One of Yuna's most unforgettable memories had been a visit to the Takahashi household. It hadn't been anything grand or dramatic. Knowing the reputation of the Takahashi family, she had prepared meticulously—practicing posture, refining her speech, choosing makeup and outfit with the utmost care.
She had stepped out of the car, carrying an elegantly wrapped bag of premium fruits, each carefully selected. Clutching the handle tightly, she had gazed at the grand estate before her—a towering, sophisticated mansion. What had caught her off guard was the sudden shift in Ryusei's demeanor. As he had walked ahead, his expression had grown stern, almost distant.
They had entered the dining room just as the family was having dinner. The long table had been draped in pristine white linen; each seat meticulously set with fine porcelain dishes. The entire Takahashi family had been present—Ryusei's grandparents, his sisters—all seated with composed, almost expressionless faces. Ryusei had greeted them respectfully, yet not a single word had been returned.
Yuna hadn't been able to understand the cold atmosphere that had hung thick between them. In her own family, meals were full of chatter and chaos—sometimes arguments, sometimes laughter, but always alive. It had struck her then why Ryusei's expression had changed so drastically.
She had forced a polite smile, bowed, and quietly sat beside him.
Dinner had passed in near silence. The only sounds had been the clink of chopsticks, the scrape of cutlery on fine porcelain, and the occasional shuffle of a chair. Yuna had felt like she was sitting on a bed of thorns. The stillness had been suffocating, so unlike the warm chaos of her family dinners where Ryusei had once fit in so effortlessly.
Trying to ease the tension, she had turned to one of Ryusei's sisters.
"Which of the fruits I brought do you like best?" she had asked gently.
The woman had glanced up with cold eyes and replied curtly, "Anything's fine."
Yuna had frozen, feeling instantly dismissed. She had turned to Ryusei, hoping for comfort, but he hadn't met her gaze. He had been too focused on serving food to his parents, his actions precise and formal. For the first time, Yuna had realized the Takahashi family wasn't what she had imagined. They had been powerful, elegant—but distant, like drifting icebergs, unreachable and cold.
After dinner, the family had dispersed, each retreating to their own rooms. Yuna had lingered near a large door adjacent to the living room—it had remained shut, silent and mysterious. She had stared at it until Mr. Takahashi had appeared and taken his seat in a grand armchair. His presence had been commanding.
Ryusei had sat across from him, composed and upright. Yuna had quietly perched on the edge of the sofa near Ryusei, her hand gripping her skirt.
The conversation had begun, focused on SHINSEI Service, the massive corporation the Takahashi family had owned for generations. While the topic had been familiar to Ryusei, Yuna had found herself lost amidst the heavy business jargon and solemn tones.
Ryusei had looked different here—no longer her husband, but a man shouldering the weight of legacy. She had sat silently, barely daring to breathe, and had listened to fragments of a world far from her own.
Eventually, Mr. Takahashi had turned to Yuna, politely but firmly excusing her. She had nodded and left.
Out in the hallway, she had exhaled deeply. Her steps had led her to the garden at the back, where soft golden light had spilled from the window, casting a glow on a woman seated quietly inside.
It had been Ryusei's mother. She had looked serene and composed, the polar opposite of Mr. Takahashi's imposing presence. She had been delicately weaving a kimono, each stitch infused with quiet grace.
Yuna had sat across from her, watching the skilled hands at work. The silence there had been peaceful, not stifling.
"Your kimono is beautiful," Yuna had said, her admiration sincere.
Mrs. Takahashi had chuckled gently. "I've been doing this for a long time. Weaving kimono isn't just making clothes—it's preserving tradition. My clients value these garments greatly. It's a good business, even after all these years."
Yuna had nodded, resting her hands on her lap. There had been something comforting about the woman's presence.
"Today must have felt unfamiliar," the older woman had continued, eyes still focused on her needle. "The Takahashi family has its own way. Don't take it to heart."
Yuna had smiled faintly, tilting her head as thoughts had stirred in her mind. Could she ever truly belong to this world, so distant yet so near? She had barely known anyone here—not even Ryusei. But for that moment, she had felt safe.
"Mother…" she had hesitated. "Ryusei told me he's the eldest of five. It must be exhausting for him, right?"
