You’re done?” Karin asked, trying to sound light. “You picked a dress already?”

Yuzu looked away. “I’ll go with the first one,” she said flatly.
“It doesn’t really matter. They all look the same on me.”

Karin’s smile faded.

Something tightened in her chest.
And the worst part was — she didn’t know if it was guilt… or instinct.

Because this wasn’t the Yuzu she knew.

Yuzu would twirl in front of mirrors, debating between cuts and sleeves.
Yuzu could spend hours comparing tiny differences.
Yuzu once dragged her through five boutiques in one weekend — just to choose the perfect shade of ivory.

This girl standing here?
She looked dimmed. Faded.

Yuzu wouldn’t say her wedding dress didn’t matter. Wouldn’t treat it like a small thing.

And that frightened Karin more than she could say.
Like the bright parts of Yuzu were slipping away.

I need to talk to her. Soon. Alone.

Karin stepped away from Toushirou and reached for her purse — biting back the urge to scream at how he just stood there.
Unmoved. Unbothered.
As if the shame of being caught standing too close was hers alone to carry.
Hers to explain.
He didn’t even offer her space. Not even the decency of stepping back.
Like he wanted her to wear the weight of it — alone.

“Well,” Karin said, stepping back with her purse clutched in one hand, “if we’re done… do you wanna head home? Or maybe stop somewhere on the way?”

But before she could move, Yuzu gently caught her wrist.

“Weren’t you going to try on the bridesmaid dress?”

Karin blinked.
“I said that?”

“Didn’t you?” Yuzu’s voice was soft, her gaze almost pleading.
“You said you’d try it here. Just once.”

Karin hesitated.

She hadn’t said anything about trying it today. Sure, she agreed to be her bridesmaid — but not to do this.
Not here.
Not in front of him.

Her throat felt tight.

This boutique — with its filtered air and silken walls — was starting to close in around her.
Like every second she spent here dragged her deeper into a story she hadn’t agreed to be part of.

The walls were lined with more than just wedding gowns — along one side, there were racks of elegant pastel dresses labeled bridesmaid options. Same fabric quality. Same polished hangers. All curated to match the bride’s selection.

Of course they offered everything in one place.

Of course it was the kind of boutique where even the silence felt expensive.

“Can’t we do it another time?” she asked. “Maybe… at a different boutique?”

She felt warm. Suffocated. Her fingers tightened at her sides.

“I just…”
But the sentence died before it formed.

“Come on…” Yuzu’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “Please?”

Then—

“Try it.”

The voice that sliced through the air didn’t belong to Yuzu.

It was deeper. Firmer. Final.

It was his.

Karin turned to face him.

Toushirou’s gaze was still. Cool. Unblinking.

“Yuzu wants to see it,” he said. “So just give it a try.”

He wasn’t angry.
But he wasn’t kind either.

There was no warmth in his tone. No softness in his posture.

Only finality.
Only command.

The kind of voice that ended conversations before they could begin.

Karin looked back at Yuzu, whose eyes still held that hopeful glimmer.

Her heart screamed: Say no. Just walk away. You don’t owe them anything.

But her feet betrayed her.
And her voice betrayed her even more.

“…Fine,” she muttered. “One dress.”

And as she walked toward the changing room, something inside her shifted.

I hate this. I hate him.
So why am I walking toward the changing room?

She told herself it was just a favor.
Just a dress.
Just to make Yuzu happy.
Just a small hope to make her smile.

Not the start of something…
she wouldn’t be able to take off.

—

The curtain fell shut behind Karin with a soft sweep.

Silence returned.

But it wasn’t the same kind of silence as before — this one was heavier. Sinking.

Yuzu stood there, her eyes still on the space where her sister had disappeared.

Then, slowly, her gaze shifted — reluctantly — toward the man standing a few feet away.

Toushirou hadn’t moved.

And Yuzu quickly looked away, like the weight of meeting his eyes would’ve been too much.
She’d been avoiding his gaze — not just today, but for weeks.

She refused to truly look at him.

Because if she did, she might have to say something.
And if she said something… she might have to admit the truth.

She didn’t want this.

Not any of it.

Not the silence that wrapped around them every time they were alone.
Not the cold, formal way he stood.
Not the way her heart never once fluttered in his presence.

She wanted to be in love.
Not trapped in a deal signed behind closed doors.
Not frozen beside a man who never asked if she even wanted this.

And the worst part?

He never forced her.

But he didn’t stop it either.

He just… existed. Quiet. Distant. Unmoving.

And his presence alone was enough to make her feel like she was failing.

Failing to say no.
Failing to speak up.
Failing to stop something that should’ve never begun.

Yuzu’s hands curled into the fabric of her skirt.

She hated herself for this. For standing there. For not walking out.

She hated the way the quiet wrapped around her, slicing deeper than any raised voice.

This wasn’t what she wanted.

She wanted soft laughter.
She wanted hands that reached for her without hesitation.
She wanted eyes that searched for hers in a crowd —

Like the man she was in love with would.
Like the one who already had her heart.
She had given it away — fully, willingly — and she couldn’t give it to anyone else again.

And this silence?

It stabbed her.

And just when it became too much to bear, Toushirou’s phone buzzed.

He reached into his coat and stepped out of the boutique without a word.

And Yuzu…

Yuzu exhaled so slowly, so shakily, she almost didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath.

Relief washed over her like a wave she wasn’t ready for.

Even if it was just for a moment…
Even if it wouldn’t last…
She was finally — finally — alone.

Chapter Text

Inside the changing room, Karin tugged the curtain shut behind her.

The boutique assistant followed in, arms carefully cradling the lilac dress. “Here you go, miss,” she said gently. “Let me help you with the zipper once you slip it on.”

Karin nodded, muttering a soft thanks, and began undressing.

The space was quiet — too quiet.

No music. No giggles.
No Yuzu’s voice from outside teasing her to hurry up or warning her not to ruin the dress.

As she slipped the gown over her head and adjusted the sleeves, her thoughts drifted.

Yuzu would’ve said something by now.
Something silly. Something sweet.

“You better slay in that dress, okay?”
“Spin around and let me see your fairy transformation!”
“You’re going to look like a sugarplum dream, I swear.”

But there was nothing.

Just the assistant’s careful hands zipping the back, her voice polite and distant.
“It fits well,” she said softly. “Would you like to see yourself?”

Karin turned slowly to face the mirror. The bridesmaid dress really was pretty. Not too tight, not too loud — just soft shimmer against pale lilac.

She should’ve felt something. A thrill. A spark. Even a laugh.

But all she felt was a hollow ache.

She stared at her reflection, but her mind wandered again — to her sister.
The one who used to obsess over the tiniest fabric swatch.
The one who once clung to her arm, begging her to go dress shopping like it was their secret mission.

What happened to her?

When did her smile start coming with pauses?
When did she start shrinking into herself?

Karin’s fingers curled lightly around the hem of the dress.

It wasn’t the gown that was suffocating her.
It was everything else.

She came from the same world as him.
She knew how arranged marriages worked.
She was in one herself — and she and Jinta managed just fine without drama or heartbreak.

So no — she didn’t expect romance. Or fairy tale endings.

But what she did expect was basic decency.

Because sometimes, love wasn’t the issue at all — it was dignity.

And this… this was about the way Yuzu was being treated.

Karin may not say it out loud, but she saw how Yuzu was dimming.
How she no longer twirled in front of mirrors.
How she smiled with hesitation instead of joy.

She wasn’t glowing the way a bride should.

She was dimming. Quietly. Slowly.

And Karin — being Karin — couldn’t stand that.

She didn’t need Toushirou to love Yuzu.
But she expected the man standing beside her sister to at least see her.
To treat her with care. With respect.
To not make her feel like a shadow trailing behind someone she was supposed to walk beside.
To not reduce her to a placeholder in his perfectly planned life.

Because Yuzu was not a placeholder.
Not to Karin.

Not ever.

She loved her sister.
And watching Yuzu fade beside a man who couldn’t even meet her eyes?

That was the part Karin couldn’t forgive.

Because if Toushirou couldn’t offer warmth —
the very least he could give…
was kindness.

——

The boutique lights shimmered against the soft lilac fabric — short, off-shoulder, and dusted with fine glitter — casting a quiet glow along the polished floor. Karin’s hair was slightly tousled from changing, a few strands brushing her cheek as she adjusted the sleeves with fingers that didn’t feel steady.

She didn’t know how long she stood there.
Long enough for the silence to grow roots in her bones.

Then came a soft knock against the wooden frame.

“All done?” the assistant asked gently. “They’re waiting outside.”

Karin exhaled — shallow.
Her fingers gave the hem one last tug, like she was trying to fix something deeper than fabric.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Thanks.”

She stepped out of the fitting room, not expecting much.

What she hoped for — what she really wanted — was a reaction from Yuzu.

A grin.
A gasp.
A playful roll of the eyes.
Some spark of mischief. Some flicker of the sister she knew.

But even that… didn’t come.

——

Toushirou was not there.

Only Yuzu — curled into herself on the velvet seat, her silhouette faintly wilted, her eyes sunken into the glow of her phone screen.
She didn’t even look up.
Didn’t even flinch when the curtain swished open.

She hadn’t noticed Karin was there.
Too deep in whatever world she’d disappeared into.

Karin’s shoulders lowered slightly.
“Where’s your arrogant fiancé?”

Yuzu looked up slowly, as if her mind had been underwater.
“He got a call from the office. Stepped out for a while.”

Karin raised an eyebrow. “He’s always working, huh?”

No reply.

Yuzu’s eyes had drifted again — not to Karin, not to the lilac dress. Just through it. Past it.

No sparkle. No teasing grin.
No soft gasp of approval.
No: “You look amazing!” or “Do a spin, let me see!”

None of the things Yuzu used to give so freely.

Karin frowned. “Hey, Yuzz. You okay?”

Still nothing.

Only the silence, thick as fog. Her eyes still looked far away. Hollow.

She waved a hand in front of her. “Earth to Yuzu?”

Yuzu blinked, and for a moment — just a second — her expression cracked. Surfacing. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you’re okay.”
Karin stepped closer, reaching out instinctively.

Yuzu didn’t move.
Yuzu’s fingers hovered.
Then suddenly, she gripped Karin’s hand like it was the only steady thing left in the world. Her eyes glistened, lips parting as though words were about to tumble out.

“I need to tell you something. I—”

The boutique door swung open.

A voice cut clean through the air — low, clipped, controlled.

“If anything happens, report to my office directly.”

Toushirou.

He stepped in mid-call, polished and precise — suit crisp, eyes unreadable, presence sharp as cold steel.

With practiced ease, he ended the call and slipped his phone into his coat pocket without missing a beat.

Then he stopped.
His eyes landed on Karin.

And stayed there.

Too long.
Longer than he should have.

His stare wasn’t heated.
Wasn’t gentle either.
Just fixed — cool, unreadable. Quietly assessing.

Karin straightened. Her spine stiffened like she’d just stepped into an invisible battle.

She still remembered the way he’d looked at her earlier — cold, calculating, like he’d already sized her up and found her lacking.
She hated that look.
She wasn’t here to be evaluated.

Karin didn’t flinch.
She met his gaze evenly.

Toushirou finally broke the silence.
“Are we done?”

His tone wasn’t rude.
Just… neutral. Flat. Professional.

But something in Yuzu’s face faltered.

Her hand slipped from Karin’s as if it had never been held — too fast — like she was afraid to be seen still reaching for someone else in front of him.

Karin noticed.
The sudden shift in Yuzu’s posture.
The way her breath caught.

She cleared her throat. “Let me change first.”

She didn’t wait for permission.
Didn’t glance back.

Just walked toward the changing room — the hem of her dress brushing against her knees, a rustle of fabric chasing the thunder beneath her ribs - like sparks trailing behind the ache she couldn’t shake.

The waiting room was quiet again.

Yuzu sat with her hands folded tightly on her lap. Still. Small.
Toushirou glanced at his phone. Then at the wall.
Neither of them spoke.

Not even when Karin returned — no longer in lilac, just blue-and-white striped t-shirt and mid-thigh denim shorts, sleeves slightly creased from being folded too long.

Toushirou stood without looking at either of them. “I’m on half day. I’ll send you both home.”

No one argued.

No one thanked him either.

—

The drive was silent.

The kind of silence that crept into your skin and stayed there.

Yuzu stared out the window, unmoving. Karin sat beside her, hands clenched in her lap, wondering when her sister started looking like she was fading.

And Toushirou?

He drove as if none of it touched him.

And Karin…
finally realised
just how loud silence could be.
How much it could say —
without saying anything at all.

——

As soon as they reached home, Yuzu was the first to move.

And before Karin could follow — before she could ask about the words Yuzu had almost said at the boutique — a door clicked shut at the end of the hall.

Then came the soft turn of a lock.

Karin stood still in the entryway.

Her throat tightened.

She turned away slowly.

There were still two people she needed to face.
Her father.
And her brother.

Because if she didn’t —
the silence would keep growing.
Stretching into places it didn’t belong.
Swallowing things she wasn’t ready to lose.
Like Yuzu.

Chapter Text

Karin paced outside her father’s study, bare feet against the polished wood, arms folded tightly across her chest.

The door was closed. Again.

She could hear the low murmur of his voice inside — measured, deliberate. Nothing like the warm, booming tone she remembered before she left for London. Now it was distant. Formal. Tired.

He’d been on that call for nearly an hour even on weekend.

Every few minutes, she considered knocking again.

But the last time she did, she heard only a clipped, “I’m on a call,” followed by silence that somehow felt worse than being scolded.

So she paced.

She needed answers. Not dramatic ones. Not shouting, or tears, or broken trust. Just answers.

The boutique scene replayed in her mind, line by line, like a film she couldn’t pause.

”If your father hadn’t begged my grandmother…”

Begged.

The word curled like a splinter beneath her skin.

Her father wasn’t perfect. But he had dignity.
He raised them on stories of honor. Of standing tall. Of never bowing to anyone — not even in business. The man who told them love was trust, not transaction

And now the idea that he begged? For a marriage? For this?

It didn’t make sense.

Not with what she knew of him.

Unless… there was something she didn’t know.

——

Two days ago.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop — but the hallway had been too quiet, and Yuzu’s voice too soft not to catch.

Karin had stepped out of her room, only to pause when she saw the silhouette at the end of the corridor — Yuzu, leaning against the wall with her phone pressed tightly to her ear, whispering like every word was made of glass.

“I don’t believe you think the past years meant nothing,” Yuzu had whispered. “I can’t take that—”

Then she looked up.

And saw Karin standing there.

The call ended instantly. No goodbyes. Just the quiet snap of a screen going dark, and Yuzu’s shoulders stiffening.

Karin blinked, confused. “Yuzu—”

“I’m busy,” Yuzu said quickly.
And before Karin could say anything else, she had already turned and disappeared into her room.

The door closed.
Locked.

And that was all Karin got.

——

Now, standing outside her father’s study again, Karin felt the ache rising in her throat.

She knocked.

Once.

Twice.

No answer.

She exhaled and turned to walk down the hallway — only to nearly bump into Ichigo.

He was holding a thick folder, pen stuck behind his ear, brows furrowed in that permanent big-brother-scowl.

“Hey, can we talk?” she asked, hopeful.

He didn’t even break stride. “Not now. Busy.”

Just five minutes.

That’s all I need.

But no one had five minutes anymore.

And that was what scared her most.

——

She shut her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it.

For a moment, she just stood there — eyes closed, breath shallow — letting the stillness settle into her bones.

The house was too quiet these days. And somehow, even her room didn’t feel like hers anymore.

She crossed to her desk and picked up her phone.

No new messages.

She opened her call history anyway. Scrolled. Stopped.

Her finger hovered over a name.
Athena.

She could call. She could rant. Athena always had something blunt and useful to say.

But instead, she locked her phone and set it down.

A second later, she picked it back up again — not to call, but to scroll through her photos.

Her thumb paused over one from last summer: Yuzu at the beach, laughing, eyes squinting from the sun. Her hair had been tied up messily, her dress fluttering in the wind.
It was one of the rare weekends Yuzu had flown out to visit her. They’d found a quiet beach just outside the city.
She’d insisted they take matching jump shots — even though Karin absolutely hated doing them.

That Yuzu felt like someone else now.

She swiped to the next photo.
And the next.
And the next.

All of them looked like memories taken from a time that no longer existed.

Eventually, she set the phone down again — screen facing the desk this time, as if turning it away could make everything stop spinning.

Then she grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and headed out the door.

She needed to talk to someone.
And she knew exactly who.

Chapter Text

The café was tucked between two old bookstores, its windows fogged slightly from the heat outside.

Athena was already there — seated by the window, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. She looked like she belonged in a fashion editorial even when she wasn’t trying.

They’d been friends since high school — bonded over a shared hatred for overly cheerful prefects and a mutual talent for calling out bullshit. Athena had always been the loud one in the room, the girl who turned gossip into a full-time sport and called it “field research” for her dream job as a journalist.

