Rin had barely finished her tea when her father summoned her to his study.
The room smelled of old wood, sea charts, and the faint tang of tobacco — a place where deals were struck and expectations sharpened. Her father sat behind his massive desk, posture rigid, gaze unreadable.
"You've been restless," he said without preamble.
Rin tilted her head. "Restless? Or alive?"
He ignored the jab. "You are of age, Rin. It's time you began to consider your future — seriously. You cannot live forever drifting between whims. Your life has weight. Responsibility."
Rin crossed her arms. "You mean marriage, don't you?"
His silence was answer enough.
Her mouth twisted. "You want me to pick someone better. Someone… suitable."
"Someone worthy," he corrected, voice sharp. "Not a man who abandons society to play hermit. Not someone who drags you into storms and isolation. You are a Nishina. Your future should strengthen our name, not compromise it."
The words cut sharper than she expected. She bit the inside of her cheek, holding back the flood of retorts burning in her throat.
Her father leaned forward, eyes like steel. "Remember this, Rin. Love fades. Duty does not. Your mother may coddle you, but I will not. The Nishina Group must remain strong. And as my heir, you must choose wisely."
Her heart thudded. He had never spoken it so plainly before — as my heir.
Rin exhaled slowly, forcing a smile. "Understood, Father. I'll make sure to marry someone whose bank account is very, very romantic."
His glare could have scorched paper. Before she could push further, his tone shifted, colder, more businesslike.
"There's a gathering tomorrow night. High-level investors, board members, allies of the Nishina Group. You will attend in my place."
Rin blinked. "Me?"
"You are my successor," he said flatly. "It is time they recognize it."
Her stomach knotted. Part of her wanted to cheer at finally being acknowledged. Another part quailed at the weight in his words.
"Yes, Father," she said softly.
"Do not embarrass me."
She left the study with her spine straight, her head high — and her heart in turmoil.
The moment she was free, Rin pulled out her phone.
"Mai," she said the second her best friend picked up. "You're coming with me tomorrow."
Mai sounded puzzled. "Coming where?"
"To a gathering of terrifying business people with sharp smiles and sharper pens. My father wants me to prove I'm heir material. You're my shield."
There was a pause, then Mai's amused sigh. "Ah, so I'm your sacrificial lamb."
"No," Rin corrected, pacing her room. "You're my emotional support lamb. Very different."
Mai laughed. "Fine, but only if you promise not to abandon me when men in suits start talking about cargo logistics."
"I'll abandon you the moment someone hands me champagne," Rin teased, then softened. "Thanks, Mai. Really."
"Of course," Mai said warmly. "If nothing else, I'll make sure you don't trip on your own dress in front of the entire board."
Rin groaned. "You just had to remind me of that possibility."
The hall gleamed with chandeliers, polished marble, and the hum of wealth disguised as civility. Men and women in suits clustered in small circles, voices low but purposeful. Glasses clinked. Deals were whispered. Laughter rang false.
Rin entered with Mai at her side, her dress simple but elegant, chosen less to dazzle and more to armor herself. She felt eyes turning, assessing, weighing. The Nishina heir.
Mai leaned close, murmuring, "You're doing fine. Just keep walking like you own the place."
"I'd rather walk like I own a small bakery," Rin whispered back. "Less pressure."
Mai stifled a laugh.
As they made their way deeper into the hall, acquaintances introduced themselves, shaking Rin's hand, complimenting her poise. She smiled politely, answered carefully, but every word felt rehearsed, every look another judgment.
Then she heard it.
That voice.
Calm. Deep. Steady.
Her breath caught before she even turned.
Hayate Miyazaki stood across the hall, speaking with a small cluster of men in tailored suits. His presence drew attention without demanding it — composed, unflappable, a quiet authority. The men leaned toward him when he spoke, hanging on every measured word.
Rin froze.
"Uh-oh," Mai whispered, noticing her expression. "That's a face. That's definitely a face."
"Shut up," Rin hissed.