Mrs. Takahashi had paused. Her gaze had lifted, eyes deep and wistful.
"Yes," she had said quietly. "He bears many responsibilities. But... he's not the eldest. Ryusei is the second child. There was another boy before him. He had cystic fibrosis. Ryusei is only alive today because of another child's lungs..."
Yuna's heart had tightened. She had remembered the unopened door on the first floor. Was that where the first son now lay?
The child... the Takahashi family has kept hidden from the world all this time?
"The other three are girls, younger and still finding their place. Ryusei was always the dependable one. We raise them all with discipline. Seeing them succeed is a parent's greatest joy."
Yuna's lips had curled in a gentle smile. She, too, had understood the pressure of strict parenting. Discipline often hid deep love.
"I understand. You both love Ryusei deeply."
Mrs. Takahashi had fallen silent. Her hands had frozen over the fabric. Her expression had darkened, eyes clouding as though revisiting a painful memory.
"Ryusei… yes, he was loved… just like his brother. He was always obedient, always brilliant… more than his sisters ever were…"
She had muttered the words repeatedly, trance-like. Yuna had grown uneasy and quickly changed the topic.
"Mother, your kimono design is stunning. Is this made from a special kind of silk?"
Mrs. Takahashi had seemed to awaken. Her hands had relaxed. "Yes. It is a rare silk from Kyoto, used only for the finest pieces."
"I truly admire your craftsmanship. Every detail is like art."
The older woman had offered a tired smile. "Thank you, Yuna. But every piece of art comes at a cost—not just in skill, but time, effort... and sometimes other things."
Yuna had stayed quiet. She had simply watched, the golden threads glinting under dim light. There had been a strange familiarity to the patterns.
And then it had hit her.
Mrs. Takahashi had been a renowned kimono artisan. Yuna had read countless articles about her back in university. The woman had built a successful kimono empire before even turning forty.
Yet behind her calm demeanor, Yuna had sensed something unspoken—secrets, pain, or burdens she had never shared. A woman married to a man like Mr. Takahashi surely had her own truths to carry.
Ryusei had once told her not to concern herself with his family. She had understood now. Trying to be "part of it" meant navigating layers of expectations, history, and silence.
Love and marriage, Yuna had realized, were two very different things. And just like that, something within her had quietly shifted.
Amid the whirlwind of marriage and daily responsibilities, what had gnawed at Yuna's heart the most hadn't been Ryusei—it had been Hiroki, her childhood friend of over a decade. Their friendship had always been unwavering, stitched tightly into the fabric of her adolescence. But ever since her wedding, Hiroki had drifted. He had no longer initiated conversations, had avoided eye contact, and had spoken in a tone that was curt, almost cold. Not only with her—but with everyone. It had been as if he had retreated into a familiar shell of silence he had tried so hard to grow out of.
The image of Hiroki alone in the corner of the office had haunted Yuna. She had called it tragic. Her coworker back then, Takano, had once joked that Hiroki had some kind of antisocial disorder. That offhand comment had annoyed Yuna for nearly a week until Takano had smoothed things over with a shopping trip.
Still, Yuna had always harbored a quiet hope—that Hiroki would one day find someone who truly saw him. Then, like a beacon, the new department head had arrived: Hayame Irumi.
It had been impossible to ignore her. Strikingly beautiful, with sharp features and an air of effortless grace, Irumi had captured attention from every direction. She hadn't just been gorgeous—she had been brilliant. Intelligent, decisive, tactful, and an exceptional leader.
Naturally, with such perfection had come rumors. Some had claimed she climbed the corporate ladder by relying on powerful connections. But Yuna had never believed that. To her, Irumi had been a role model—a self-made woman who earned respect through talent, not shortcuts.
What had surprised Yuna most, however, had been the object of Irumi's affection. It hadn't been some senior executive, nor a charismatic outsider—it had been Mamoru Hiroki.
And Irumi hadn't hidden it. She had praised Hiroki openly, had favored him in meetings, and had even invited him to private dinners. She had given him privileges no one else had. Yuna, instead of feeling jealous, had felt genuinely excited for them.
Once, Irumi had invited Yuna to a café near the office to talk candidly about her feelings for Hiroki. Throughout the conversation, Yuna couldn't help but have been distracted by Irumi's almost surreal beauty.