Karin was different — sharper in silence, louder only when it counted. She wasn’t quiet out of fear; she just didn’t waste her voice on noise. Maybe that’s why they worked. Athena hunted stories. Karin only spoke when they mattered. Neither of them liked people who talked just to be heard.

And though Yuzu liked Athena too, they were never close the way Karin and Athena were. It was one of those silent understandings — that being a twin didn’t mean sharing everything. Especially not your best friend.

“You’re late,” Athena said without looking up from her phone. “Which means something’s wrong.”

Karin slid into the seat across from her.
A glass of lemon tea was already waiting. Athena had ordered for her — of course she had. She always did, especially when Karin looked like she wouldn’t remember to ask for herself.

“I’m not late,” Karin said.

Athena gave her a glance. “For you, that’s late.”

Karin managed a small smile. “Yuzu’s acting weird.”

Athena set her phone down. “Weird how?”

“She’s… off. Quiet. It’s like she’s going through the motions, but nothing’s clicking. She picked her wedding dress like she was being wheeled into surgery. No spark. No complaints either. Just… nothing.”

Athena sipped her drink. “Maybe she’s thinking about someone else.”

Karin blinked. “What?”

“I mean,” Athena leaned in, “she’s marrying a guy she barely knows, right?”

“Well… yeah. But Yuzu always agreed to this. She said it made sense. That love could grow later.”

Athena raised a brow. “That sounds like something someone says to survive, not something they believe.”

Karin looked down at her glass of lemon tea, stirring the straw without drinking. “She never even said if she liked Hitsugaya.”

“That man?” Athena made a face. “No one does. The guy walks around like he’s auditioning for a remake of Frozen.”

Karin almost choked on her tea laughing. “That’s not fair.”

Athena grinned. “It’s true, though.”

Karin leaned back. “But you said no one likes him. What do you mean by that? I bet plenty of girls would jump at the chance — I mean, with that face alone?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s handsome,” Athena admitted easily. “No doubt. Number one on the eligible husband list. Rich, clean record, sharp jawline — the dream.”

She lifted her cup and smirked over the rim.
“But that’s all before they actually meet him.”

Karin’s eyebrows lifted. “What, seriously?”

Athena nodded. “Even the girls who used to like him backed off. Some after one meeting. Some after weeks. One of my friends from university interned at his company — said she used to have the biggest crush on him. But when she finally had to work under him?”

She gave a dramatic shudder.
“She said she’d rather date a vending machine. Sure, it’s cold — but at least it’s useful. Hitsugaya just stands there and freezes the room.”
She took a slow sip of her iced coffee, perfectly unbothered.

Karin burst out laughing.

Athena laughed too, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “But you’ve met him, haven’t you?”

Karin blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean, you’ve talked to him. Shared air. Witnessed the great Ice King in person.”

Karin rolled her eyes. “Briefly. Sort of.”

“So…” Athena leaned in, curious. “What do you think?”

Karin hesitated. Then stirred her tea, eyes focused on the melting ice.
“I think… he’s cold. Controlled. Like he’s always calculating something behind that silence. It’s like… standing in front of glass that won’t ever show your reflection.”

Athena hummed. “That sounds poetic. And bleak.”

Karin gave a tight smile. “It’s not meant to be poetic.”

Athena didn’t say anything, just watched her — calm, still, waiting.

And maybe that’s what made Karin say the next part.

“I think Yuzu feels the same way,” she murmured.
“She’s quiet. Careful. Like someone trying not to break in front of everyone.”
She paused, stirring her drink without looking up.
“Do you think… she regrets it?”

Athena’s expression softened and said, “I don’t think she even had a say.”

Karin just look at her.
Athena didn’t smile this time. She just stirred her iced coffee once, then let the spoon fall silent.

“She probably didn’t,” she said. “Girls like Yuzu… they grow up learning how to keep peace. Not how to break it.”

Karin glanced down.

“They’re taught to nod, to smile, to think about everyone else’s happiness first — especially in families like ours. Saying no isn’t just difficult. It’s… rebellion.”

Karin glanced down.
“That sounds like her,” she murmured.
“Ever since our mom passed… she’s always tried to hold everything together. Even when it’s not hers to carry.”

Silence crept in again — gentle, but piercing.

Athena leaned forward slightly, her tone softer now.
“Maybe she never said yes, Karin.
Maybe she just didn’t know how to say no.”

And Karin didn’t answer.

Because somewhere inside… she feared Athena was right.

——

“You know,” Athena leaned in, brows raised slightly,
“for someone trying to fix everyone else, you look suspiciously like the one falling apart.”

Karin hesitated.

Athena didn’t press. She just waited — the kind of silence that made it harder to keep things in than to let them out.

Finally, Karin sighed. “I overheard Yuzu on the phone two nights ago. She was whispering… and the second she saw me, she ended the call. No goodbye. Just shut it down like it never happened.”

Athena’s brows lifted, but she didn’t interrupt.

“And at the boutique,” Karin added quietly, “she was about to tell me something. I could feel it. But then Hitsugaya came in, and she just… shut down.”

Athena leaned back, arms crossed. “It’s not really my place to say this. But… I did see her once. With Hanakari.”

Karin blinked. “Jinta?”

Athena nodded. “Yeah. Not in a shady way. Just… close. Comfortable. It caught my attention.”

Karin shook her head. “They probably just bumped into each other. Yuzu’s interning at Urahara’s chocolate facility. Hanakari works there too — with his uncle.”

Athena didn’t argue. But her silence said enough.

“And besides,” Karin added, quieter now, “Jinta’s my fiancé. Yuzu knows that.”

Athena gave her a long look. “Are you sure?”

Karin hesitated — just briefly — then nodded, but her voice softened, almost like she was trying to believe it as she said it.
“He’s not Yuzu’s type. I asked her once… years ago. She described someone different. Someone like our dad.”
She looked away, fingers tightening slightly around her glass.
“She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t do that.”

There was a pause.

Then, without even changing tone, Athena said:

“You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Karin looked up.

Athena’s gaze didn’t waver. “Every girl thinks she knows her type… until she meets the person who changes it.”

Karin didn’t answer. Not right away. Her jaw clenched slightly, but she stayed silent.

Athena’s words echoed louder than the teahouse hum.

It wasn’t just a statement. It was a mirror.

Karin looked down at her drink.

She didn’t nod.

But she didn’t deny it either.

Athena let the silence linger for a beat before saying, gently,
“Maybe it’s time you talked to her. Really talked. No deflecting, no waiting for the right moment.”
She paused.
“Just… lend her your ear. Remind her she’s not alone. You’re twins — if anyone should be there for her, it’s you.”

Karin’s fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
“And if she shuts me out again?”

Athena didn’t hesitate.
“Then you let her know the door’s still open. And you wait by it.”
Her voice softened.
“You don’t have to break in, Karin. Just stay close enough for her to find you when she’s ready.”

Karin exhaled slowly, barely more than a breath.
She nodded once.
“Okay.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t brave.
But it was something.

——

Then Athena’s smile softened.

“But let’s forget Yuzu for a second. Let’s talk about you.”

Karin looked up, slightly caught off guard. “Me?”
As if there was ever anything worth talking about when it came to her.

Athena nodded, a teasing smirk forming. “Yes, you. Let’s talk about you for once.”

Karin blinked. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh really?” Athena arched a brow. “Because I heard someone tried their luck with you in London.”

Karin narrowed her eyes. “Where did you hear that?”

Athena shrugged, casual as ever. “My sources. You know I live for gossip.” She winked.

Karin stared at her, half-gaping. “You’re worse than paparazzi.”

Asano Athena — currently interning at a local publication and chasing columns like a bloodhound on a scent — liked to say, “I am training to become the nation’s most dangerous woman with a notepad.”

Karin let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “There was someone.”

Athena leaned in, curious. “And?”

“I turned him down.”

“Why?”

Karin hesitated. Then shrugged. “I have a fiancé.”

Athena tilted her head, her smile fading. “But you don’t even like Hanakari.”

Karin’s expression shifted. “It was arranged. By my family. I don’t want to disappoint my father. I… believe love can come later.”

Athena didn’t respond right away.

She just studied her — really looked — as if trying to read the spaces between Karin’s words.

Then she said, gently, “I get it. You’re loyal. You’re trying to do what’s right.”

Karin looked down at her drink. “Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

A quiet settled between them — not awkward, but weighted.

Then Athena, unable to help herself, leaned in again with a sly grin.
“But hypothetically… if you weren’t engaged — would you have said yes to that guy in London?”

Karin hesitated, then shook her head.

“No,” she said quietly. “He was nice. But I wasn’t looking for anything.”

She stirred her drink once, slowly. “Even if I wasn’t engaged… I don’t think I would’ve said yes. My heart wasn’t in it.”

Athena gave her a long look, then smirked. “So you gave Mr. Nice Guy the full Kurosaki shutdown?”

Karin rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it sound like I slammed a door in his face.”

Athena grinned. “You? Please. You probably smiled while locking it.”

Karin laughed under her breath — just enough for the tightness in her chest to ease, if only for a moment.

Chapter Text

After catching up with Athena — stories shared between sips of lemon tea and all the things that didn’t fit in a text — Karin felt… lighter.

They talked about everything.
London. Family. Loneliness. The kind of laughter that didn’t need emojis to land.
Even though they’d stayed in touch on Line while she was away, it just wasn’t the same.
Seeing Athena in person, hearing her voice without a screen between them —
it reminded Karin what home used to feel like before everything changed.

So when Karin stepped into the house later that day, she expected quiet —
but not this kind.

It wasn’t peaceful.

It was wrong.

Too quiet.
Too still.

And this time, she felt it in her chest.

She remembered what Athena had told her — don’t wait, just talk to her.
And Karin had promised herself she would.
That she’d find the right time.

But the silence that greeted her made one thing painfully clear:

She couldn’t wait anymore.
Not until everyone in this house went mute before telling her the truth.

She moved past the entryway, down the hall, and straight to Yuzu’s door.
Three knocks.

“Yuzu?”

No answer.

She tried again, a little louder. “Hey. It’s me. You okay?”

Still nothing.

Turning, she spotted Naoko, the housemaid, dusting the hallway table.

“Have you seen Yuzu?”

Naoko paused, lowering her feather duster. “Miss Yuzu left the house this morning.”

Karin frowned. She checked the time. It was already 4 PM.

“And she hasn’t come back?”

Naoko shook her head gently. “Not yet.”

Karin pulled out her phone and tapped Yuzu’s name.
The call didn’t go through.

She stared at the screen — then typed quickly.

Where are you? I need to talk to you.

Message sent.
No reply.

She headed back to her room.

A shower, maybe. Wash off the café air. Wash off the weight sitting on her shoulders.

The water was warm. The pressure steady. But it didn’t settle her nerves.

And even after she stepped out — towel around her shoulders, hair damp, heart quietly twisting —
her phone stayed still.
No buzz. No reply.

By the time the clock hit seven, Yuzu still hadn’t answered.

And deep in her chest…

Karin knew something was wrong.

—

Karin tried not to overthink it — not at first.
Yuzu probably needed air. Or space. Or silence.
Maybe she went out for tea. Or took one of her usual solo walks — the kind she always took when her thoughts got too loud.

So Karin waited.

She waited until dinner.

—

That night, the dinner table was filled with all of Yuzu’s favorite dishes.

Karin had asked the kitchen staff to prepare them —
quietly hoping it might lift her sister’s mood.

But when it was finally time to eat, only three seats were filled.
Her father, Isshin.
Her brother, Ichigo.
And herself.

Yuzu’s chair remained empty.

“Hm?” Isshin glanced up from his bowl. “Where’s your sister?”

“Naoko,” he called out, “please tell Yuzu to come down for dinner.”

The older woman returned minutes later, a touch slower than usual.

“Miss Yuzu still hasn’t come back, sir.”

Karin froze.

“What?” Isshin stood halfway from his seat. “She’s not home?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment — like something was beginning to click.
But before he could say more, Ichigo cut in.

“She’s probably out with her friends. Yuzu’s been coming home late a lot these days.”

Isshin went quiet. Then sat back down.

“Don’t wait for her,” he said flatly. “Let’s eat. That girl’s been acting up lately. Let her.”

He picked up his chopsticks again, his voice firm — final.
“She’ll come home when she wants to.”

Karin stared at him.
She didn’t fully understand what he meant. Not yet.
But something in her chest twisted.

She hesitated. Her appetite had vanished — but when she caught the seriousness in her father’s face, she quietly picked up her own chopsticks.

Even so, every bite felt hard to swallow.

And somehow, the dinner table had never felt colder.

The only sounds were the quiet clicks of chopsticks meeting porcelain. Nothing else.

—

It was almost 11:30 PM.

The house had gone still hours ago.
Lights dimmed. Staff dismissed. Her father had retreated to his study.

But Karin remained in the living room, sitting on the couch with her arms folded tightly across her chest — not because she was cold, but because she was waiting.

She kept glancing at the door.
Every few minutes, she checked her phone again.
Still nothing.

She’d even made tea. Twice.
Not because she wanted any — but because Yuzu liked the scent.

Now, the untouched cup sat quietly on the coffee table. The steam had long faded.

Her thoughts circled like clock hands — around dinner, around the silence in Yuzu’s room, around the matching locket — suddenly heavier than it had ever felt — resting against her neck.

Then came a voice from the stairs.

“You’re still up?”

She turned.
Ichigo, arms crossed, barefoot, already in a T-shirt — tired, but still steady.

Karin blinked. “…Yeah.”

Ichigo descended a few more steps. “Go get some sleep. She’ll be back.”

Karin didn’t move.

And then — like something snapped — her voice broke through the quiet.

“What is wrong with everyone in this house?”

Ichigo paused mid-step.

Karin stood, the weight in her chest finally rising to the surface.

“Why is everyone acting like this is normal?” Her voice was low, but sharp.
“Yuzu didn’t come home. And even when she does, she just locks herself in her room. I haven’t been able to reach her since morning. And no one seems worried!”

She stared at him — eyes wide, shoulders tight, breath trembling.

Ichigo didn’t respond right away. His jaw tensed. But he didn’t look away.

“I’ll call her.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolled to Yuzu’s name, and tapped it.

They both listened.

No connection.
Not off. Not voicemail. Just… nothing.

Ichigo’s face shifted — just a little.

Then he turned. “I’ll check the gate logs.”

Karin stood too. Her voice steadier now, but colder.

“Who has the key to her room?”

Ichigo looked over his shoulder. “Naoko. She usually keeps the spares.”

“I’m going in,” Karin said. “I’m done waiting. If no one else is worried about Yuzu, then I’ll be the one who is.”

Ichigo watched her for a long second — his expression unreadable.

Then he gave a small nod.

“I’ll have Naoko bring it to you.”

—

Karin stood outside Yuzu’s room.

The hallway was dim now, cast in soft golden light from the sconces along the wall.
Everything felt too still. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

Naoko approached quietly, holding out the spare key with both hands — like it was something sacred.

“She’s not the type to lock her door,” she said softly. “But… just in case.”

Karin nodded without a word.

She slipped the key into the lock.
Click.

The door opened.

The room wasn’t cold — but it felt like it had been empty for too long.

Blankets folded. Desk neat.
Not spotless.
Just… careful. Measured. Distant.

Karin stepped inside.

Her eyes scanned the space, searching for something — anything — that might explain why everything felt wrong.

Her gaze moved past the bed. Past the shelves. Then landed on the vanity.

And there it was.

A locket.
Their matching locket.

The one they swore they’d only remove if they couldn’t say what needed to be said out loud.

Karin’s breath caught.

She took another step forward.

And that’s when she saw it.

Just beside Yuzu’s desk — in the small trash bin near the leg of the study table —
a flash of white. Slim. Clinical.
A long plastic shape with a faint pink line still visible on its surface.

It wasn’t hidden.
Wasn’t buried.

Just left there.
Like she didn’t care who found it.
Or maybe… she wanted someone to.

Karin froze.

Her pulse kicked.

She didn’t move toward it. She couldn’t.

Then her eyes returned to the vanity.

Tucked just beneath the edge of the mirror — almost deliberately placed.

A cream-colored envelope.

The handwriting was delicate. Familiar.

’To Daddy.’

Karin stared at it.
Still. Breathless.

Behind her, Naoko let out a soft gasp — covering her mouth with both hands.

Karin turned to her, voice low and steady.

“Please… get my father.”

“Tell him to come. Now.”

Naoko nodded quickly and hurried out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

And then it was just Karin.

Just her. The silence. The letter.
And the locket that should never have been taken off.

Her chest tightened.
The edges of the room blurred — or maybe her vision did.

She’d promised herself she’d talk to Yuzu.
Told Athena she wouldn’t wait anymore.

Was she too late?

The thought slammed into her like a wave.
Did I wait too long? Did I miss it?

Her breath caught. Her throat burned.
Her hands curled into fists, knuckles white, the weight of regret crawling up her spine.

She took one small step back, barely holding herself together.

And the envelope just sat there — quiet, final, waiting to be opened.

——

Somewhere far from home,
a girl sat by a window, watching clouds drift past the wing of a plane.

The world below looked like a painting — soft, distant, untouchable.

