Time passed, and Princess Suzuki's training within the White Flower Palace steadily advanced.
Every few days, she would return from her sessions with the White Elder, her control over Illusion and Psychic magic sharper, more refined. Her talent was undeniable. Under different circumstances, Rin might have even admired her growth.
But circumstances, as always, were complicated.
The White Elder, though powerful, was a busy man. He was often called away to deal with matters far beyond the scope of a single student.
And that was where Rin came in.
Not by choice.
He had no formal obligation to be involved. But the White Elder, trusting Rin's skill—and perhaps a little too aware of the unspoken dynamics—would often leave Suzuki in his care.
"Just guide her through the fundamentals," the White Elder would say.
"A few drills. She listens to you."
And so Rin found himself in the gardens, the training halls, the meditation chambers—beside her.
Correcting her posture. Adjusting her stance. Explaining theory and layering spellwork with calm precision.
At first, he kept his distance—professionally detached, emotionally neutral.
But Princess Suzuki was relentless.
She would ask questions she already knew the answers to, pretending confusion just to prolong their conversations. She would lean closer during spell demonstrations, her proximity always lingering just a second too long.
Rin, ever disciplined, remained composed. Always polite, always cautious. He spoke clearly, concisely, with no room for misinterpretation.
No warmth. No unnecessary familiarity.
Yet, somehow, she always found a way to blur the line.
It was nearing the Crown Prince's Grand Celebration—a grand affair meant to display the skills and grace of the Princess Consorts, a political spectacle wrapped in elegance.
Suzuki, whose growth in magic was impressive, made it known she intended to participate.
One afternoon, after a long training session under the shade of the inner courtyard, Rin handed her a towel and turned away to stretch his arms.
That's when she spoke.
"Rin," she began, voice light, "will you be attending the celebration?"
He didn't even look back.
"That depends," he replied simply. "If the White Elder goes, I will. Otherwise, I still have responsibilities here."
A pause.
Then a soft laugh behind him. "You're quite responsible."
He felt her gaze press into his back, warm and unwavering.
And then, quieter, almost too quiet:
"Then… could you take responsibility for being mine as well…?"
His entire body tensed.
It lasted only half a second. A breath caught in his throat, muscles freezing—before he forced himself to relax, turning with an expression of mild confusion.
"I'm sorry, Princess. What was that?"
She met his eyes, smiling sweetly.
"Nothing," she said, a playful lilt in her voice. "Just thinking aloud."
Rin didn't respond.
He couldn't respond.
Instead, Suzuki casually walked to the edge of the practice circle, as if nothing had happened.
"What else do you think I should showcase?" she asked, slipping easily into another topic. "I want the full scope of my magic to be seen. Something elegant… but also strong."
Grateful for the shift, Rin began listing combinations—Illusion arrays tied with memory displacement techniques, Psychic projection merged with barrier illusions.
He spoke as he always did: measured, focused, precise.
But even as his words filled the courtyard, her gaze never left his face.
And in the corners of his mind, Rin already knew.
The more time he spent with her… the harder it would be to escape.
On Suzuki's next visit, Rin expected another typical training session.
He was wrong.
Because this time, she didn't come alone.
By her side, tall and radiating confidence, stood none other than the Vermillion Princess, Takigawa Rei.
Rin screamed inwardly.
For a brief moment, his brain froze, unable to process the chaos standing before him.
Then, slowly, his gaze slid toward Suzuki.
She looked… composed. Poised. Elegant, as always.
But Rin had spent enough time with her to see beneath the surface.
She was furious.
It wasn't overt—just a slight tightness at the corners of her lips, the faintest flicker of energy around her shoulders—but it was there.
She hated that Rei was here.
And Rin knew, without being told, that she hadn't invited her.
He didn't ask. He wouldn't ask.
Because he already knew this was about to be trouble.
Rei, true to form, didn't waste time.
"I'm looking for a sword dance partner for the Crown Prince's Celebration," she said, direct as ever. "I heard there's a certain Shimizu Rin here—White Elder's First Apprentice. Thought I'd see him for myself."
Rin exhaled through his nose.
If she was asking for him, then clearly she hadn't made the connection yet—that he was the Rin from her childhood. The boy she once dueled under a blooming vermilion tree.
Good.
Still, protocol demanded he escort them to the White Elder.
After a brief conversation, the ruling came swiftly and without hesitation.
"He is already occupied with helping Princess Suzuki," the White Elder said, his tone firm.
Rei blinked, caught off-guard. But after a pause, she nodded respectfully.
"A shame. I would've liked to see his swordplay."
Suzuki, meanwhile, was glowing inside.
She didn't speak, but the way her icy blue eyes flicked toward Rin, gleaming with smug satisfaction, said everything:
"Good. You belong here—next to me."