"You understand, right?" Irumi had asked with a soft smile. "We're both women."
"Yes, of course," Yuna had nodded. "He's always had admirers."
"Has he now…"
Yuna had sipped her drink, relaxed—until Irumi's eyes had fixed on her with a strangely persistent smile.
"Have you ever…?"
"W-Wait, what? No!" Yuna had blurted out, dabbing her mouth quickly with a napkin. "We've never... there's never been anything like that!"
"I know," Irumi had said smoothly. "You're just friends."
"Yes. And... I'm married."
A pause. Irumi's brow had lifted slightly.
Yuna had gazed at her innocently. There had been something overpowering and weighty in the eyes of a grown woman—an intensity that had felt as if it could see straight through to her soul.
"Are you happy?"
"I guess... the way most people are."
"Well, I'm happy for you."
Yuna had given a polite smile, her fingers curling around her glass. Yet one question had lingered: why had a woman like Irumi—so accomplished and poised—still been single? Had she been too perfect, too busy, uninterested? Or... had she been hurt?
Refocusing, Yuna had reminded herself that whatever Irumi's past was, it had nothing to do with her.
"Can I ask why you like Hiroki?" she had finally said.
"Huh?" Irumi had tilted her head, stirring her drink thoughtfully. "Why I like Hiroki…"
"It's just... I've never thought much about it before, but I got curious."
"I suppose... Hiroki has this unusual presence. Like he doesn't quite belong to this world. He doesn't talk much, but he is incredibly thoughtful. He puts his soul into everything he does. At first, I thought it was just a fleeting crush, but the more time I spent around him, the more I felt drawn to him."
She had paused, a shy smile tugging at her lips. It had been the most adorable thing to Yuna.
"The other night, I invited him to dinner. But I had to stay late at work and ended up falling asleep at the office. When I woke up the next morning, I found his blazer draped over me. He had come back, just to check on me."
Yuna had listened closely. That had sounded exactly like Hiroki—considerate to a fault. But still...
"Lately, I've also been listening to a band…"
"Yeah?"
Irumi had lifted her phone, showing Yuna a paused video. "Is this him? The one playing electric guitar?"
Yuna had frozen. On screen had been a performance from three years ago—HIMrs6, the band Hiroki had once been part of. She had immediately recognized him on the right, singing a duet with the lead vocalist.
So Irumi had been a fan? Or rather—a fan of guitarist Hiroki.
"I didn't expect you to notice him," Yuna had said, surprised.
"I admire his talent. Hiroki has such a captivating voice. It's rare, but when he sings, it's like something inside me quiets down. Like he understands me. Honestly, his music helps me forget... my ex-husband… The man who…"
Suddenly, Irumi had clutched her phone to her chest and had hunched forward, visibly shaken. Yuna had rushed to her side, gently rubbing her arm. Irumi's face had been pale, her eyes shut tight, lips trembling.
"I'm fine... really," Irumi had murmured.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Yuna... you understand, don't you?"
"I do," Yuna had replied, squeezing her hand softly. "Don't worry. I'll help you two."
"Thank you."
Irumi had gripped her hand tightly, her spirit gradually settling, though something in her eyes had lingered—a kind of quiet sadness.
From that day on, Yuna had become their unofficial matchmaker. She had praised Irumi in front of Hiroki, had arranged 'accidental' moments for them to be alone, and had done her best to draw them closer. She had truly believed that if anyone could soothe Hiroki's loneliness, it was someone as warm and capable as Irumi.
But Hiroki had remained unchanged. Polite, distant, never crossing the boundaries of professionalism. Despite Irumi's and Yuna's efforts, Hiroki had never let anyone in.
A few months later, Irumi had suddenly requested a transfer. The news had spread quickly, leaving behind whispers and speculation. Some had said she had left because of a broken heart. Others had spoken of a past with an abusive husband.
Yuna had been left bewildered. Why had Hiroki turned down someone like Irumi? The ache of regret and confusion had gnawed at her. And in that ache, a realization had begun to form.
Hiroki didn't give his heart easily. Perhaps, he never had one at all.
But if she dared to look into the past—really look—she remembered.
He did have a heart.
And it had always, always belonged to just one person.
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