She didn’t know if the decision she made was the right one.
Not really.
Maybe she wouldn’t know for a long time.

She glanced at the man beside her — asleep now, his breathing slow after hours of flight.

Without a word, she reached out and gently took his hand.
Her fingers curled around his, holding on.

And then, more to herself than anyone else:

“As long as I have you beside me… I’ll keep telling myself this was the right choice.”

She turned back toward the window.
The sky didn’t answer. The clouds just kept moving.

And somewhere in that quiet — so soft it barely left her lips — she whispered,

“I’m sorry, Karin.”

—

Chapter Text

Isshin stood at the doorway, his frame still — as if the weight of being summoned to his daughter’s room had already told him everything he didn’t want to admit.

Karin didn’t speak at first. She just walked over slowly, holding out the cream envelope. Light and fragile in her hands, but heavy with everything it meant.

“Dad…”

Her voice barely made it past her lips.

Isshin took the letter. His hands trembled.

He looked at her, then at the name written across the envelope — To Daddy.
It was Yuzu’s handwriting.

Then, Isshin sat down on the edge of Yuzu’s bed.
He opened the envelope, pulled out a slightly yellowed sheet of paper, and carefully unfolded

And read.

Karin watched him — every flicker of emotion that crossed his face, every time his eyes lingered too long on a line, every breath that seemed to pause between sentences.

By the end… he didn’t say anything.

The letter slipped from his fingers and landed quietly on the sheets.

Ichigo stepped forward, concern tightening his jaw. “Dad?”

But his father didn’t respond.
He stared straight ahead — not at anyone, not at anything in particular.
Just gazing forward, as if his eyes were stuck somewhere far beyond the room.

Karin couldn’t wait anymore. She picked up the letter. Her voice trembled slightly — but she read it anyway.

⸻

Dear Daddy,

When you read this letter, I’m no longer in Tokyo.

I don’t know where to begin — I’ve been trying to write this for days, but every time I start, my hands won’t stop shaking.

I tried to follow what you told me.
To be strong. To be reliable.
To accept Toushirou as my husband, and to carry this family’s hope on my shoulders.

But Daddy… I can’t.
Not when I’m carrying a life inside me.
Not when that life belongs to the person I truly love.

I love Jinta. I’ve loved him quietly, selfishly, and maybe foolishly.
But I can’t hide it anymore — not from you. Not from myself.

I know I’ve disappointed you.
I know I wasn’t supposed to choose love over duty.
But for once… I wanted to choose something for myself.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be the daughter you could depend on.
I’m sorry for everything.
But I want you to know — I never meant to shame you.
I only meant to live honestly.

I pray you can forgive me one day.
And maybe, bless our love.

Tell Karin that I’m sorry….I left without leaving the right words behind.

Your daughter,
Yuzu

⸻

When Karin finished reading, her hand trembled slightly.

Her voice cracked.

Her eyes widened as the final words hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Yuzu… and Jinta?”

She stared down at the letter in disbelief.

Yuzu… and her fiancé? Since when? How?

Yuzu never told her. There had been no signs. No hints. Nothing.

Did it happen while they were both in America?
Or during Yuzu’s internship at Urahara’s company?

And suddenly — Athena’s words echoed in her mind.

“I did see her once. With Hanakari.”
“Not in a shady way. Just… close. Comfortable. It caught my attention.”

“How did this happen…” Karin whispered to herself.

She covered her mouth, trying to deny the truth she had just read. “No. This can’t be real.”

She turned to her father, hoping — begging — for him to say it wasn’t true.

But Isshin was already on his feet. Silent. Pale.

Ichigo grabbed the letter from her hands. His jaw clenched as he read it. His grip tightened, eyes darkened with each passing line.

“That bastard,” Ichigo hissed. “He dares to take Yuzu and run away. I’ll make him regret it.”

He turned sharply, marching toward the door.

But Isshin reached out and caught Ichigo’s arm.

“Let her go.”

His voice — hoarse, hollow — stopped Ichigo in his tracks.

“She made her choice.”

Ichigo turned to him, disbelief etched across his face. “But—”

Isshin’s voice stayed quiet. Firm. Broken. “I pushed her into this. This is my fault.”

He let go of Ichigo’s arm.

And then — like something inside him gave way — he sank back down onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders heavy with defeat.

“I failed her,” he whispered. His hands had curled into loose fists. “She needed me to protect her… and I pushed her into something she couldn’t survive. I saw her breaking right in front of me… and I didn’t stop anything.”

Karin stepped forward, kneeling beside him. Her fingers wrapped gently around his hand.

“No, Daddy,” she said softly. Her voice didn’t tremble now. “You didn’t fail her.”

“She just couldn’t carry it all.”

Not the silence. Not the pressure. Not the weight of everyone else’s dreams.

“She needed space to breathe,” Karin murmured.
But the words felt more like something she was trying to convince herself of.
That her twin must’ve had a reason for running.
That maybe… she really did love her fiancé.
And that somehow — somehow — Karin had missed all the signs.

Isshin didn’t reply.
But he didn’t pull his hand away either.

He looked at Karin — eyes red, lips parted — like he wanted to say something more, but the words never made it out.

Then slowly… he stood.

He walked toward the door, steps heavy.

And then he paused, looking over his shoulder at Ichigo.

“Notify the Hitsugaya family,” he said quietly. “We’ll have to postpone the marriage.”

Ichigo remained frozen near the bed, the letter still clenched tightly in his fist.

And then — without warning —

Isshin swayed.

His knees buckled.

And before Karin or Ichigo could reach him…

…he collapsed.

“Dad!”

Karin’s scream echoed down the hallway as Ichigo rushed forward to catch him.

“Naoko! Call an ambulance!”

Everything else would come later.

For now, there was only the sound of a body hitting the floor.

And the silence that followed after.

The house exploded in chaos. But Karin heard nothing — only the sound of her own heartbeat pounding like thunder in her ears.

Chapter Text

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.

Karin stood outside the emergency room, arms folded tightly across her chest as she paced the corridor in short, restless lines.

Ichigo sat on a nearby bench, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. His head was bowed, as if anchoring himself.

“How can you be so calm right now?” Karin snapped, her voice taut with panic. “Dad just passed out! He could—”

Ichigo looked up. His eyes were shadowed, tired — but steady.

“I’m the eldest son of this family,” he said quietly. “If I fall apart now, who’s going to hold everything together?”

Karin’s chest tightened.

He had changed.

The Ichigo she remembered would’ve punched a wall by now. Would’ve shouted, cursed, demanded answers from whoever stood in the way.

But this Ichigo was silent. Controlled. The weight of the family sitting squarely on his shoulders.

If he broke too… maybe she’d be sobbing right now.

Karin sank onto the bench beside him, her knees finally giving in. The silence between them stretched — not heavy, just worn.

Then—

“I knew,” Ichigo said softly, eyes fixed on the floor. “Yuzu didn’t want to marry into the Hitsugaya family.”

Karin turned toward him, stunned. “You… knew?”

“I just didn’t know she’d do this.”

He exhaled, voice even and low.

“I thought it was just about him being cold. You know how she is — soft, gentle. She needs warmth. Not walls.”

Karin’s frown deepened. “So… you knew about her and Jinta too?”

Ichigo shook his head. “No. That I didn’t. I would’ve never guessed.
But Toushirou? Yeah… I saw the way she shrank around him. It wasn’t fear. It was absence. Like she wasn’t there anymore.”

He paused, then added quietly, “If I had known about Jinta… if Toushirou had known…”

Karin said softly, “If he knows now… I think he’d understand.”

Ichigo gave a short, bitter laugh. “It’s not that simple, Karin. You don’t know Hitsugaya. Their family values dignity above all else.
And you know what Dad is like. A promise is everything to him. And after what he’s already taken—”

Taken? What did he mean by that?
But before Karin could ask—

The door opened.

Dr. Isane stepped into the corridor, clipboard in hand, her expression calm but watchful.

Both Karin and Ichigo stood immediately.

“How is he?” Ichigo asked.

Dr. Isane offered a small, reassuring smile. “His condition is stable for now. The collapse was due to emotional shock — and it triggered pressure on his heart. Thankfully, he’s been on consistent medication, which helped prevent the worst.”

“He needs rest,” she added firmly. “And no stress. None.”

Ichigo nodded quietly, absorbing every word. Karin just stood still.

Heart condition?

When the doctor left, Karin turned sharply to her brother. “Father has a heart disease?”

Ichigo didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Low risk… but still there. He scheduled surgery after Yuzu’s wedding.”

Karin stared at him, throat dry. “And I didn’t know?”

“Yuzu didn’t either,” Ichigo said gently. “He didn’t want either of you to worry.”

Karin let out a long breath, voice barely above a whisper. “Of course he didn’t.”

Because that’s exactly the kind of man he is.

The kind who carries everything alone — even when it breaks him.

Karin leaned back against the wall, eyes stinging.

“I was so angry,” she murmured. “At him. At Yuzu. At everything. And I didn’t even know he was—”

“Hurting,” Ichigo finished for her.

Karin nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

For a while, they both just sat there — shoulders touching, like when they were kids and too stubborn to say they needed each other.

And in that moment, no one needed to speak.

The quiet between them didn’t feel empty this time.

It felt like something was finally settling — something raw, but real.

Then the nurse stepped out with a clipboard in hand.

“You can see him now,” she said gently. “But just one at a time.”

Ichigo looked at Karin.

She didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll go first.”

And with that, she stood and walked down the corridor — toward the man who always stood tall, even when everything inside him was breaking.

Toward the father who never told them when he was in pain.

And now, for once, she was going to be the one sitting beside him.

——

Karin stepped into the ICU slowly, the door clicking shut behind her.

The room was cold. Quiet. The kind of silence that felt sacred — like even breathing too loudly might disturb something fragile.

Her father lay still on the hospital bed, a pale blanket covering him up to his chest. The machines beside him beeped softly, steadily — reminders that life was still there, clinging.

Karin didn’t speak.

She just stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of the man who once seemed invincible — now surrounded by wires and monitors.

His face looked smaller somehow. Older. Lines she had never noticed before curved around his eyes, the kind of lines carved by years of smiling too big… or worrying too much.

She pulled the chair closer and sat down slowly.

For twenty minutes, she said nothing.

She just… watched.

Was this really the same man who used to chase her and Yuzu around the house with a towel wrapped around his head, pretending to be a superhero?
The same man who cried louder than both of them when they fell and scraped their knees?
The father who always smiled, always joked — just to keep their little world from falling apart — even when he was quietly breaking behind closed doors?

She never knew.

She never knew he was diagnosed with a heart condition.

Her fingers clenched into fists on her lap.

Why didn’t I see it?
Why didn’t you tell me, Daddy?
Were you that afraid we’d worry… or did you just think you had to carry everything alone?

She blinked back the sting in her eyes and leaned forward slightly.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered.

Her voice was barely audible over the soft hum of machines.

“I didn’t know you were this tired.”

His eyelids didn’t flutter. His fingers didn’t twitch. He remained motionless.

Still — she stayed a moment longer, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest.

Then slowly, she stood.

She looked at him one last time, then reached out — gently brushing her fingers over his hand.

Just for a second.

Just to say, I’m here now.

Then she turned and left the room.

Ichigo looked up as she returned to the waiting area. “How is he?”

Karin didn’t answer right away. She just sat beside him again.

And this time, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Still asleep,” she murmured. “But breathing.”

Karin didn’t lift her head from Ichigo’s shoulder as she asked quietly, “What are you going to do about Yuzu?”

Ichigo didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched slightly.

Then, he said in a low voice, “I’ll find her.”

Karin pulled back just enough to look at him.

He met her eyes. “I’ll hire someone. Discreet. Someone reliable. I don’t care how long it takes. I need to know she’s safe.”

Karin didn’t argue.

Somewhere deep down, she was afraid too.

Ichigo stood after that. “My turn to go in.”

Karin gave a small nod and watched as her brother walked toward the ICU, shoulders still heavy, but steady — like someone who couldn’t afford to fall apart yet.

She stayed on the bench just outside the room, folding her arms tightly around herself. The white corridor lights buzzed softly above, the scent of antiseptic still sharp in the air.

The minutes dragged on.

Her body was tired. Her mind even more so.

She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes for just a moment—

And slowly, the weight of the day pulled her under.

Her breathing slowed.

And there, outside her father’s room, surrounded by silence and pale walls, Karin Kurosaki finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Isshin wasn’t transferred right away that morning.
The doctor explained that, even though his condition had stabilized, they still needed to monitor him for several more hours just to be safe.

So Karin and Ichigo decided to grab breakfast together.

Ichigo also informed his company that he wouldn’t be coming in — not while his father was in the hospital. And of course, Isshin wouldn’t be reporting for work either.

By the time Isshin was moved from the emergency unit to a regular ward the next afternoon, both siblings were finally allowed to visit him — together.

The room was quiet. Clean. The blinds were half open, letting in the soft afternoon light. A monitor beeped steadily at the bedside, calm and slow.

Ichigo excused himself to get some coffee — and maybe a breath of fresh air.

Isshin was still asleep. According to the doctor, he had briefly regained consciousness earlier that morning, but the medications were strong — so drowsiness was expected. Either way, rest was what he needed most.

Karin sat down beside the bed. One hand rested on her lap; the other clutched the edge of her jacket tightly.

Almost twenty minutes passed before her father finally stirred.

His eyelids fluttered open. A shallow breath escaped his lips.

“…Karin?”

She leaned closer at once. “Dad, I’m here.”

Isshin blinked slowly, his gaze sweeping the room as if searching for something — or someone. His expression turned almost desperate.

“Where’s Yuzu?”

Karin froze.

Had he forgotten?
Had he not realized that Yuzu had… left?

Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. She looked down at her hands, heart pounding.

Then came a soft, broken laugh from the bed — the kind that sounded like something had just hit him all over again.

“…She’s not here,” he said quietly.
And then, even softer—
“I failed her, didn’t I?”

“Dad…”

“I just… I only wanted to protect her. Give her something better. A future.
I thought… maybe if I gave her away to someone strong, she’d be safe.”

He turned toward her, eyes exhausted — far too weary for a man who had once lit up every room.

“I’m sorry, Karin. Because I’m a bad dad.”

Karin’s chest ached.

She reached out and took his hand in both of hers, holding it tight.

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re not a bad dad.”

He didn’t reply. Just looked at her — deeply, intently — like he was really seeing her for the first time.

Then, with a quiet breath, he murmured, “You know what kind of daughter you are?”

Karin offered a small smile. “A good one, I hope.”

“A strong one,” Isshin said, his voice low but firm. “You always have been.”

“I’ve always tried to be,” she replied, her smile softening. “Even when I was mad at you.”

Isshin stared at her for a long moment. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something more.
He whispered her name.

But before he could finish—

The door opened with a soft click.

Ichigo stepped back in, holding two paper cups. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Isshin awake.

“You’re up,” he said.

Isshin gave a small nod.

Ichigo walked over and handed Karin one of the cups before placing his own on the side table. She wasn’t much of a coffee drinker — but right now, she needed something warm to stay awake. Something to ground her.

“Don’t talk too much, okay?” Ichigo said to their father. “Just rest.”

Then he turned to Karin.

“You should head home. It’s late.”

“I can stay—”

“I’ll switch with you tonight. You can take the night shift later. You can come back tonight,” he said simply. “Get some rest.”

Karin hesitated. But Ichigo’s gaze was steady — not harsh, just sure.

She nodded, finally giving in.
The truth was… she hadn’t really slept since the night before.
And she definitely needed a shower. Her clothes clung with sweat, and her whole body felt heavy.

Karin stood slowly, her legs stiff from sitting too long. She glanced at her father one more time, committing the peaceful rhythm of his breathing to memory. Then she quietly stepped out of the room, coffee cup still warm in her hand.

Outside, the hallway was hushed. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly above.

And for the first time in what felt like days, Karin allowed herself to breathe.

Maybe rest wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

⸻

Karin reached home just before 3:00 PM.

The house was quiet — too quiet. Even the usual hum of the fridge or the occasional creak of the floor felt distant, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

She dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her shoes, and walked straight to the bathroom.

The hot water hit her skin like a sigh — comforting, but not quite enough to wash away the fatigue. She stood under the stream longer than necessary, forehead resting against the cool tile, arms limp at her sides.

When she finally stepped out, she dried off slowly, pulling on a loose shirt and sweatpants before crawling into bed.

She thought she might cry. Or think. Or ask herself all the questions that had been building up since that morning.

But the moment her head touched the pillow, everything else slipped away.

Not Yuzu.
Not Jinta.
Not even what would come tomorrow.

She was just… tired.

Her body gave in before her thoughts could catch up.

⸻

She woke up around 6:10 PM.

The sky outside her window had already turned dusky blue, slipping quietly into evening. Shadows stretched long across the floor.

She sat up, blinking groggily at the clock.

Then, without saying a word to anyone, Karin got dressed again — quietly — and stepped back into her shoes.

The door clicked shut behind her as she left the house once more.

⸻

Her destination was the hospital.