Hayate looked up then, as though some invisible thread had tugged him toward her. Their eyes met across the room. The noise of the hall dimmed. For one dizzying moment, it was just them again — no chandeliers, no investors, no watchful eyes.
Then Hana appeared at his side, sliding smoothly into the conversation. Moments later, Miyu drifted closer, greeting a director with perfect grace.
The spell shattered.
Rin's jaw tightened.
Mai raised an eyebrow. "So those are the rivals, huh?"
Rin inhaled, squared her shoulders. "Yes."
"And you're about to do something reckless?"
Rin's lips curved into a thin smile. "Of course."
The introductions came one after another, a carousel of names and handshakes.
"Mr. Fujimoto, our partner in shipbuilding."
"Mrs. Sato, head of coastal logistics."
"Chairman Iwata, representing the port authority."
Each name was offered like a test. Each handshake weighed Rin like cargo. She smiled, answered politely, recalled Mai's endless advice about posture and tone, and felt the weight of her father's expectations pressing into her spine.
Beside her, Mai leaned in at intervals with quiet commentary.
"That one's already had three glasses of champagne, don't agree to anything he says."
"That woman's necklace is worth more than my apartment."
"Careful, Rin, your polite smile is starting to look like constipation."
Rin nearly choked on her drink. "Stop making me laugh, they'll think I've lost control."
"Sweetheart, you have lost control. But at least you look fabulous doing it."
As the evening wore on, Rin found herself cornered by a small group of investors.
"So," one of them asked, swirling his wine, "you're to inherit the Nishina Group's transport division? Quite the responsibility."
Rin straightened. "Yes. My father has entrusted me to continue our legacy in sea transport. I intend to do so with both respect for our tradition and an openness to innovation."
Another investor chuckled. "Innovation, you say? That sounds like something young Miyazaki would appreciate." His eyes flicked toward Hayate across the room. "Brilliant man. Visionary. Pity he hides himself away."
Rin's throat tightened. She forced a smile. "Sometimes solitude brings clarity."
They nodded, impressed, and moved on. But the words lingered. Young Miyazaki. Visionary. To the world, Hayate wasn't a hermit who had built a villa on an island to escape — he was a genius in hiding, a man admired even by her father's peers.
It made her father's disdain sting all the more.
At one point, Rin excused herself, slipping toward the balcony for air. Mai followed, tugging two glasses of champagne from a passing tray.
"You're holding up well," Mai said, handing her a glass. "Nobody's thrown you out yet."
Rin sighed, sipping. "This feels like a game I don't know the rules to."
Mai smirked. "The rules are simple. Everyone here wants something. Smile, nod, and don't sign anything in blood."
Rin laughed weakly. Then she froze.
The balcony doors opened again.
Hayate stepped outside, his suit jacket unbuttoned, his expression unreadable. For one impossible heartbeat, they stood only a few feet apart, the city lights behind them, the noise of the gathering fading into a hum.
Her chest tightened.
"Rin—" Mai started, but Rin grabbed her arm, dragging her back inside before Hayate's gaze could fully catch hers.
"What are you doing?" Mai hissed.
"I'm not ready," Rin whispered, heart pounding. "Not yet."
But she knew she couldn't avoid him forever.
As they rejoined the crowd, Rin caught sight of her father speaking with Miyu, his expression warmer than it had been all evening. He nodded approvingly as Miyu spoke, his stern features softening at her poise.
The sight sent a shiver down Rin's spine. Her father didn't have to say the words — she could already feel the pressure. This is the kind of woman you should be. This is the kind of woman you should become.
Mai noticed too. "He likes her," she said quietly.
Rin's jaw tightened. "Of course he does. She's perfect."
"You're better," Mai said simply.
Rin blinked at her.
Mai shrugged, sipping her champagne. "Perfect is boring. You're… you."
Rin almost laughed, but her heart was too heavy.
Across the hall, Hayate looked up again. This time, his eyes found hers. He didn't move. He didn't speak. But something in his gaze pulled at her, steady and unyielding.