Rin sighed internally.
To avoid further entanglement, he reached into his coat and produced a scroll—a list of elite warriors within the Empire..
"Any of these should be able to match your rhythm," he said, offering it to Rei.
She accepted it, scanning the names thoughtfully.
Then, after a beat, she smiled. "Thank you, Shimizu Rin. I appreciate this."
Rin nodded. "Of course, Princess."
And with that, Rei left.
The doors slid closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Rin stood still.
Then he realized—with growing dread—that once again… he was alone with Suzuki.
She turned toward him, a serene smile blooming on her lips.
Rin didn't move.
He already knew: he had escaped one problem… only to be left with another.
Suzuki returned to training, her illusions weaving through the air like fragments of starlight—graceful and disciplined, yet tinged with wild emotion. Her psychic energy rippled faintly, like a net subconsciously stretching outward—reaching for him, wrapping around him.
She was happy.
That much was clear.
Even while conjuring spell constructs, her focus remained unshaken. But her posture was relaxed. Her shoulders lighter. She didn't have to say anything—Rin could feel the satisfaction radiating off her.
After a while, her voice broke the silence.
"…I apologize for bringing Princess Takigawa Rei so suddenly," she said, never breaking form.
Rin raised an eyebrow.
Her voice was calm—but laced with something darker. Something sharp.
"She forced me," Suzuki continued, lips thinning. "I couldn't refuse. She's… too forward."
There was a pause. Then, a long, slow exhale.
"I'll work on dealing with people like that in the future."
Rin said nothing, simply observing her.
But even now, the way she glanced at him between flickering illusions…
The subtle psychic threads winding around his presence…
The unspoken claim shimmering in her aura…
She wasn't just apologizing.
She was defending him.
Not from harm.
But from the others. From Rei. From anyone who might take what she now considered hers.
Rin closed his eyes for a brief moment.
He had wanted to live quietly. To remain a background character in the world of The Golden Girl's Rise.
So why was one of the story's main heroines looking at him like she was preparing to rewrite the plot?
The days leading up to the Crown Prince's Celebration had been peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Rin had spent most of his time helping Suzuki, unable to avoid her growing attachment. But when the day of the grand event finally arrived…
Everything fell apart.
It happened without warning.
The celebration, meant to showcase the talents of the Princess Consorts, turned into a nightmare.
Subspace Kidnappings.
A phenomenon where spatial magic was used to trap victims in a separate dimension. The ones caught in it were isolated, hunted, and left for dead.
By the time it ended…
Too many had perished.
Only a handful of survivors returned. Among them—
Rin arrived at the aftermath. The stench of blood filled the air.
And there, among the wreckage, stood Vermillion Princess Takigawa Rei.
She wasn't standing tall.
She wasn't the proud warrior he knew.
Instead, she was kneeling, trembling, clutching a bloodied body in her arms.
Niwa Yori.
Her head maid.
Her most trusted attendant.
Her friend.
Rei's hands shook as she held Yori's lifeless form, her eyes wide with disbelief, filled with self-hatred.
"I… I couldn't protect her…"
Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. Broken.
Rin had seen many expressions in his life. Fear. Sadness. Rage.
But this?
The desperate, silent agony of someone who had failed to protect their loved one?
It stayed with him.
Suzuki, fortunately, had not been caught in the Subspace.
She survived unscathed.
But Rin…
As he stood among the dead, watching Rei fall apart, hearing the cries of those who lost everything…
He clenched his fists.
He regretted it.
Regretted not being there.
Regretted not stopping this tragedy.
He should have been there.
Time passed, as it always did.
Seasons shifted, petals bloomed, and the White Flower Palace returned to a fragile calm after the tragedy of the Subspace incident. And in that calm, a new presence entered Rin's world—
Urakawa Miharu.
The third direct apprentice of the White Elder.
She arrived quietly, without pomp or ceremony. A young girl with bright eyes and wind in her steps, still untouched by the cruelty of nobility. Still naïve. Still unrefined. She didn't know how to wield her beauty or her magic as a weapon—not yet.
But Rin recognized her instantly.
The protagonist.
Of the novel he had read in his first life.
And Suzuki?
She didn't like her.
Not one bit.
At first, Miharu was just another student.
Another girl in need of discipline, training, and guidance. Rin saw no reason to worry.
But Suzuki saw plenty.
Because Miharu, whether she realized it or not, had a certain charm.
A clumsy sort of light that pulled people toward her—including Rin.
And Suzuki, ever the quiet observer, picked up on it immediately.
She didn't confront Miharu.
Didn't raise her voice.
Didn't snap or glare too openly.
But her actions spoke volumes.
She became clingier. Subtler. Possessive without ever crossing a line.