By the time she arrived, the corridors were quieter. Visiting hours were nearing their final stretch, but there was still a low murmur of footsteps and soft voices.

She walked toward the lift.

Just as the doors opened with a soft chime — someone stepped out.

Mr. Urahara Kisuke.

He was alone, save for a quiet man walking slightly behind him — someone Karin didn’t quite recognize. Maybe a secretary. Maybe a guard. She wasn’t sure.

Urahara glanced at her, eyes unreadable beneath the brim of his hat.

He gave her a small nod.

Nothing more.

Then he walked past without a word.

Karin didn’t say anything either. Just turned her head slightly to watch him as he disappeared down the corridor behind her.

She stepped into the lift alone.

⸻

Upstairs, she returned to her father’s room.

Ichigo was waiting just outside.

“I’ll head home now,” he said. “Text me if anything happens.”

Karin nodded. No need for more words. They switched places.

When she entered the room, her father was still awake, lying quietly beneath the blankets. His eyes drifted to her — tired, but calm.

He didn’t ask about Ichigo.
He didn’t mention Urahara.

“I think I’ll rest,” he said simply.

Karin nodded. “Okay.”

She walked over and gently adjusted the blanket over his chest, making sure it covered him properly. Just like he used to do for her when she was a child.

He closed his eyes, and she moved to the small couch across the room.

It wasn’t comfortable — the cushions were stiff, the air conditioning a little too cold — but Karin curled up anyway.

She stared at the ceiling for a long while.

Something about the day lingered strangely at the edge of her thoughts.

Why didn’t anyone say anything about Urahara’s visit?
Why did it feel like something else was happening — something just out of reach?

She didn’t know.

But as her eyes grew heavy once more, the quiet question settled into her chest like a stone.

Was there still a truth no one was telling her?

And if so…
Why?

Chapter Text

Three days had passed. And for those three days, Karin hadn’t said a word to her father about it.

She was afraid that if she asked, he might react like he did that night — shocked, panicked… collapsing all over again.

And just like that, three mornings came and went with no sign.

No missed calls.
No messages.
Nothing from Yuzu.

She was gone — completely, terrifyingly gone.

Karin didn’t know if she was safe. If she was okay. Or if she was hurt.
She didn’t even know where to begin looking.

That morning, Karin had just pushed open the door to her father’s hospital ward. She’d stayed the night there again, just like the past few days.

Ichigo was already outside, sitting on the long bench by the corridor, speaking into his phone. Maybe he had just arrived. His face looked tight, serious.

Karin walked over and sat quietly beside him, not interrupting — only listening.

Ichigo’s tone was sharp, phone pressed close to his ear, his jaw clenched.

“Yes. Check every hotel within 80 kilometres.
Start with ones that accept walk-ins or allow cash. Don’t use the Kurosaki name unless absolutely necessary. I want this quiet.”

He ended the call and immediately dialed another number.

“No updates yet? Then keep digging.
Review every CCTV near the city centre. Quietly. No names. No media.”

Karin watched him from the side, her gaze unreadable.

Ichigo looked calm on the surface, but his entire posture was tense.
His hand gripped his phone too tightly between calls.

When he finally lowered the device, he didn’t look at her right away.

“They’re not anywhere,” he said flatly.

Karin blinked. “What do you mean?”

“No check-ins. No flight records. No domestic transport.
No calls from her number.
Even Jinta’s bank account is frozen. His phone’s off.”

Karin’s heart dropped. “Like… they vanished?”

Ichigo gave a slow, frustrated nod. “They’re being careful. Too careful.”

A moment of silence passed.

Then he added, “They didn’t do this alone. Someone’s helping them.
And whoever it is… they’ve covered their tracks too well.”

Karin hesitated, then asked quietly, “Is Urahara-san looking for them too?”

Ichigo’s expression shifted, just slightly.

“He came by,” he said after a pause. “Told me he’s abandoning Jinta. Said he won’t be involved. Won’t look for them.”

Karin stared ahead in silence.

Jinta… Urahara’s own nephew. The boy he’d raised. Of course, he must have been disappointed. Hurt, even.

Maybe that’s why he walked away.

Karin exhaled — a long, tired breath.

Then she turned to her brother again. “Do you think Yuzu’s happy now?”

Ichigo didn’t answer right away.

His eyes softened — just a little — as he remembered the letter Yuzu had left behind.

“She chose love over us,” he said quietly. “So… she doesn’t have a choice now, does she?”

He looked away.

“She has to be happy with what she chose.”

⸻

That night, Karin sat alone in Yuzu’s room.
Ichigo had told her she didn’t need to stay at the hospital tonight — she could come in the morning instead.
He had work early the next day, so it made more sense for Karin to be with their father during the day.

The lights were dim, casting soft shadows across the furniture. Nothing had changed — and yet, everything had.
Her fingers moved slowly across the edge of the vanity table, where the letter had once been. The letter that started it all.

Or maybe ended it.

The locket was gone too.
She had placed it in a small jewelry box inside the vanity drawer — just in case Yuzu came back one day. So she could find it.
Even if… that was just wishful thinking.

The scent of Yuzu’s perfume still lingered faintly in the air — soft, floral, familiar.
As if she had just stepped out and might return any minute now.
Karin could almost picture her walking in with a gentle smile, asking if she wanted tea.

But no one came.

The silence settled in like dust.

Karin crossed the room slowly, her steps light, almost reverent.
She reached for the shelf beside the bed — a small pink photo album tucked in between books and trinkets.

Her fingers touched the cover.

She didn’t open it.

Just stood there, her thumb brushing the spine.
Like opening it would be admitting too much. Remembering too deeply.

She placed it back gently.

Then she sat down at the vanity, eyes drifting to the mirror.
Her reflection stared back at her — tired, hollow-eyed.
A version of herself she barely recognized anymore.

This wasn’t just an escape.

Yuzu hadn’t left out of fear. She hadn’t run away on impulse.
It was deliberate. Measured. Thought through.

It was a goodbye.

A quiet one. A painful one.

And somehow… Karin had missed all the signs.

Her hand hovered over the drawer — the one where the locket now sat — but she didn’t open it. Her fingers trembled slightly before falling limp again in her lap.

And then came the memories.

Braiding each other’s hair. Late-night talks about school and crushes. Fighting over the TV remote.
Falling asleep on the same couch, tangled in the same blanket.

They were twins.

They were supposed to tell each other everything.

And yet…

The question that wouldn’t let her sleep whispered loudly in the silence:

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her voice never left her lips.
But she felt it — deep in her throat, in her chest, in the space behind her ribs where the ache sat like a stone.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against the cool wooden edge of the vanity — as if maybe, just maybe, by staying here, she could feel Yuzu again.
Understand her.
Forgive her.

But the room only answered with stillness.

Stillness… and the weight of a bond that had been quietly, cruelly severed — without warning.

⸻

That night, she dreamed of a message.

Just one.

Her phone lit up with Yuzu’s name, glowing softly in the dark.

“Sorry I left. I’ll explain everything soon.”

But when she opened her eyes the next morning, the screen was blank.
No new notifications. No calls.

Just silence.

And the same ache… still sitting in her chest.

Chapter Text

The corridor outside her father’s ward was unusually quiet — dim, with only the low hum of fluorescent lights above.
The walls felt colder today, like the silence had settled into the paint.

Every step Karin took echoed faintly, despite how carefully she walked.
Her hands were tucked into her sleeves, her mind heavy with things she hadn’t said… things no one had said.

Then she saw him.

A tall, older man stepped out of her father’s room.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored grey suit, not a thread out of place.
Impeccable posture. White gloves.
His silver-streaked hair was slicked back, elegant but sharp — like someone used to power. A black pin gleamed on his lapel: a silver dragon crest.

Karin’s breath caught. She recognized the emblem instantly.
The Hitsugaya family.

So… Toushirou didn’t come himself.

He sent someone else.

Their eyes met briefly.
There was no warmth in his — only professionalism.
He gave her a polite nod. Not the kind that greeted, but the kind that acknowledged.
Like she was someone to be noted, but not spoken to.

Karin nodded back automatically.

The man walked past her in silence. His footsteps were precise, calculated. No hesitation. No sound of remorse.

She watched him go until he disappeared around the corner.

And then she turned toward the door.

Her hand had barely reached the handle when she paused.

It wasn’t closed all the way.

Just slightly ajar — and from within, voices leaked through.

Not loud.

But not calm, either.

Tense.

Firm.

And then she heard it.

Ichigo.

Her brows drew together in surprise.
Didn’t he say he had to go to work this morning?
Why was he here? And who was he speaking to?

Karin stepped back slightly, her breath quiet.
She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.
She didn’t mean to listen.

But the sound of her brother’s voice held a weight that rooted her in place.

Low.

Measured.

Guilty.

She took one small step back from the doorframe — her heart starting to race — as she caught fragments of his words.

Something about… “taking responsibility.”
Something about… “not telling her yet.”

The blood in her ears roared louder.
Not loud enough to drown him out.
Just loud enough to make her want to run away.

But she didn’t.

She stood there, frozen.
Afraid that if she moved, the truth would fall apart before she could catch it.
Afraid that whatever she was about to hear…
She wouldn’t be able to forget.

And then —
She heard a name.

Hers.

Soft. Regretful. Almost ashamed.

It wasn’t just guilt anymore.

It was something else.

Something that made her stomach twist and her fingers curl into her sleeves.

⸻

“I didn’t say anything earlier,” Ichigo’s voice was low. “But I knew.”

A pause.

“I knew Yuzu wasn’t ready to marry him.
I saw it in her face — the hesitation.
The way she avoided talking about it.”

Another pause.

“But I thought it was just nerves. That she’d get through it.”

Isshin’s voice came next — weary, rough around the edges.

“It’s not your fault, Ichigo.
This was my decision.
I thought… I was doing what was right. For her. For all of us.”

A longer silence stretched between them.

Then Ichigo asked, “What’s the Hitsugaya family going to do?”

Isshin sighed. “They’ve sent their response through Honda.”

Honda. So that was his name.
The old man in the grey suit. The one Karin had just passed in the hallway.

“They’re keeping things internal, for now,” Isshin continued. “But this is a stain. One they won’t forget easily.”

Karin’s fingers curled into the sleeves of her coat, knuckles tight.

Ichigo’s voice dropped. “And Toushirou?”

“Quiet,” Isshin answered. “Hasn’t said anything directly.
But from what Honda implied… their side feels deeply insulted.”

Ichigo exhaled sharply. “So this isn’t over.”

“No.”

And then came Isshin’s next words — softer, more difficult.

“I already signed the agreement.”

Karin’s heart stopped.

What?

Isshin continued, slower now — like every word was its own kind of confession.

“Two weeks ago. The final version.
It wasn’t just an engagement. It was a corporate agreement.
There were conditions — capital injections, shared ventures… and penalties if the marriage fell through.”

Ichigo cursed under his breath. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Because I didn’t want you to carry it too.”

“And what about Karin? Yuzu? They didn’t even know they were walking into a contract.”

Isshin didn’t answer at first.

Then, more quietly—

“Yuzu knew.”

A pause.

“Do you really think she would’ve agreed to marry Toushirou without knowing the full picture?” he asked.
“She knew what was at stake. And maybe… maybe she thought she had to bear it.”

Isshin’s voice cracked, barely audible now.

“And I… as her father… put that weight on her.”

Ichigo was silent.

Then Isshin added—

“Right now… I just want to take responsibility. But I haven’t told her yet.”

“Her?” Ichigo asked softly.

“Karin.”

A beat.

“Do you think she’ll understand?” Ichigo murmured.

There was no answer.

Outside the door, Karin stood completely still, as if her body had turned to stone.

So it wasn’t just about love.
It wasn’t even about family.

It was about business.
It was about power.
It was about deals — signed behind closed doors.

And no one told them.

Not her father. Not her brother.
Not even Toushirou.

All this time, she thought she was protecting her family.

But it turned out… they were protecting something else entirely.

And she didn’t know which part of it shattered her more.

⸻

Karin stepped away from the door quietly — careful not to make a sound.
Her breath was caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat, heart pounding harder with every step.

She didn’t know where to go.
But she didn’t want to stay here right now.

The hallway stretched out endlessly in front of her, sterile and cold beneath the fluorescent lights. Her feet moved on their own, but her mind was somewhere else — reeling, spinning, breaking.

She didn’t know what to think.

Her head was full of voices that didn’t belong to her — Ichigo’s, her father’s, echoes of Yuzu’s laughter from a memory she couldn’t place. Toushirou’s coldness toward Yuzu. The silence. The secrets.

All of it layered, echoing, like a storm in a room too small to contain it.

She stopped near a vending machine.

Not to buy anything.
Just… to breathe.

But even that felt hard.

Behind her, the hospital continued on as if nothing had changed. As if the world hadn’t just tilted beneath her feet.

Her eyes burned, but no tears came.

Just one thought.
One quiet sentence that settled deep in her chest like a stone:

We weren’t chosen.
We were traded.

And the worst part was — it wasn’t out of hatred.
It wasn’t done to hurt them.

It was just business.

And that was what hurt the most.

⸻

After some time, once her heartbeat slowed and the weight in her chest eased just enough to move, Karin returned to her father’s ward.

Ichigo wasn’t there this time.
Maybe he had really gone to work now.

Karin stepped inside, calm and composed — or at least she pretended to be.

She greeted her father as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t heard a single word outside that door.

She smiled softly. Sat down. Asked if he wanted anything. Adjusted the blanket at his feet.

But her mind…
Her mind was racing.

Earlier, she’d heard them mention it — an agreement.
A real, tangible contract.

That meant it had to exist somewhere, right?
On paper. In writing. In someone’s file drawer.

And if it did…

Then she had to find it.
She had to read it for herself.
Because only then would she know the truth — the full truth.

And Kurosaki Karin was done being left in the dark.

Chapter Text

The house was still.

No footsteps.
No creaking floorboards.
No late-night kitchen light flicking on.

Just silence. Everyone had gone to bed early.

Even Ichigo — who usually stayed up until the hallway clock struck midnight — had turned in early tonight. Their father had gently insisted they didn’t need to keep coming every night. He’d said it so lightly, like he was doing them a favor. But Karin had seen the weariness in his face. The heaviness in his eyes.

He didn’t want them hovering anymore.

So tonight, Ichigo stayed home. And Karin stayed too — but not in bed.

She stood barefoot in the hallway, just outside her father’s study.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob, fingers brushing the cool metal. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there. Long enough to question herself. Long enough to remember her father’s laugh. Long enough to wonder whether she was betraying him now, by stepping inside.

But her hand didn’t pull away.

What am I doing?

The answer came like a whisper in her chest.

Looking for what they never told me.

She turned the knob gently. The soft click echoed in the silence like a secret unlocking itself. The door creaked open.

The smell inside was familiar — old books, paper, lingering coffee, and a faint trace of her father’s cologne.

Everything was meticulously arranged. Files stacked in tidy rows. Pens aligned. Not a paper out of place.

It didn’t look like the study of a man with something to hide.

But Karin knew better.

She stepped in quietly and shut the door behind her, letting the darkness settle around her before switching on the small lamp on the desk. Its glow was warm but sharp — cutting through the shadows like a truth waiting to be seen.

She began to search.

Drawer by drawer. File by file.
She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for — just what it might feel like.

A contract. A merger.
Something cold. Something printed. Something real.

Most of the files were routine. Medical records. Board meeting summaries. Business partnership proposals. All the usual masks of a functioning company.

But then she saw it — tucked halfway behind the bookshelf, hidden just enough to not draw attention, but not quite concealed.

A navy blue folder. Silver clip. Plain label.

She reached for it slowly.

And then she saw the words:

KUROSAKI – HITSUGAYA (PRIVATE)

Her fingers froze on the edge of the folder.

She didn’t move.

Not at first.

Then, slowly — as if opening an old wound — she unfastened the clip and peeled the folder open.

The very first page:

Bride: Kurosaki Yuzu
Groom: Hitsugaya Toushirou

Karin inhaled sharply.

So this was it. The trade.

Two names typed cleanly across the page — as if they were never people at all.
As if nothing about this was dirty. As if it was normal.

She turned to the next page.

Stamped. Signed. Official.

Her eyes moved through the text.

Clause 4: Binding Merger via Matrimony
Clause 6: Financial Terms & Dowry Equivalent
Clause 9: Termination Conditions & Penalties

Her heartbeat grew louder in her ears.

She slowed down at Clause 6.

⸻

Clause 6: Financial Terms & Dowry Equivalent
— Upon successful execution of the union between Kurosaki Yuzu and Hitsugaya Toushirou, the Kurosaki Corporation shall receive ¥35,000,000,000 in capital assistance from H-Corp.
— In the event of a replacement bride (Kurosaki Karin), the agreement remains valid with a revised dowry equivalent of ¥50,000,000,000 due to her educational background and foreign exposure.

⸻

¥50,000,000,000.

Fifty billion yen.

The numbers blurred.

I’m worth fifteen billion more… because I studied abroad? Because I speak English? Because I graduated with first-class honours in my Master’s degree?