And Rin realized the storm wasn't outside anymore. It was here, in this hall of polished marble and false smiles, and she was standing in the middle of it.
Hayate had attended hundreds of gatherings like this one — halls heavy with glass and gold, voices dripping with courtesy, deals bartered with a smile. He had long since learned to let such places wash over him like background noise.
Tonight, however, was different.
Because Rin Nishina was here.
He had not expected her to be. The investors spoke of her casually, already weighing her as her father's heir. He had watched her from across the room as she greeted one figure after another, her posture proud but her eyes sharp with unease.
She was holding her own. He knew how much effort that took. The Rin he had met months ago would have wilted under so many false smiles. This Rin, however, laughed at the right moments, replied without stumbling, and endured their scrutiny with her chin lifted.
She was not porcelain anymore. She was tempered glass.
And that, he thought, was more dangerous to his composure than Hana or Miyu could ever be.
He had anticipated Hana's arrival, of course. She was too proud, too territorial, to let him stand alone at such an event. Her laughter was as rehearsed as ever, her barbed compliments aimed not at him but at anyone watching — reminding the room that she had known him first.
Miyu was subtler. She didn't cling or provoke. Instead, she moved like a queen acknowledging her court, admired without effort. Investors gravitated toward her, impressed by her refinement. Even in silence, she held her ground beside him.
But neither woman unsettled him the way Rin did.
Because Rin was not playing a game.
She didn't maneuver or scheme. She simply existed — raw, genuine, stubbornly herself — and yet he could feel the weight of her presence across the hall as surely as if she stood beside him.
When Rin stepped onto the balcony, his feet carried him there almost without thought. The air outside was cooler, cleaner, free of the perfume and chatter. For a moment, he thought they would finally speak.
But then she saw him, and something flickered in her eyes — hesitation, fear, maybe both. She slipped back inside before a word could pass his lips.
Hayate stood in the night air alone, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the city lights.
He wasn't offended. Rin had always needed time to face her own storms. He could wait.
Patience was a survival skill, after all.
As the evening wore on, Hayate endured the conversations, the negotiations, the probing questions of men who thought themselves clever. But his mind was elsewhere.
Every time he looked up, Rin's eyes found his. Not for long, never boldly, but enough. Enough to remind him of firelight on her face, of laughter shared over failed meals, of the silence between them that had never felt empty.
She was trying to survive here just as she had on the island. The difference was that this storm was harder to see — a storm of smiles, judgments, and rivals who played their parts well.
And yet, he thought, Rin was still Rin. Stubborn. Honest. Braver than she believed.
Hayate lifted his glass, hiding the faint curve of his lips.
This world might demand that he remain unreadable. But privately, he admitted a truth he would not voice aloud:
Hana's ambition did not sway him.
Miyu's elegance did not impress him.
But Rin Nishina, glaring at champagne like it had wronged her, could undo him with a single glance.
When the last of the guests began to thin, Hayate adjusted his cufflinks and stepped toward the exit.
Kazehiro, ever his quiet shadow and oldest friend, fell into step beside him. "So," he asked in a low voice, "how did it go? Did you at least chat with…" His eyes flicked meaningfully toward Rin.
Hayate shook his head once. "No."
Kazehiro's brow rose. "Then?"
"Let's go."
"Home?"
Hayate's lips curved faintly. "Nah. Let's get KFC."
Kazehiro chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. "As you wish."
Without bothering to notify Hana or Miyu, the two slipped out of the hall.
When they settled into the car — Kazehiro taking the driver's seat — he glanced sideways as the engine purred to life. "And Hana? What about—"
"Shhh," Hayate cut him off, his tone casual but final. He leaned his head back against the seat. "Let's go."
Kazehiro smiled faintly, said nothing more, and steered them into the night.
As the city lights blurred past the window, Hayate closed his eyes.
He had built an empire by knowing when to move and when to wait. Tonight, he decided, he would wait.
Because storms revealed character.
And Rin was already proving hers.