Toji Zen'in had not planned on inviting a single soul to his wedding.
It was simple, really—what good would it do? Who could he even invite?Kong Shiyu, the shady broker with one hand in the black market and the other in a dozen underworld schemes? Or perhaps the blood relatives in the Zen'in clan—unscrupulous, arrogant, and quick to draw steel even during a toast?
The answer was obvious. He wanted no part of them.
But when Toji told his fiancée his decision, she surprised him.
"If you don't invite anyone, Toji, then I won't either," Kikyo Fushiguro said gently. "As long as it's just us, I'm fine with a quiet marriage. I just don't want you to be looked down on because of me."
She was perceptive—too perceptive. She could see he was cutting ties with his past, maybe even sensed the darker truths he kept buried, though she never asked. Still, she would not allow their wedding to feel like something small or shameful.
And Toji understood. These things meant nothing to him—but to her, the blessings of friends and family mattered. If it mattered to her, then it mattered to him.
So he began thinking of names.
The list was short. In fact, it was nearly empty. Only after combing through memory and rejecting one dangerous contact after another did a single figure stand out: Zhongli.
On paper, Zhongli was nothing more than a refined master of ceremonies. In truth, he was far more—powerful, dignified, and ageless, yet untouched by local political feuds. His appearance could make even a Zen monk pause, his knowledge was endless, and his composure unshakable. If he had a flaw, it was his baffling indifference to money.
Zhongli did not refuse the invitation.
"However," he said, placing a steady hand on the counter between them, "I will not leave the children alone in Yokohama."
By "children," he meant the ones under his protection: Chuuya Nakahara, a sharp-eyed boy of nine with supernatural abilities but still the instincts of a child; and Edogawa Ranpo, thirteen, an ordinary human physically but frighteningly gifted in intellect.
Even with the stoneflower talisman around Chuuya's neck—a charm carrying Zhongli's personal blessing—Yokohama was dangerous ground.
Toji only nodded.
"Then make another invitation. One for each of your little devils."
And that was that.
---
Three months later, Zhongli arrived in Tokyo through channels arranged by Toji, Chuuya and Ranpo in tow.
Tokyo was a stark contrast to Yokohama. Its streets thrummed with orderly life, untouched—at least visibly—by the recent scars of war. Faces were relaxed here, the air clean of gunpowder. To someone born into conflict, the difference was almost disorienting.
Chuuya pressed his face to the car window, wide-eyed at the sight of high-rises glinting in the sun.
Zhongli's voice came quietly.
"Do you yearn for this place?"
"…No." Chuuya pulled away after a pause, leaning slightly toward Zhongli's seat. "Yokohama's fine… I mean—wherever you are, sir."
The boy's voice was steady, but there was weight beneath it. Tokyo was beautiful, yes—but it was not home.
Ranpo waved dismissively.
"Don't be so gloomy, Tachibana-kun. The place doesn't matter. Adults are equally weird no matter where you go."
"…Is that so?" Chuuya asked, skepticism tugging at his tone.
"That's so! Listen to me—before I…" Ranpo launched into a story from his police academy days, gesturing animatedly.
The two boys muttered back and forth, their conversation a low hum in the car. Zhongli sat in silence, profile turned to the window, eyes holding the weight of centuries.
The sleek streets, the pale daylight—these sights stirred memories not of this world, but of Liyue Harbor's stone bridges, the carved eaves of its tea houses, and the flames of the Archon War. Yokohama had been his landing point here, a place of constant strife. This—this was rare peace.
A flicker of white on the street caught his eye. His gaze sharpened—golden pupils locking, for the briefest instant, with a pair of brilliant, gem-like blue eyes.
The connection lasted no longer than a heartbeat before the traffic carried them apart.
Six Eyes.
Zhongli leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable.
---
The wedding venue was a small, wood-toned auditorium, its solemn warmth softened by the bright white roses arranged at every corner.
From the raised platform, a cellist played Hymne à l'Amour, the pure melody drifting like fine silk through the air. The master of ceremonies' voice was deep and calm as he welcomed the guests, who sat smiling on the benches.
At the front, Toji Zen'in stood in a tailored black suit, a white flower pinned to his chest. He was composed—or trying to be—but his gaze was fixed unflinchingly on the doorway.
And then she appeared.
Kikyo Fushiguro, in a white wedding dress, carrying a bouquet of fresh roses. She moved with a quiet, steady grace, the veil soft against her face, the light catching in her eyes.
The moment was surreal.So even a bastard like me gets something like this? Toji thought distantly. Something this… pure?
The vows came. Rings were exchanged. The kiss, light but final, sealed them as husband and wife. The hall erupted in applause.
Among the guests, Kikyo's friends and distant relatives stood and clapped. Zhongli rose as well, his slow applause dignified. Even the two boys—Ranpo with his untidy hair and Chuuya with his restless sharp gaze—stood to join in.
In that moment, Toji understood why Kikyo had cared so much about the blessings of others. It wasn't about pride—it was about being seen.
---
The formal ceremony ended, and the guests were guided to the lounge while the newlyweds went to retouch their makeup.
At the reception desk outside the lounge, Zhongli handed over a small gemstone to the staff.
"If Mr. Zen'in asks, tell him: 'This is the amulet I gave to the bride.'"
Inside, two long banquet tables filled the space. The couple's seats, placed according to Japanese custom, sat at the far end with a glass vase of white flowers between them. At each place setting lay a greeting card addressed to the guest.
Chuuya opened his—neat handwriting, if a little stiff: In short, thanks for coming to my wedding banquet.
"Ha?! What kind of half-hearted note is that?" Chuuya hissed under his breath, glaring at the card.
Ranpo leaned over. "Man's personality is just bad. Obvious."
Their muttering cut off when Zhongli put his card down and looked sharply toward one side of the room.
"What is it, sir?" Chuuya asked, immediately alert.
"…Nothing certain," Zhongli murmured. "But to be safe, I need to check."
His voice lowered. "You two stay here. If anything happens, protect yourselves first—and then the guests."
Chuuya nodded without hesitation. Ranpo only narrowed his eyes, thoughtful.
---
Using the excuse of going to the restroom, Zhongli left and followed the faint ripple of what he had sensed.
It was a strange signature—magic, but not from any source he recognized. Faint, fleeting, yet carrying a malice sharp enough to slice through his focus. It was hidden well—enough to slip past even Toji's instinctive awareness—but Zhongli's perception was attuned to such shadows.
The trail led to the back kitchen.
On the preparation counter sat the wedding cake. Nearby, a small silver spoon. Zhongli picked it up, infused it with elemental power, and watched as tendrils of oily black magic seeped out, twisting into the faint outline of a formation before retreating.
A moment later, Toji appeared in the doorway, his presence sharp and dangerous, drawn by the warning pulse Zhongli had released.
"…That's the spoon," Toji said grimly.
It wasn't just any spoon—it was the spoon. The one meant for the Western-style wedding tradition: the bride and groom feeding each other the first bite of cake.
Zhongli withdrew his power, letting the curse residue settle briefly into visibility before it dissolved completely.
Toji's hands flexed once at his sides, his jaw tight. That curse had been meant for Kikyo.
"Do you know who did this?" His voice was low, like the growl of a predator before it strikes.
"I have a trace of the fluctuation," Zhongli replied. "It will take effort to track. If you trust me, follow."
---
They stepped back into the corridor—only to be stopped by the receptionist from earlier.
"Ah—Mr. Li!" she said in surprise. "Weren't those two boys with you? They said they were feeling short of breath, and wanted to go outside with you to get some air."
Zhongli's expression didn't change—but the stillness in his face was different now.