Is that what makes me more presentable? More marketable?

She turned to the back page.

Two signatures stared back at her.
Firm. Permanent.

Kurosaki Isshin
Hitsugaya Rei (on behalf of H-Corp)

And then — a margin note in handwriting she knew all too well.

¾ of initial funds received. Allocated to debt clearance & capital recovery.

Her throat tightened.

He already took the money.

Not a deposit. Not a promise.

Three-quarters. Gone. Accepted.

Before the wedding even happened.
Before anyone said “I do.”
Before Yuzu even ran.

Her fingers trembled as another set of papers slipped loose from the back of the folder — not clipped like the rest, just loosely folded and marked:

Draft – Contingency

She opened it, not realizing her hands were trembling.

It has the same layout and structure. Same cold precision.

But the names were different.
And her breath caught.

Bride: Kurosaki Karin
Groom: Hitsugaya Toushirou
Drafted: 15 April 2024

Three months ago…
That was before she even returned to Japan. Before she ever met Toushirou.
Before Yuzu’s sudden change.
Before any of this had begun — at least in her eyes.

And then her eyes caught it — scribbled in the margin, once again in her father’s hand:

Plan B — if Yuzu refuses. Karin is more adaptable. More likely to handle Toushirou.

Her vision blurred.

Plan B.

A fallback.
A contingency.
A substitute.

Not a person.
Not a daughter.
Not someone to be loved.

Just… adaptable.

She closed the file with trembling hands and placed it back exactly where she had found it.

She didn’t read the rest of the agreement — her mind was already overwhelmed, saturated with the weight of what she had just discovered.

Every movement hurt.

She switched off the lamp.

The room faded back into darkness.

She opened the door and stepped out, walking down the hallway like a ghost. Past the family portraits on the wall — smiles frozen in time.

No one saw her.
No one heard her.

But inside, something had shattered. Quietly. Permanently.

She walked as if her name no longer belonged to her.
As if her own shadow had become too heavy to carry.

She and Yuzu were never meant to be brides.

They were assets.
They were collateral for the survival of a family business.
Convenient.
Negotiable.
Swappable.

And worst of all — tradeable.

And the deal?

It had already been signed.

The price had already been paid.

But deeper than betrayal — deeper than sadness — was a slow-burning, bitter fury.

Not at her father.

Not even at Toushirou.

But at herself.

Because some part of her…still wanted to believe it meant something.
And now — she didn’t know if she ever would again.

——

Later that night, Karin sat by her bedroom window, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

The contract still echoed in her mind — sharp and cold, like metal pressed against skin.

She had read it. Touched it.
Felt it coil around her like invisible wire.

Bride: Kurosaki Yuzu.

That had been the original plan.

Not her.

Yuzu.

But now it was clear — they had anticipated this.
They had known the original bride might falter.
Might walk away.
Might not survive the weight of it all.

So they drafted another version.
As a backup plan.

They slotted Karin in — like changing names on a form.
Never even asked for her opinion

Plan B.

She closed her eyes.

The room was too quiet.
Her thoughts, far too loud.

And then, like a whisper crawling out from the deepest part of her, a question rose — aching and raw:

Why did they put Yuzu’s name first…
when she was never meant for this?

Was it just because I was already promised to someone else?

Did they think that made me off-limits —
that she was the easier option?

But if they had chosen me from the start…
maybe she wouldn’t have had to run.

Was that why they thought I would never be involved?
Because my path was already “settled” — and Yuzu’s was still open?

She let out a quiet, uneven breath.

And then came another bitter realization.

Jinta.

There was no contract for Jinta.

She had gone through every file in that study. Every drawer. Every folder.

Not once did she see Jinta’s name.

She was sure of it now.

Her father had never signed anything with Urahara.

That engagement to Jinta… had only ever been words.
A handshake between two older men.
An idea passed down like tradition — unspoken, but expected.

It had no value on paper.
No clause.
No dowry.
No penalties.

Just a story. A tradition. An illusion dressed as a promise.

And yet, everyone spoke of her engagement to Jinta like it was official.
Like it had weight.

But Jinta wasn’t tied to business.

Toushirou was.

Signed.
Sealed.
Strategized.

And maybe… maybe that’s why Yuzu ran.

Because she had fallen for someone outside this world.
Someone who didn’t come with conditions and consequences.
Someone she could love freely — without signing her name away.

Karin blinked back the sting behind her eyes — but the tears never came.

If they had chosen me from the beginning… would Yuzu have stayed?

If my name had been there first —
Would she have felt free?

Would she still be here?

The thought cut deeper than she expected.

Because maybe… Yuzu didn’t run only for herself.
Maybe she ran hoping someone would notice this wasn’t right.
Hoping their father would pause.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t stop it.

He simply passed the weight onto her.

The replacement.
The fallback.
The fix.

More adaptable.
More dependable.
More valuable.
More… replaceable.

Even if her father never said it out loud — the second draft, the “Plan B,” said everything.
If he hadn’t foreseen this, he wouldn’t have written it.

Karin buried her face into her knees.

The city outside pulsed quietly — streetlights blinking like distant, indifferent stars.

But inside her chest, everything ached.

She closed her eyes — but her jaw stayed clenched.
Her chest wouldn’t stop tightening.

She wanted to cry.

But even the tears refused to come.

The silence stretched on — deep and endless.

And in that silence, she realized—

Sleep would not find her tonight.
Not after seeing her name printed like a commodity.
Not after reading, line by line, how her worth was measured in billions —
her degree, her travels, her “adaptability” — all tallied into a number.

Not when everything she thought she understood — about love, about family, about duty —
had been reduced to columns, clauses, and calculated returns.

How could she sleep,
knowing she wasn’t meant to be a daughter,
or a sister — just someone’s solution?

Chapter Text

The morning sun poured through the blinds of her father’s office at Kurosaki Trading Co.

Her father had asked her to stop by to collect a set of urgent documents that needed his immediate review and signature.
Ichigo couldn’t make it — he had a client meeting — so she came alone.

While waiting for her father’s secretary to finish compiling the files, she sat quietly inside his office.

It had been a while since she was last here.

The space looked exactly the same — minimal, tasteful, immaculately organized. A row of pens in a leather holder. A ceramic coaster with no cup. Not even a dust mote in sight.

The scent was familiar. Polished wood, paper, a hint of air freshener.

Her gaze wandered to the bookshelf. It was filled with thick ledgers, economic journals, and books about mergers, case studies, family business dynasties.

All things that had seemed distant once — until now.

Her eyes drifted to the desk.
To the framed photo tucked beside the monitor.

She reached for it, lifting it gently.

The photo was old — maybe fifteen years ago.
But the smiles were still warm. Still trusting.

Her mother stood in the middle, holding both daughters close, her hair half-up and her face glowing with soft kindness.
Ichigo stood behind them with a shy smile.
Yuzu was beaming, hands clasped in front of her.
And Karin — slightly messier, slightly rounder, her fringe too short — was clutching the hem of her mother’s cardigan.

They looked like a real family.

Whole.

Untouched.

Sometimes, she wished she’d never grown up.

That she could stay frozen in that moment, back when love was given freely and life didn’t ask you to trade pieces of yourself for duty.

Not after what she found last night.

The contract.
Her name.
The number.
The signature.

And the cold confirmation —

She was never a choice.
She was a replacement.

Her lips pressed into a tight line.

Outside the window, Tokyo moved like usual — fast and unconcerned.
People walked briskly past, heads down. Cars slowed at the junction. The trains roared by in the distance, always on time.

Meetings were happening. Deals were being signed.
Life went on.

But inside her… everything had stopped.

Something fundamental had cracked — not just her trust, but her sense of place in this family.

Was this what it meant to be born a daughter in a house built on legacy?

To be groomed, prepared, assessed — like a portfolio asset?

Her fingers loosened on the photo frame.

She set it back down, carefully.

Just then, the door opened with a soft knock. The secretary entered, holding a folder.

“Sorry for the wait, Kurosaki-san,” she said kindly. “These are the ones your father asked for. He’ll review them this afternoon.”

Karin stood and gave a polite nod. “Thank you.”

As the secretary turned to leave, she added with a smile, “It’s nice to see you again. You’ve grown up so beautifully.”

Karin smiled.

Automatically.

The kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Thank you,” she replied softly — but her throat was dry.

The door closed behind the woman, leaving Karin alone again.

She looked down at the folder in her hand. Neatly clipped. Heavy. Formal.

Just like the one she had found last night.

Except this one wasn’t about her life.

This one didn’t carry her name.

She turned toward the window, eyes distant.

If only she could peel her own name off that contract.
Wipe it clean.
Undo what had already been signed.

But some truths couldn’t be erased.

And some choices had never really been hers to begin with.

⸻

Later that afternoon, after delivering the documents to her father, she told him she was meeting a friend.

It wasn’t a lie.
Just not the whole truth.

She met Athena at a quiet little café tucked between two bookshops — the same place they always went to when the world felt too loud.
Their unofficial safe spot. A space where they didn’t have to pretend.

By the time Karin arrived, the lunch crowd had already thinned. She spotted Athena by the window, already nursing an iced coffee, her hair tied up in a loose bun, flipping through a dog-eared poetry book.

Karin slid into the seat across from her, trying to smile.

Athena took a sip of her drink and glanced over casually.
“You look like you haven’t slept. Playing nurse again?”

Karin let out a small laugh. “Something like that.”

Lie number one.

Athena set her drink down and looked at her properly.
“How’s your dad?”

“He’s getting better,” Karin replied softly. “Scheduled for surgery next week.”

Athena leaned back, folding her arms.
“You’ve been acting strange these past few days.”

“I’m just… thinking.”

“About Yuzu?” Athena asked.
Karin had already told her about their father — and how Yuzu had run away with Jinta.

Karin hesitated. Then nodded.

Lie number two.
But not a full lie.
She had been thinking about Yuzu.

But more than that — she couldn’t stop thinking about the agreement.
About the folder.
About her father’s signature.

She couldn’t tell Athena.

She couldn’t even bring herself to say the words out loud.

How do you tell someone you found out your life was sold for fifty billion yen?

How do you admit your own father signed your future away — just in case your sister didn’t make it?

Athena reached across the table, her voice soft.
“Just give her time, okay? I’m sure Yuzu had her reasons. Maybe she just couldn’t handle it.”

Karin didn’t respond.
She only stared down at her hands, fingers loosely clasped.

Athena nudged her lightly.
“Karin. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Karin gave a soft smile.
“I know.”

But she didn’t.
Not about this.

⸻

Back in her bedroom, Karin sat alone.

She didn’t go back to the hospital.
Not today.

She had told herself it was because she needed rest — that her father would understand if she skipped just one visit.
But the truth was heavier than that.

She couldn’t look at him.
Not after what she had read.
Not with all those questions clawing at her chest.

The silence in her room wasn’t peaceful.
It was too still.
Like the calm before something broke.

She sat curled up at the edge of her bed, still in the same clothes from earlier.
The city outside blinked and breathed, but her room felt untouched — like time had paused just for her.

Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve, her thoughts circling endlessly.

I can’t ask Dad. Not yet.
He’s still recovering. Still fragile.
If he finds out I know… what if it triggers another attack?

Her heart clenched at the thought — oxygen masks, nurses rushing, trembling hands, the relentless scream of monitors.

No. She couldn’t risk that.
Not again.

But Ichigo…

Her gaze drifted to the framed photo on her desk — the three of them as kids, grinning with missing teeth, Yuzu in the middle, Ichigo’s hand resting on her head like always.

Ichigo knows more than he lets on.
He always has.

He had been the one holding the family together after their mother passed.
The one who took on burdens without complaint.
The one who stood firm when everything else crumbled.

If anyone could give her the truth — raw, unfiltered — it was him.

He had to.
Because if Ichigo couldn’t… then maybe no one could.

He should be able to explain this.

This… transaction.
This agreement sealed with signatures and silence.

Because this wasn’t just about marriage anymore.
It wasn’t just about Yuzu or Toushirou.

It was about their name.

Kurosaki.

A name that once stood for strength. For pride.
For a family that held itself together — even while breaking.

But now…
Now that name was inked onto a contract.
Folded between dowries and legal clauses.
Traded like leverage.

A name no longer tied to love — but to strategy.

To deals.
To debts.
To debts disguised as tradition.

And she — Karin Kurosaki — was the collateral.
A silent offering.
A fallback plan no one asked for.
Not even her.

She leaned her head against the wall, her voice no louder than a breath:

“Tonight… I’ll talk to Ichigo.”

Even if it shatters whatever peace is left.
Even if it rewrites every memory she’s ever had of her family.
Because lies had already filled the silence —
and the truth was the only way out now.

Chapter Text

That night, the Kurosaki household was quieter than usual — too quiet.

Since Yuzu’s disappearance, even the maids had begun finishing their chores earlier, their footsteps softer, their voices barely a whisper.
They didn’t linger.
They didn’t make small talk.
As if afraid they’d accidentally cross paths with either Karin… or Ichigo.

The house felt dimmer somehow — like the air itself was waiting for something to break.

Karin stood in front of Ichigo’s room, her fingers curled into loose fists by her sides.

The hallway was still, save for the faint ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs and the occasional creak of old wood beneath her feet.

The light under his door was still on.
She could hear the soft rustle of papers.
Maybe he was reading.
Maybe working.
Or maybe, like her, pretending to focus on anything just to avoid thinking about the truth.

She stood there, frozen.

Her hand hovered mid-air — poised to knock, but unable to move.

Her mind replayed the same question over and over:
Do I really want to hear this from him?

She had imagined this moment a hundred times since this evening.

“Did you know?”
“How long have you known?”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

But no answer sounded safe.
No version of this conversation ended without something breaking.

Because deep down, she already knew.

She had heard the conversation between him and their father.
The truth wasn’t just hidden — it was protected.
They had made a choice.
And she had been left out.

Her stomach twisted at the thought.

Her brother — the one who used to check her homework, who carried her backpack when she fell, who stood quietly beside her at their mother’s funeral when neither of them could speak —
he knew.

And worse —
he let it happen.

Karin stared at the floor, her breath shallow and uneven.
She didn’t feel angry.
Not yet.
Not even hurt.

What she felt was the slow, creeping weight of disillusionment.
The unraveling of something she had always believed would never change:
That Ichigo would protect her.

But maybe… this time, protecting her meant hiding things from her.

Her chest ached with the thought.

She didn’t want to knock.

She didn’t want to break this fragile peace that still existed between them.

But she had to.

Because if she didn’t — if she let the silence go on —
then the lies would keep stretching too.

And she couldn’t live under lies anymore.

Her knuckles hovered near the door.

A beat passed.

Then two.

And finally, she took a breath.

A real one.

One that hurt going in.

Tonight, I’ll ask.

Even if it tears something apart.

Because the truth…
was already tearing her from the inside.

——

She knocked once.

“Ichigo?”

“Come in,” came his voice — steady, composed as always.

Karin opened the door slowly.

He was seated at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, brows slightly furrowed from concentration. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, and the soft amber glow of the desk lamp cast warm shadows across the room.

His laptop screen glowed faintly in the dimness — spreadsheets, maybe. Reports. Something work-related.

But the moment their eyes met, Ichigo reached forward and closed the lid with a quiet click.

There was no smile. Just a calm kind of awareness.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her properly.

“What’s up?” he asked gently. “Can’t sleep?”

Karin stepped in, her movements careful — like she wasn’t sure she had the right to disturb him. Her right hand clutched at her left arm, fingers curling tight over the fabric of her sleeve. Trying to gather strength. Or stop herself from shaking.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about… the Hitsugaya and Kurosaki families.”

There was a pause.

A very long pause.

Ichigo’s gaze didn’t flinch. But the weight in his eyes changed.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Karin didn’t bother lying.

“The contract,” she said. “And the second draft. With my name.”

Ichigo exhaled slowly — like a breath he had been holding for far too long.

Then he nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured it was just a matter of time.”

Karin didn’t sit down.

She stayed standing, like part of her was still waiting for someone to stop her. Like if she moved too fast, everything would shatter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked — not accusing, not angry. Just tired.

Ichigo’s jaw tightened slightly, but his tone remained steady.

“Because you weren’t supposed to know,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Not until I was married off like a favor?”

“No.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Not like that, Karin.”

“Then how?” Her voice cracked — just barely. “How is any of this okay?”

Ichigo looked up at her. The same big brother who used to lift her onto his shoulders, who taught her how to ride a bike, who never let her cry alone.

But right now, he looked older. Heavier. Like he’d been carrying the weight of this truth for far too long.

⸻

Karin stayed where she was, arms folded not out of defiance, but as if holding herself together was the only thing she could control.

“I read everything,” she said — firmer this time. “Even the part that called me… more adaptable.”

Ichigo leaned back in his chair, as if the word had physically struck him.

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he let out a slow breath and nodded. “Then I guess it’s time you knew everything.”

He gestured to the chair across from him — a silent offer of something gentler.

But Karin didn’t move.

She remained standing, arms crossed loosely over her chest, guarded.

Ichigo rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaustion pulling at his features.