Whenever Miharu edged too close during training, Suzuki would suddenly develop a "problem" with her own spell formations.
"Rin, I need your help adjusting this part…" she would murmur, tugging gently at his sleeve with wide, expectant eyes.
"Rin, can we move over there? It's a bit noisy here…" she'd suggest, glancing at Miharu from the corner of her eye.
"Rin, can you demonstrate that technique again?" she'd ask sweetly, stepping far too close—close enough that her shoulder brushed his, close enough that Rin had to consciously maintain his breathing.
And Miharu?
Completely oblivious.
She smiled at Suzuki, laughed when she stumbled, even offered to help adjust her stances—not knowing she had been labeled.
Thieving cat.
That was the silent title Suzuki had branded her with.
Rin, of course, noticed everything.
He had been raised in a den of lions, had survived assassinations, betrayals, and imperial politics. He could read body language like a map.
Suzuki wasn't fooling him.
She was clever, yes. Subtle, yes.
But not invisible.
Still, Rin said nothing.
Calling her out would only provoke her—and not in the way most people imagined. Suzuki didn't explode when angry. She cooled. She withdrew, sharpened her smiles into blades, and made her displeasure known in whispers, not shouts.
So he endured it.
He pretended not to notice when her fingers lingered on his.
Pretended her soft "accidental" touches meant nothing.
Pretended she was still just the quiet, polite girl studying under his care.
But she wasn't.
Not anymore.
If anything, the deeper her magic grew, the more brazen her possessiveness became—veiled carefully beneath excuses of discipline and focus.
Fortunately, Miharu's presence didn't last.
After several months of training, the announcement came:
Urakawa Miharu had been chosen as the Black Princess Consort.
The Black Tortoise Palace sent for her immediately.
She packed her things without complaint, bowed deeply to Rin and the White Elder, and left with a serene smile on her face—grateful, innocent, and unaware that she had just made someone very, very happy.
Suzuki watched her leave from the courtyard balcony, arms folded behind her back.
She didn't wave.
She simply stood there, unmoving, as Miharu's carriage disappeared down the distant path.
And then—
She smiled.
A soft, satisfied expression.
Serene.
Victorious.
One less threat…
Of course, Miharu never once looked at Rin as anything more than a skilled comrade, a dependable mentor who guided her through the maze of magic. Her eyes held admiration, not desire.
But that didn't matter to Suzuki.
A woman was a woman.
And Miharu had been too close.
Too friendly.
Too comfortable around her Rin.
That alone had been enough.
Suzuki resumed her training afterward with renewed focus. But her eyes never quite lost that gleam of possessive caution. She knew Miharu was gone—but there would always be others. Nobles, mages, servants—women who hovered around Rin, drawn in like moths.
And her Rin—her mentor, her light—was far too handsome.
Far too powerful.
Far too dangerous to leave unattended.
So she adapted.
Adjusted her tactics.
She made sure to maintain their lessons—even insisted upon them.
When Rin officially became her personal mentor in magic, Suzuki treated it like a divine blessing.
It was the perfect excuse.
He had to visit her now.
He had to spend time with her.
And Suzuki made very sure that those visits were never dull.
—
When Rin arrived at the Azure Dragon Palace one morning—precisely on schedule, as always—he was greeted by her usual calm demeanor. Her maids bowed politely, stepping aside as he passed, but he could feel their eyes watching him—trained, cautious.
Suzuki waited in the garden, standing beside a practice platform carved with mystic runes. Her azure robes fluttered slightly in the breeze, and a soft smile graced her lips as he approached.
"Rin," she called out sweetly, tilting her head just enough to make her earrings catch the sunlight. "Come closer. I can't see your technique clearly from there."
Rin suppressed a sigh, his composure unwavering.
"You're already doing well," he replied. "Just maintain your focus. The illusion won't hold if your mind wanders."
"But I want to learn from you properly." She pouted just slightly—just enough to seem playful, not petulant.
She took a step closer. Then another.
Her fingers brushed his wrist under the guise of adjusting her stance.
Rin didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
He wanted to live.
So he ignored it.
Ignored the gentle way she leaned in.
Ignored how her eyes lingered on his lips when he spoke.
Ignored how she extended every session with just one more question, one more mistake that needed correcting, one more "accidental" touch.
Suzuki thought he didn't notice her affection.
But he did.
He noticed everything.
And he chose not to act.
Because acknowledging it meant stepping into a realm of complication—a dangerous one. One where politics, emotion, and possessiveness would tangle into something far more volatile than simple mentorship.
So Rin, as always, stayed quiet.
He trained her with precision.
He guided her magic with patience.
And he endured her silent, beautiful war against every other woman who dared enter her orbit.
Because for now, she was content.
And Rin, more than anything… wanted to survive.