“Our company’s been in trouble for years,” he began. “Long before you or Yuzu knew. Dad tried everything — restructuring, refinancing, selling off branches. He even reached out to old friends and business partners.”

Our family is struggling?
Karin didn’t speak.
Her silence didn’t grant permission. It demanded answers.

“And then the Hitsugaya family stepped in,” Ichigo continued. “They offered help. A lifeline. But not out of kindness — it came with a condition. They wouldn’t help unless we gave them something in return — something they could bind us to.”

He paused.

“A merger. Through marriage.”

Karin’s throat tightened.
Her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture stiffened.

“Yuzu,” she said quietly.

Ichigo nodded once. “She was the original plan. Toushirou’s grandmother liked her — said she was gentle, well-mannered. Easy to present. Everything that looks good on paper.”

Karin blinked slowly. “And she agreed?”

“At first. She said yes.”

A stillness settled between them — not just silence, but the kind that rang in your ears.

“But then something changed. I believe that was when Yuzu found out about the agreement,” he said, his voice softening. “She got quiet. Started avoiding discussions. Skipped scheduled calls. I thought it was just cold feet at first.”

“She was scared,” Karin whispered, as if recalling it herself. Then added, “Or maybe she just didn’t want her life bargained away like currency.”

Ichigo’s voice dropped. “Maybe. Maybe Yuzu wasn’t as strong as we thought. Or maybe she was never the right choice to begin with. And they realized that.”

Karin brought a hand to her mouth, as if to stop the rising tide inside her.

“And that’s when they asked for a backup plan,” she said, more to herself than him.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.
This wasn’t an arrangement. It was a calculated exchange.

Ichigo didn’t answer immediately.

But his silence was enough.

He nodded. “The Hitsugaya matriarch didn’t like uncertainties. They insisted we prepare a contingency. Something discreet. Just in case.”

His next words didn’t come easily. But when they did, they were steady.

“She said if Yuzu couldn’t follow through… then we’d need someone else. Someone… dependable. Someone who wouldn’t fold under pressure.”

He looked her straight in the eyes.

“You.” His voice didn’t rise. Just settled like a stone.
“That’s when they wrote in your name.”
Ichigo’s eyes dropped for the first time — just for a second. As if he couldn’t quite bear to watch the weight of it land on her. His fingers curled tighter around the armrest of his chair, knuckles paling slightly — the only sign that it hurt him too.

Karin didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

Someone who wouldn’t fold under pressure?

Like she was some kind of machine.
Like she didn’t feel anything.
Like she could be slotted into place — emotionless, compliant. Expendable.

Her expression didn’t crack — but something deep in her eyes gave way. A fracture no one else could see, but she could feel with every breath.

Chapter Text

A backup.
That was her role.
The one they believed could carry the weight —
if everything else fell apart.

Just… a fallback plan.

Karin stood still, numb. The weight of what she’d just heard settled over her like stone—unmoving, unrelenting.
Everything she thought she understood — about her family, the arrangement, Toushirou — was quietly unraveling around her.

Their family had been drowning in silence.
Now, the silence had spoken.

Her voice came out tight, barely controlled.
“So I was the backup.”

Ichigo didn’t flinch. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t apologize — not in words.
But his gaze dropped slightly, like even he couldn’t look directly at the truth.

“It was never supposed to get that far,” he said. “Unless Yuzu completely stepped away… it was never meant to fall on you. And even then, it wasn’t something we ever wanted to force. Not on you. Not on her.”

“Then why was it signed?” Karin’s voice cracked on the last word, soft but sharp — like something splintering beneath the surface.

Ichigo looked away — and that was answer enough.

“Because Dad… didn’t believe we had time.”

He let out a breath. A long, worn-out one.

“He thought sealing the deal would save the company. Save what little reputation we still had. Save everything. He accepted most of the funding — three-quarters of it — because he genuinely believed the marriage would go through. That it would fix things.”

Karin took a step back, as if the room had suddenly shrunk around her.

So this was what desperation looked like—not loud, but written in ink and silence between signatures.

Her father — always loud, dramatic, impossible to ignore — had signed them away behind closed doors, believing it was his only chance to keep their legacy alive.
And Ichigo had stood by.
Let it happen.

“Dad was trying to survive,” Ichigo added gently. “Karin… please try to understand. This wasn’t just business to him. It was everything.”

Karin pressed a hand to her mouth. She didn’t want to cry.
She didn’t even want to speak.

She just wanted the noise in her head to stop.

But it didn’t.

“There’s more,” Ichigo said quietly. And the way he said it — slow, cautious — made her stomach tighten.

He was still holding something back.

“Toushirou doesn’t know,” he continued, “about the second draft. About you.”

Karin’s head snapped up.

“What?”

“He knows about the arrangement,” Ichigo explained. “But only the original one. With Yuzu. The backup plan? That was only between his grandmother and our father. To be honest… he never wanted any of this to happen.”

Karin blinked. Her thoughts stalled mid-air.

So Toushirou never even knew about the backup plan? And Ichigo said… he never wanted any of this to happen?

“Then why did he go along with it?” she asked, her voice a hollow echo. “Why say yes to something so—?”

“Because he’s bound by duty,” Ichigo said softly. “But make no mistake — he hates the whole idea. Arranged marriages, corporate ties… all of it. He was the loudest one against it. If it weren’t for his grandmother… he never would’ve signed a thing.”

Karin stood frozen. Her world didn’t just tilt. It shifted, quietly but entirely.

She had believed so many things.

That Toushirou had wanted this.
That he helped draft the second plan.
That he saw her as just another pawn.
Another price to be paid.
That he looked down on her — judged her, tolerated her, nothing more.

But now…

He never agreed to any of it.

“I thought he looked down on me,” she whispered, mostly to herself.

Ichigo’s expression softened. “He’s cold, yeah. Quiet. But not cruel. If anything… he’s like us. Trapped in a mess he didn’t create.”

Karin didn’t respond.

Her heart was a storm — quiet, but relentless.

For so long, she’d carried a quiet bitterness.
Believed he was part of the betrayal.
Part of what had taken her choice away.

But now…
That wall inside her — the one built out of doubt and resentment —
was starting to crack.

And what spilled through?

Wasn’t anger.
It was grief.

Grief for the version of her life that had been chosen without her.
And for the man caught in the same storm —
just on the other side of it.

⸻

Karin stood by the window now, arms folded as the cold from the glass seeped into her skin. Her thoughts had been spinning for hours — sharp, relentless — but now, at last, they had landed on something solid.

“Ichigo,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Let’s cancel it.”

Ichigo’s head lifted slowly — like the words had struck him like a falling boulder.

“The agreement,” she clarified. “The whole thing with the Hitsugayas. Just… terminate it. There has to be a way.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

He just looked at her — really looked — and something in his silence felt heavier than any refusal.

“We can’t,” he said at last.

Karin’s brow furrowed. “Why not? If it’s hurting everyone this much, why keep it alive? What’s stopping us from backing out?”

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, weariness dragging at his voice. “The penalties.”

Karin blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t finish reading it, did you?” he asked gently. “The termination clause.”

Her mind flashed back to the contract file.

Clause 9: Termination Conditions & Penalties.

The section she had skipped — the one she had closed before reaching the end. Her hands had been shaking too much. She hadn’t even realized she stopped short.

“What does it say?” she asked, her voice smaller now.

“It outlines the conditions to terminate the merger. But more importantly — it lists the financial penalty for doing so after funds have been disbursed.”

Karin felt her stomach sink. “How much?”

“Everything we received. And more.” He looked down at his hands. “Three-quarters of the capital — already transferred. Add breach penalties, compound interest, legal fees… If we terminate unilaterally now…”

He paused.

Then he said it plainly:

“We’d go bankrupt.”

The room fell quiet — too quiet.

Karin swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “So we’re trapped?”

Ichigo didn’t speak.

He just nodded once.

Karin felt lightheaded, like the floor had dipped under her. She reached out, one hand bracing against the cold window frame. Outside, the world was dark. Streetlights blinked beyond the trees like distant stars — far, untouchable.

Clause Nine.

She never even saw it coming.

And now they had nothing — nothing left to pay it back.

———

Karin sat down slowly.

The motion was quiet, deliberate — like someone stepping into cold water knowing it would sting. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the last hour, but her eyes… they had changed. The haze of confusion was gone. What remained was something colder. Sharper.

Resolve.

“Then I’ll marry him,” she said.

Ichigo blinked, startled. “What?”

Karin looked directly at him — steady, unwavering. “You said Toushirou doesn’t know about the second draft. Fine. Then I’ll tell him myself. But I’m not going to run from this.”

Her voice didn’t shake.
Not anymore.

Ichigo leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, brows drawn low. “Karin… he won’t agree. He’s not someone who does things because he’s told to.”

“I know.”
Her response came quickly, almost too calmly.
And then — she smiled.

Not a soft, sweet smile — but one laced with steel beneath the calm. The kind that dared him to say no… and promised she wouldn’t flinch when he did.

“Then let him say it to my face.”

Ichigo stared at her — really stared. Like he was seeing someone new, or maybe someone he had always known but forgotten how strong she could be when pushed to a wall.

“You’re serious,” he said slowly.

Ichigo exhaled. His expression was unreadable — caught somewhere between guilt and helplessness.
Because he knew what kind of man Toushirou was.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said.

“I already am,” Karin replied, her voice low. “But at least now… I know where to aim.”

——

BONUS PARALLEL: The Man Who Didn’t Flinch
Toushirou’s POV (Morning of Yuzu’s Disappearance)

The message came early.

-She’s gone. The Kurosaki girl left. No word left behind.

Toushirou stood by the window, phone in hand, unreadable.

He didn’t ask why.
Didn’t rush out.
Didn’t call.

Instead, he slipped the phone back into his coat pocket.

So, that was her choice.

And he’d respect it — the way he respected silence, distance, and everything else that came with letting people go.

He returned to the kitchen and poured his coffee. The steam curled upward like nothing had happened.
He stirred it slowly, deliberately — as if the news hadn’t touched him at all.

As if he’d expected it.
As if it didn’t matter.

But he added no sugar that morning.

And for some reason,
he didn’t drink it either.

The mug sat untouched.
Growing cold.

Just like the expression on his face.

Chapter Text

Karin slept early that night — not because she was at peace, but because she had to.
There was no use staying up. No comfort in spinning thoughts. No answers waiting in the dark.
She just needed enough strength to face him.

And somehow, the hours between midnight and morning passed. Not gently. But they passed.

When the sun rose, she was already awake.

She moved like clockwork — brushing her hair, folding her clothes, tying the buttons of her blouse with hands that didn’t shake but felt far too calm for someone carrying a storm inside.

A cream-colored blouse. Black tailored trousers. A pair of low heels she hadn’t worn in months. A simple gold watch around her wrist — Yuzu’s old gift, back when life still made sense.

Her makeup was minimal. Barely there.
A light touch of powder. A soft rose tint on her lips.
Not for beauty.
For armor.

Because today, she couldn’t afford to look fragile.

And yet, only she knew how loud her heart was thundering beneath that buttoned-up calm.

Before leaving, Karin paused at the hallway — then turned back.

She entered her father’s study once more.

The scent greeted her immediately — old paper, aged wood, the quiet weight of history sealed in dust and regret. It didn’t feel heavy anymore. Just… tired.

Like a room waiting to be cleared out.

Her eyes went straight to the drawer beneath the shelf. The same one from before.

Click.

The folder was still there. Deep blue, thick, clipped in gold — Plan B, in every sense of the word.

She pulled it out, her fingers sure this time. No trembling. No hesitation.

But as she turned to leave, her gaze caught something else — something light, delicate, almost misplaced.

A wedding invitation.

Tucked neatly in the corner of the desk, partially covered by a paperweight. Thin ivory paper. Silver floral designs. Elegant strokes of calligraphy.

Kurosaki Yuzu & Hitsugaya Toushirou
Wedding Ceremony – Date: [Three Weeks Away]

Karin’s fingers hovered over it.

The curve of her sister’s name — beside his. The perfect illusion of a future that would never come.

Three weeks.

So close.

So impossibly far.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. She stared at it long enough to memorize it — to etch every detail into her mind, not out of sentiment but because she needed to understand what was being thrown away.

What they had tried to mold her sister into.

What they now expected of her.

Karin let out a breath, slow and sharp. One that scraped its way out of her lungs like glass.

Then, without another glance, she placed the invitation back exactly where it was — untouched.

She slipped the blue folder into her bag, zipped it shut, and turned toward the door.

This time, she didn’t look back.

Because she knew.

That wedding would never happen. But something else would. And this time — it would begin on her terms.

⸻

She didn’t tell anyone where she was going.

No message to Ichigo.
No call to Athena — though her thumb paused over the contact longer than she’d admit.

Athena would’ve come.
Would’ve waited outside.
Would’ve said something brave and ridiculous to lighten the weight.

But not this time.

This wasn’t something Karin wanted softened.
This wasn’t something she could share.

This wasn’t a battle to be softened by a friend’s voice or a sister’s comfort.

So instead, she simply stepped outside, wrapped her coat tighter around her, and approached the black sedan waiting quietly at the curb.

The driver turned as she approached.

“Can you take me to H-Corp Tower?”

He gave a small nod and got out to open the door.

Karin slid in without a word.

The door shut behind her.

And just like that, Tokyo began to move — but all she could feel was how still she was inside.

⸻

The ride through Tokyo felt endless.
Maybe it wasn’t long — but time had a way of stretching when your mind refused to stay still.

The city outside was alive — buzzing, flashing, pulsing like it always did.
But in the back seat of that car, Karin felt like she was in a different time zone altogether.

Everything blurred into long streaks of gray and glass.

She didn’t touch her phone.
Didn’t check the time.
Didn’t reach for anything.

She just sat there, back straight, palms on her lap, her fingers pressing into the hem of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned pale.

At one point, she thought of turning back.
For exactly half a second.

Then she remembered Ichigo’s face the night before — how he hadn’t stopped her.
How he’d almost looked relieved.
Like deep down, he knew it would take her to finish what they had failed to prevent.

And then — the tower.

She felt it before she saw it.

The way the shadows shifted.
The way the sunlight hit the curve of the windshield a little differently.
A chill passed through her — subtle, but immediate.

⸻

When it finally came into view, her breath caught in her throat.

It was taller than she remembered from any photo.
Sharper. More imposing.

A monument of steel and glass — the kind of place that didn’t just hold power.
It radiated it.

The windows shimmered with clean reflections — and above the main doors, the name H-Corp stood confidently beneath the shadow of its parent name, Hitsugaya Group, etched higher into the skyline.

Two names.
One legacy.
And now — somehow — both tethered to hers.

Karin didn’t even notice the moment the car slowed.

It was the driver’s voice that broke through first.
“Miss, we’ve arrived.”

She blinked, shaken slightly back into herself.
Her gaze remained fixed on the tower — but her fingers reached for the bag in her lap.
Tight. Steady.

She stepped out.

Wind tugged lightly at her coat.
Her heels clicked against the pavement.

Still, her feet didn’t move.

She just stood there — and looked up.

And for the first time, she felt it in full.

How small she was in front of this building.
How far away her name had once seemed from this world.
And yet, here she was — standing at its door.

Hitsugaya Toushirou.
Heir of the Group.
Son of a legacy.
And the man whose name — at least on paper — now stood beside hers.

He hadn’t agreed to anything. Not yet.
But the silence between their families said enough.
The contract said more.
Even if he didn’t know it yet.

How did my father dare to gamble with fire like this?
she wondered.

And why am I the one left to hold the burn?

Karin took a slow breath.

She didn’t feel ready.
She felt responsible.

She squared her shoulders.

She wasn’t wearing heels high enough to make her look taller.
She didn’t have a designer bag, a lawyer by her side,
or even a real plan for what would happen next.

But she had her name.
She had the contract.
She had the fire in her chest that refused to burn out.

And sometimes, that was enough.

So, she took a step.
Then another.
She didn’t walk in with confidence.
She walked in with history. With names and silence and the weight of what could’ve been.
And the storm walked with her

The revolving glass doors parted —
smooth, soundless — as if they had been waiting.

For her.

Toward him.

Chapter Text

The glass doors parted without a sound.

Cool, conditioned air swept past her, crisp like the breath of something ancient and powerful — something that had waited far too long behind those doors.

And as Karin stepped into the towering lobby of H-Corp Tower, she understood it almost instantly.

This wasn’t just a building.

It was a kingdom.

And somewhere within it — was the king.

The silence inside wasn’t the kind that welcomed.
It was the kind that tested.

Every marble tile beneath her feet gleamed like polished ice — no scuff, no imperfection, as if even time had no authority here.

The walls stretched high and elegant, dressed in a muted palette of steel and slate. Light from the chandeliers above scattered like frozen stars across the smooth floor, catching every movement in glassy reflections.

Men and women in tailored suits moved in silent rhythm, their faces unreadable, eyes forward. Every step was calculated. Every interaction brief. There were no casual glances. No wasted words.

They weren’t just workers. They were soldiers.
Disciplined. Driven. Loyal.

And Karin — standing just past the threshold — was an intruder.

She paused near the entrance. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, grounding herself with its familiar weight. Inside, the folder containing her name — the contract that changed everything — pressed against her ribs like a dare.

I can still leave.
I can turn around, get back in the car, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But she didn’t.

She took a breath.

Then stepped forward — slow, deliberate — her low heels clicking faintly against the marble. The sound wasn’t loud, but in a place like this, it echoed louder than any scream.

No one looked at her.

But somehow, she felt seen.

And then… she saw it.

A long, pristine reception desk stood ahead, carved from deep black stone that shimmered faintly under the overhead lights. Sleek. Minimal. Utterly untouchable.

Mounted behind it, high on the wall, was a silver crest.

A dragon — fierce, mid-flight, its wings spread wide and curved in motion. Not wild. Not savage.

Controlled.

A symbol of dominion.

The emblem of the Hitsugaya family.

It wasn’t just there to decorate.
It was there to declare.

Behind the desk stood a woman in a sharp slate-grey uniform — headset tucked neatly behind one ear, her hands poised above a digital display. Her expression was unreadable, trained. The kind of professionalism you couldn’t buy — only shape.

Karin approached, her heart beating too hard for how steady her face remained.

The woman’s gaze lifted the moment she entered range. Cool. Courteous. Not a flicker of surprise. Just calm, practiced protocol.

“Good morning,” she said. “Do you have an appointment?”

Karin inhaled — slow and quiet.

Then she spoke, her voice clear, measured.

“I’m here to see Hitsugaya Toushirou.”

——

“What do you mean I can’t meet him?”

Karin’s voice was calm.

But only on the surface.

Underneath, it cut like frost across glass — thin, sharp, with a quiet edge that didn’t belong to someone who had come this far just to be turned away.

The receptionist, unfazed, maintained her practiced smile — the kind that could deflect confrontation with elegance and professionalism.

“I’m very sorry, miss,” she said smoothly. “Mr. Hitsugaya doesn’t receive walk-ins. All meetings must be scheduled through his office.”

Karin’s jaw tightened. Her nails pressed faintly into the leather of her bag. She wasn’t shouting. She wasn’t even raising her voice.

Her patience stretched like fabric too close to flame — thin, fragile, ready to snap.

“I’m not here to pitch a project,” she said tightly. “I need to see him.”

“I understand,” the woman replied — and somehow made it sound both sincere and dismissive. “But I’m just following protocol.”

Protocol.

Karin exhaled through her nose, trying to hold back the frustration clawing at her throat.

Of course. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. What did she expect — to walk in and demand an audience with a man like him? A man buried beneath marble, guarded by glass and legacy?

So what now?

Sit here and wait like some desperate stray, hoping he’d casually stroll out of the elevator and grant her a meeting?

Or — what — try and bluff her way past the suited security officers? Maybe beg them to let her through? She glanced toward the elevators.

Tall. Silver. Flanked by men who looked more like mafia elite than corporate security.
Black tailored suits, sharp as blades. Shoulders broad, muscles carved beneath expensive fabric. No ties — just open collars and polished shoes that echoed like warning shots across the marble floor. Each of them wore dark shades indoors, emotionless behind the tint, but Karin could feel their eyes on her.

Stillness radiated from them — like wolves trained not to bite unless commanded.
And yet, you knew they would, if you so much as twitched the wrong way.

No badge. No clearance. No miracle was going to get her through that wall of tailored muscle and silence.

One of them raised an eyebrow — just slightly.
A silent warning.
Her mind raced.

Every second felt louder than the last.

She turned slightly, scanning the lobby again. Her heart thudded in her chest — a rhythm out of sync with the cool perfection around her.

She looked at the receptionist again.
One last time,” she said, the edges of her voice beginning to fray. “Just tell him my name. Kurosaki Karin. He’ll want to see me… I’m sure of it.

The receptionist’s lips parted to decline once more — the same gentle refusal, the same sterile boundary.

“I’m sorry—”

“Kurosaki?”

A third voice cut through the air.
Not loud. Not forceful.
But it sliced through the tension with effortless precision.

Karin turned.

The voice belonged to a man standing just a few feet behind her.

Older — perhaps in his sixties — dressed in a black suit that looked hand-stitched to perfection. His silver-rimmed glasses reflected the light overhead, and his white gloves were immaculate, like he’d just stepped out of a time where decorum still mattered.

His posture was a soldier’s — straight, unwavering. Too straight, in fact, for a man past sixty. As if age had skipped him… or discipline had refused to loosen its grip. He looked like someone who had never learned how to relax. Or simply chose not to.

And Karin remembered.

A flash in her memory. A moment at the hospital.

“You’re—”

The man inclined his head.

“I am Honda,” he said with quiet dignity. “Personal aide to Madam Hitsugaya. We’ve… crossed paths, Miss Kurosaki.”

“At the hospital,” she said slowly, realization dawning.

His voice, his presence — they were unmistakable now.

“I was attending to confidential matters,” he replied. “I’m pleased you recall.”

Karin said nothing.

Because she did remember.
How he had walked out of her father’s hospital room.
How he’d looked at her — not with surprise, but recognition.

The kind of gaze that didn’t belong to strangers.
Eyes that saw everything — but gave nothing.

At the time, she had assumed he was from the Hitsugaya side of things.
Some associate. Some advisor. Background noise in a storm she hadn’t understood yet.

But now —
Now, she knew for certain.

Honda turned toward the receptionist with all the calm authority of a man who moved things behind the scenes — not loudly, but irrevocably.

“She’s with me.”

The receptionist — so composed moments ago — changed instantly.

“Yes, Mr. Honda. Shall I inform—”

“No need,” he said, his voice smooth but final. “She’s expected. One way or another.”

Karin blinked, unsure what that meant.

But before she could speak, he was already turning, gesturing for her to follow.

And suddenly — the doors weren’t closed anymore.

They were opening.

Not because she forced them.

But because someone on the inside had pulled them from the other side.

⸻

Honda led her toward a separate elevator — not one of the silver towers flanking the lobby, but a mirrored panel tucked discreetly into the side wall. Almost hidden in plain sight. Unlike the public lifts, this one didn’t require permission to be noticed.

It required privilege.

The guards standing near the entrance — those same men in sharp black suits and expressionless faces — shifted almost imperceptibly as she approached.

One of them tilted his head slightly, a silent question directed at Honda.

Honda didn’t stop walking. He didn’t need to speak.

A single nod from him was enough.

And just like that, the man who had earlier raised an eyebrow gave the slightest tilt of his chin in return — an unspoken code, a silent acknowledgment.

The wall parted.

The guards stepped aside, smooth and synchronized, granting her passage like a pair of twin vault doors.

Karin didn’t glance at them.
But she felt it.

Their gaze followed her until the mirrored doors opened with a soft chime — soundless to most ears, but clear to hers. Like a gate to another tier of reality.

She stepped in after Honda.

Inside — silence.

No overhead directory. No floor panel. No buttons.

Just elegant dark wood paneling, a warm gold glow from a hidden light strip above, and a glass touchpad beside a sleek biometric scanner.

Without a word, Honda pressed the highest button. Then tapped his access card against the scanner.

The screen blinked once.

Authorized: Executive Access – Level 77

Karin stared at the number.

Seventy-seven.

A floor that didn’t exist to most people. That couldn’t be called by elevator buttons or requested at the front desk.

Seventy-seven floors above the world I know.

The doors slid shut behind her.

And then — the ascent.

Smooth.
Effortless.
Faster than she expected, yet completely silent. Like being pulled upward by thought alone.

No music. No ticking numbers. Just a slow shift in air pressure and the steady hum of rising altitude.

She tried not to fidget, but her fingers curled against the strap of her bag.

She glanced at Honda.

Unmoved.

His hands rested lightly in front of him, gloves pristine, face unreadable. As if this wasn’t a tower of power they were rising through — but a corridor he’d walked a hundred times before.

Maybe he had.

For a moment, Karin wondered what this man had seen.
What power had passed through his silence. What deals and betrayals he had stood witness to — without ever flinching.

The kind of man who kept secrets… Not because he wanted to, but because even secrets knew better than to disobey him.

She broke the quiet.

“I came to see him.”

Honda didn’t answer right away.

His hands were still clasped neatly in front of him, his posture a lifetime of discipline carved into stillness. Then, a simple nod.

But Karin wasn’t done.

“What did you mean earlier… when you said I was expected?”

This time, his gaze moved.

Not unkind. But firm.

“Miss Kurosaki,” he said, voice low. “Some truths are not delivered. They arrive.”

A pause stretched.

He turned forward again.

“And you… should already know.”

The silence after that wasn’t awkward.

It was final.

And it wrapped around her like a truth too late to undo.

Then—ding.

The elevator stopped.

⸻

The elevator doors slid open with a hushed sigh.

Karin stepped out into silence.

Not the absence of sound — but the kind of silence that watched you. Held its breath as you moved. Judged whether you belonged.

Her heels met the polished floor — stone so smooth it gleamed like still water beneath her, reflecting every uncertain step she took forward.

It felt like she’d stepped out of reality — into someone else’s dominion.

Quiet — not because it was empty, but because it was deliberate. Designed to hush the world the moment you entered. The air smelled faintly of something clean and cold — cedarwood and ozone. Expensive. Clinical.

She knew wealth — grew up in comfort, raised by a man respected in town.
But this? This was different.
Every inch of this place spoke a language she didn’t grow up with — not just wealth, but power. Legacy. Authority carved in silence.

To her right: walls of sheer glass, curtained slightly to soften the morning glare.

To her left: sculpted stone planters, minimalist furniture — and not a single human in sight.

Except—

Ahead.

A soft gold glow pulsed from hidden light strips above, guiding her forward like a path meant only for those who knew exactly where they were going.

A long, open corridor stretched before her — like a bridge across power itself. Perfectly symmetrical. Too quiet. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the floor itself was weighing her intentions.

Above: a vast glass ceiling, framed in black steel,
where daylight poured in like divinity.
Smart curtains, drawn back with precision,
rested neatly at the edges —
like shadows waiting to reclaim the light on command.

Tokyo shimmered far below, glittering like a kingdom at her feet.

At the end of that corridor—a set of towering double doors, forged in ebony and steel. Silent. Imposing. Like the gate to a throne room.

In front of it, five desks.
Three women. Two men.

All dressed in muted tones, earpieces in place, monitors glowing. Fingers gliding over sleek keyboards without pause. Eyes flicking, scanning. Not one of them looked up at her. And not one of them had to.

They were the final gatekeepers.

Karin didn’t know their roles.
She didn’t need to.

Because behind that door…
Was Hitsugaya Toushirou.

Was she ready for what lay beyond those doors?
Too late to ask.
Her feet were already moving — steady, silent.
Toward the one man who could rewrite everything she thought she understood.
Toward the truth she had no more time to outrun.

Chapter Text

As soon as the elevator doors whispered shut behind them, silence wrapped around Karin like velvet — not empty, but alert.

Ahead, the corridor ended in a pair of tall black doors, their sleek steel edges suggesting more than just privacy — authority.

Five desks flanked the path like sentinels. Three women. Two men.
No chatter. No clutter. Only motion. Only the soft, steady click of keyboards.

Their movements were precise — like pieces in a machine that had forgotten how to slow down.

It felt like walking into the control room of a spaceship — silent, synchronized, intense.

But then, the woman at the centermost desk — stationed directly in front of those imposing doors — rose from her seat.

She didn’t just stand — she commanded the space. Even the air seemed to adjust around her.

Voluminous waves of strawberry blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, curling just at the ends. Her makeup was flawless — cheekbones sculpted, rose-tinted lips drawn into the kind of practiced smile that hinted at both beauty and calculation.

She wore a white silk blouse, soft against her form, the top few buttons left undone, revealing just enough cleavage — deliberate, poised, and impossible to ignore. At the center of her exposed neckline, a single necklace rested — silver, delicate, with a teardrop gem that caught the light like it had been placed there solely to shimmer.

Karin’s eyes lingered on the pendant for a second too long — then quickly darted away.

Is this… the kind of woman Hitsugaya Toushirou surrounds himself with?
Is this what he prefers?
The thought came and went — unwelcome. Unnecessary.

The woman stepped forward with confident grace, heels silent against the marble. Her smile widened ever so slightly — like she’d seen that glance, and registered it.

“Mr. Honda,” she greeted smoothly, her voice warm and velvety. “Good morning.”

Then her gaze flicked to Karin.

“And who might this be?”

Honda, ever composed, gave a slight bow toward Karin. “This is Miss Kurosaki Karin.”

Karin noticed it — the slight flicker across the woman’s face at the mention of her name.

Then, with equal composure, Honda turned back. “This is Matsumoto Rangiku, Mr. Hitsugaya’s first personal assistant and head secretary.”

First? Karin blinked.

As if reading the silent question, Rangiku tilted her head with a playful smirk.
“He has five of us,” she added with a wink. “Takes a full rotation to keep him in line.”

Karin’s lips parted — but no words came. She blinked again, trying to mask the way her chest tightened.
This world was sharper than she’d imagined.

Five?
What kind of man needs five personal assistants?
And why does she look like a woman straight out of a magazine?

Before she could process further, Honda stepped slightly closer to Rangiku, his voice low and formal.

“Is Master Hitsugaya in?”

Rangiku nodded gracefully, her face composed.

“Yes. He’s currently in a board meeting. Estimated to finish in about forty minutes.”

Karin almost exhaled.
Forty minutes. Not long. But not short either — not when you were holding a contract that could undo everything.
Just how hard was it to meet this man? It felt like trying to reach someone who lived above the clouds.

Honda turned to her gently. “You may wait for him inside.”

A flicker passed through Rangiku’s polished smile. A subtle hesitation — not rude, but practiced. Professional concern.

“Mr. Hitsugaya might not appreciate that,” she said, her voice quieter now.

Karin caught the shift.

The way her tone changed — slightly. As if she knew Toushirou well… and was trying to shield him from interruption.

But Honda’s reply was calm. Absolute.

“Madam has approved it.”

That changed everything.

Rangiku’s brows lifted slightly, and her smile curved again — this time with a hint of something real. Surprise, perhaps. Or curiosity.

“Alright then,” she said, stepping aside with a small flourish. “Please follow me.”

Karin did — her footsteps steady, but her thoughts loud.

Behind her, the assistants returned to their silent rhythm, fingers dancing across keys like nothing had changed at all.

⸻

Rangiku opened the heavy double doors with practiced ease — not pushing, but parting them like a curtain to something sacred.

Karin stepped in.

And stopped.
What she saw stole the breath from her lungs.

Because the space beyond wasn’t just an office.

It was a domain.

Airy. Grand. Impossibly still.

Tall glass walls stretched across the far end of the room, flooding it with natural light. Beyond them, the Tokyo skyline stretched endlessly — towers and rivers and highways woven into the fabric of a city that never slowed, never softened. The morning sky above was painted in pale blues and high, wandering clouds — like a living mural only the highest floors could witness.

She didn’t move. Not right away.

Her eyes trailed over everything.

The space was vast, yet coldly precise. Not a single object out of place. Not a corner without purpose.

At the center stood a desk — long and minimalist, crafted from dark wood so polished it looked black under the light. No clutter. No stacks of paper. Just a laptop, a fountain pen, and a glass tray that held a simple silver paperweight.
Draped neatly over the back of the chair facing the desk was a suit jacket — dark grey, finely tailored, left there with the kind of quiet ease that suggested familiarity with the space.

To one side, a seating area with clean-lined leather furniture — a deep black couch, two matching armchairs, and a low marble coffee table that gleamed like it had never been used. On the other side, a built-in bookshelf stretched from floor to ceiling. Books arranged by height and color. Not a speck of dust in sight.

Karin’s fingers tightened slightly on the strap of her handbag.

Is this an office… or a penthouse suite?

The carpet beneath her feet was thick, soft — it muted her footsteps like snow.

She glanced back at the doors, still half open. A strange sense of being watched without being seen crept over her, but there was no one in the room.

Only the space he owned.

So this is where he works?

So this is the kind of world he breathes in every day?

So this is how far above the rest of us he stands…

The click of Rangiku’s heels echoed softly behind her as the secretary stepped forward.

“You can wait here,” Rangiku said gently, gesturing toward the seating area. “He shouldn’t be too long. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water? Tea?”

Karin blinked, pulling her thoughts back into her body.

She shook her head lightly. “No, thank you. I’m okay.”

Rangiku gave a small smile — one part polite, one part curious.
“If you need anything,” she said smoothly, “I’ll be just outside.”
Then she turned, her long hair flowing behind her like silk as she walked back to the doors.

At the threshold, she paused and looked over her shoulder, studying Karin once more.

But whatever she was thinking, she didn’t say.

The doors closed with a soft, final click.

And just like that — Karin was alone.

In his world.

⸻

Now, she was alone.

The soft hush of the doors settling into place echoed louder than it should have.

Karin stood there for a long moment — not moving, not breathing too deeply — as if her presence alone might crack the perfection of the room.

She finally crossed the space with slow, uncertain steps and lowered herself onto the couch. The leather was smooth, cool to the touch — it gave slightly beneath her, adjusting like it was made to fit, but somehow… it didn’t feel like it was made for her.

It hugs you like luxury.
But not the kind she’d ever earned.

Her hands rested on her lap, tense and unmoving.

This place was quiet — but not in the gentle, countryside way she knew. It was a different kind of silence. Controlled. Sterile. Like even the air had been filtered of anything human.

Her gaze swept slowly across the office.

Books lined the far wall in obsessive order. Nothing out of place. No worn covers, no folded spines. The kind of books meant to be seen — not read.
On one side, a sleek painting in cold tones — a swirl of black and navy, abstract and bold. Karin didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to.

She stood up again.

There was something pulling her.

The window.

The city.

She walked toward it — one step, then another — until the world filled her entire view. Her reflection dissolved in the glass, replaced by something far larger.

Tokyo.

Sprawling. Towering. Unapologetically alive.

She could see everything.

Ribbons of traffic like veins. Highways and bridges crisscrossing like nerves through concrete. The river gleaming like a silver scar through the landscape. Tiny buildings like circuits in a giant motherboard. People she couldn’t see but knew were down there — walking, breathing, living.

From up here, they all looked… small.

Insignificant.

Her breath caught.

Because it was beautiful.

But also terrifying.

A strange chill pressed against her spine — not from the temperature, but from the sheer weight of what this view meant.

Her fingers lifted gently, hovering for a moment before touching the cold glass.

Just glass.

But it felt like a barrier between her and everything else she’d ever known.

Is this how he sees the world?

From above.
From this height.
From a place where everything feels like it belongs to you — and yet, nothing feels close.

Detached. Distant. Alone.

She swallowed.

Did he ever press his hand to this same glass, she wondered?

Did he ever look out at the city not as a king ruling it — but as a man standing in a tower, wondering if he was still part of the people below?

Does Hitsugaya Toushirou ever feel small… up here?

Or had he forgotten what smallness ever felt like?

She let her hand fall away from the glass.

And for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was waiting for the door behind her to open — or if she just wanted to stay here, watching a world that didn’t know her name.

Chapter Text

Time moved strangely in Toushirou’s office.

Karin had no idea how long she’d been sitting there.

The silence was pristine — not peaceful, but sharpening. Every tick of her own pulse felt louder. Everything around her gleamed — from the marble floors to the built-in bookshelves and the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed Tokyo like a moving painting.

It wasn’t just quiet here.
It was designed. Controlled. Almost… sterile.

She tried not to fidget. Her fingers twitched against her lap. She had read every spine on the nearby bookshelf — crisp, uncreased titles, like art meant to be admired but never touched.

So this is his world.
Above it all. Alone.

Then—

A soft knock.

Karin sat up straight.

The doors eased open, and Rangiku stepped in, heels silent, smile different. More amused now. Like she knew something Karin didn’t.

“Mr. Hitsugaya ended his meeting earlier than expected,” she said, smooth as silk. “He’s waiting for you. In the boardroom.”

So now I go to him.
Again.

Karin stood, brushing her palms down the front of her blouse. Her limbs felt heavy. Or maybe it was just her nerves.

Rangiku led the way back down the hushed hallway. They passed the five desks — still silent, still precise — as if Karin had already been absorbed into the atmosphere like another file in the system.

The private elevator was already waiting.

Rangiku tapped her card, and the doors opened with a soft sigh.

They stepped inside.

The elevator doors slid shut behind them with a soft hiss — final, enclosing.
Rangiku pressed a button with the ease of someone who had done this countless times.

Karin caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall — too pale, too stiff, too visibly unsure.

Rangiku caught it too.

“You’re stiff,” she said lightly. “You look like you’re heading into a job interview.”

Karin gave a breathless half-smile. “Feels more like an execution.”

Rangiku laughed softly. “You’ll survive.”

The elevator began to move.
Downward. Smooth. Silent. Not even a hum.

Rangiku leaned back casually, arms crossed.

“You know,” she said, tilting her head slightly, “you’re the first.”

Karin turned her eyes to her. “First what?”

“To be brought in like this. No appointment. No badge. Just… straight through.”

Rangiku’s voice wasn’t accusing. Just curious. Maybe even impressed.

“Most women who ask for him are PR reps or corporate liaisons with folders full of important pitches,” she said lightly. “None of them get sent straight up to his office.”

Karin stayed quiet.

“I’m not here for anything…romantic,” she said at last, cautious.

Rangiku smiled knowingly. “I didn’t say you were. But it’s still interesting, you know? He doesn’t usually make room for guests. Not even family.”

Then she turned slightly, as if that was all she intended to say.

But one last glint lit her gaze.

“You look nervous,” Rangiku said softly, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“But don’t worry. He rarely bites.”

A pause — delicate. Intentional.

“…At least, not without reason.”

Karin didn’t respond. She couldn’t tell if it was meant as comfort… or a warning.

Rangiku tilted her head slightly, a glimmer of amusement dancing behind her lashes.
“Most people don’t make it this far, you know. Even fewer walk in without a title or a briefcase.”

She didn’t face her directly — just turned enough, hair swaying behind her like silk. A glance over her shoulder. Unreadable.
Timed perfectly — just before the elevator chimed its arrival.

“Still… the quiet ones,” she murmured.
“They’re the ones who see the most. And say the least.”

Karin didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
Something in those words chilled her — not cold, exactly, but ancient.
Like hearing a riddle you wouldn’t understand until it was too late.

She stood still, spine straight, heart pounding.
He’s just a man. Just a person.
But standing here, waiting at the edge of his world…

It didn’t feel that simple anymore.

Then—

The elevator arrived.

⸻

The lift stopped at Level 75.

There was no chime. No announcement. Just a seamless halt, as if even the elevator respected the silence that lived here.

The doors slid open.

This floor wasn’t like the executive level above.

No reception desks.
No assistants typing behind glass.
No distractions.

Just one hallway — wide, clean, and quiet.

And at the end of it, a single set of grand double doors.

They were tall and imposing, painted a deep, matte black that absorbed light instead of reflecting it. Subtle steel trims framed the edges, catching the soft glow of recessed ceiling lights. There was no nameplate. No label. No company logo.

You either knew what was behind that door — or you didn’t belong here.

Rangiku stepped out first.

Her heels echoed against the stone tiles, sharp and confident. She walked like she had passed through this door a thousand times and still respected what was behind it.

Karin followed — slower, more cautious. Her footsteps felt too loud, like every sound she made didn’t belong in this space.

The silence pressed in, thick and expectant — like the air itself was holding its breath for her arrival.

Rangiku stopped just before the door and turned to her with a small smile.

“He’s inside.”

No teasing this time. No flirtation. Just simple clarity. A line drawn.

This was no longer Rangiku’s scene.

It was Karin’s.

Karin nodded, but didn’t move.
Not right away.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, knuckles brushing the edge of her blouse. The air felt heavier here, as if it had been held back by those doors — waiting for her hand to disturb it.

Her throat felt dry, but she didn’t dare clear it.
One breath. Shallow. Controlled.
She wasn’t sure if she was ready.
But she reached for the door anyway.

Her palm hovered over the handle. Cold air kissed her skin.
No turning back now.

This door wasn’t just a barrier.
It was the line between who she was… and who she’d have to become.

One heartbeat passed.
Then another.

She reached out.

Her fingers brushed the cool metal handle — sleek, curved, cold like ice — and then slowly pushed.

The door didn’t creak.

It opened smoothly, silently. As if it had been waiting for her.

She crossed the threshold — into his world.

⸻

The boardroom was vast — and freezing.
The cold wasn’t from nerves.
It was real.

A quiet, humming chill pressed into her skin the moment she stepped inside — piped in through vents so hidden they felt imagined.
The space felt like a vault: sealed, secure, airless.

A single, long rectangular table stretched down the center of the room.
Polished black, almost glassy, it reflected the soft lights above like an untouched lake.
High-backed chairs lined its length — twelve on each side, with one at the head.
All empty.

It felt like a courtroom made for titans.

The walls were obsidian and steel — sleek, smooth, brutal in their silence.

But it was the view that stole her breath.

The entire right side of the room was made of uninterrupted glass — no curtains, no rails.
Just raw, sheer height.
Higher than even his office.
The city below looked smaller now, a miniature world blinking beneath the clouds.

And standing in front of it — was him.

Hitsugaya Toushirou.

Hands in his pockets. Back straight.
A dark waistcoat cut clean over a crisp white shirt — collar sharp, sleeves perfectly buttoned.
He stood without a word.
Only the kind of silence worn by a man who never needed to speak to be heard.

His white hair caught the daylight, glowing faintly against the glass.
Behind him, the skyline stretched wide and endless — but none of it mattered.
Because he wasn’t in the view.
He was the view.

Cut from angles. Outlined in silence.
He stood not like a man, but like the reason the room had been built in the first place.

Not a man.
A symbol carved out of discipline — and held together by distance.

He didn’t turn when she entered.

Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t check.
It was as if he had known the second the door opened — that it was her.

And then he spoke.

His voice sliced through the cold like wire under tension.

“You’re late.”

No anger.
Just precision.
A fact, delivered with the weight of something deeper.

Karin stiffened — her breath lodged somewhere between her lungs and her pride.

Then, quieter:

“I assumed someone from your family would’ve come sooner.”

A pause.

“I suppose… it had to be you.”

Her pulse quickened.

He still hadn’t looked at her.

The glass before him showed a faint reflection of her figure at the door — small, hesitant, misaligned against the hard geometry of the room.

She opened her mouth —
Then closed it again.

Because what could she say?

This wasn’t a man waiting for a conversation.

This was a man who had already made peace with every answer —
except the one only she could give.

⸻

Karin stood still.

Frozen at the threshold.
Not because of the cold — but because of him.

And she thought:

So this is what it feels like — to stand before a storm, clothed in nothing but resolve.

It wasn’t just the room that chilled her.
It was the distance between them — measured not in steps, But in years. In silence.
In truths left unsaid.

Toushirou stood there, still as a statue carved from the skyline itself — all sharp lines and clean detachment. She could barely catch his reflection in the glass.
But it didn’t matter.

His presence filled the room like a gravity.
And she had come to break the silence he built.

Karin’s fingers curled at her sides.
Her legs felt like stone.
Her throat — dry.
But her eyes didn’t drop.

She had told herself she could do this.

She came with words.
With a contract.
With the truth.

But none of those things felt enough now — not in front of someone who hadn’t even turned to see her face.

She drew a breath.
Deep.
Steady.
Trembling just beneath the surface.

And she stepped inside.

She had walked into a boardroom.

But now—it felt like a throne room.

And she?
Just an intruder.
Unarmed.
Unseen.
Carrying only a letter—
and the quiet burden of what must finally be said.

Chapter Text

Karin stepped forward — once.

The doors shut behind her with a soft thud — not loud, but final. Like a seal pressed over something irreversible. It made the air shift around her, subtly. Like something had locked into place.

Toushirou still didn’t turn.

He stood at the far end of the room, framed by sky and steel, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his tailored slacks. His white hair caught the sunlight like frost beneath glass — unmoving, undisturbed.

“I didn’t expect they’d send their daughter to speak,” he said again — without heat, without welcome. Just fact. Spoken in a voice as still and sharp as iced glass.

Karin didn’t look away.
Didn’t blink.

“I’m not here on behalf of my family,” she said.

His eyes shifted slightly — not toward her, but toward her faint reflection in the window.
“No?”

“I came for myself.”

That made him turn.

Slowly. Deliberately.

And suddenly — she understood what people meant when they said he didn’t just enter a room.

He changed its gravity.

And now, that gravity fixed on her.

He faced her fully, and for a moment, she swore the temperature dropped. Her skin prickled — not from fear, but from the weight of his attention. Measured. Exact. Unflinching.

His expression gave nothing away.
Not cruel. Not kind. Not even cold. Just… composed.

Hitsugaya Toushirou — just like the world warned.
Untouchable. Immaculate. Unmoved.

Everything about him felt engineered — not to impress, but to intimidate.
Not a man, but a mechanism.
Built to calculate. Built to control.
Like he’d carved out whatever was human just to become this.

Cold. Efficient.
Beautiful in the way knives are.

There was nothing warm here.
Only precision.
Only silence.
And power that didn’t need to raise its voice.

“You came to renegotiate?” he asked.

Karin blinked. “Renegotiate?”

“The deal,” he said flatly. “The contract. Isn’t that why you’re here? To cancel it?”

She took in a breath, spine lengthening, grounding herself in the silence.

“I’m here to talk.”

“About what?”

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

“The truth.”
Her voice was calm, but not soft.
“What you know. What I know. And what we’ve both been pretending not to see.”

A pause.

Silence closed in again — thin as glass, and twice as sharp.

Toushirou studied her.

His gaze wasn’t hostile.
But it wasn’t forgiving either.

“Do you understand,” he said after a moment, “that truth doesn’t always bring closure?”

A pause. Just long enough to sting.

“Sometimes, it just cuts deeper.”

His words were quiet — but precise. Measured. Deadly in their clarity.

Karin’s jaw tensed — but she didn’t look away.

“I know.”

A beat passed. Then she added, voice low but unshaking:

“I’ve already made my decision.”

She stepped forward, eyes locked on his.

“I just need to know if I made it too late… or for the wrong man.”

The words struck the air between them like flint against steel — clean, without apology.

Her pulse thrummed in her throat — loud and raw. But she stood her ground.

“I chose this,” she continued, quieter now, more bare.
“But I’d rather bleed from the truth… than keep breathing in a room built on silence.”

That stopped him.

Toushirou’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not in suspicion, but in thought. Curiosity. Calculation.

“You’re bolder than I expected,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself.

Karin didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
Still held his gaze

“I’ve had to be.”

And that… that made something flicker.

A small movement — the corner of his mouth twitching. Not quite a smile.

But almost.

Like he hadn’t yet decided whether this conversation would end in war…
or something far more dangerous.

—-

“Had to be,” he said, voice like glass — flat, reflective, and cutting without effort.
Not loud. Not cruel.
Just… final. Like judgment dressed in restraint.

It wasn’t quite an insult.
But it felt like a verdict.

Karin didn’t flinch.
Her spine stayed straight —
even when it stung.

He stepped away from the window, walking slowly — confidently — toward the long, gleaming table at the center of the room. He didn’t rush. Power never did.

“You know,” he said, resting a hand on the back of the chair at the head of the table,
“I’ve never cared for marriage.”

“I figured,” Karin replied—dry, even.

“But,” he went on, tone smooth, untouched by her edge, “I’m not against arrangements. Strategy. Alliances. Mergers. Power redistribution.”

His gaze lifted, cool and measured.

“In the end, it’s all just business.”

Karin met his gaze. “Even if it ruins lives?”

Toushirou didn’t blink.
“Only the ones that don’t know how to play.”

It struck deeper than she expected.
And from the slight shift in his eyes — the almost imperceptible pause —
he knew it had hit its mark.

But she didn’t flinch.
She breathed once — slow, steady — and held his gaze like glass under pressure.

Then, quieter. Sharper.

“You think I don’t know how to play?”

“I think you just arrived late to the game.”

Another silence stretched — this one heavier.

A breath caught. A heartbeat skipped.

Then Toushirou tilted his head slightly. Calm. Composed. Detached.

“So,” he said, “what exactly do you want from me, Kurosaki Karin?”

Karin didn’t answer right away.
She didn’t move. Neither did he.

The distance between them wasn’t just physical — it was pointed, exact.
The table that stretched between them felt like a drawn line.
Not close enough to clash.
But close enough that if either of them took a single step forward, it would feel like war.

One wrong word, one wrong move — and something would break.

She spoke without a tremor.
“I want the truth. About why you agreed to this. About what you stood to gain. And whether you’d still go through with it now… knowing everything that’s happened.”

Toushirou’s gaze didn’t waver.

But something shifted — subtle, calculated.
The kind of shift that didn’t shake foundations, but marked the beginning of an earthquake.

Then he moved to sit.

But not at the head of the table.

Instead, Toushirou stepped to one of the chairs along the side — deliberately choosing not to sit where power traditionally did.

He pulled the chair back and lowered himself into it — smooth, measured — like a king stepping down from his throne, only to assert control in a quieter way.
One leg crossed over the other. His fingers tapped — light, rhythmic — against the armrest.

Then he looked up at her.
Not with warmth. But with focus. With intent.

“Sit,” he said.
“We’ll talk business.”

——

Karin didn’t move right away.

The invitation wasn’t really one — and they both knew it.

She stood still for a moment, gaze locked on his.
As if trying to decide whether sitting down meant conceding something she wasn’t ready to give.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides — not from fear, but from restraint barely held.
She hadn’t come here to play by his rules.
And yet, she’d already stepped onto his board.

The chair opposite him waited — empty, expectant.

Finally, she stepped forward. Quiet. Controlled.
And sat.
Back straight. Chin high.

If this was a negotiation — she wouldn’t show up small.
Whatever came next — she had to face it without blinking.