The room looked fancy, like those used in movies by rich people for making business discussions. The table was filled with dishes that could cost an average part-timer's entire wage for a single bite.
The delicate cuts of marbled beef, lacquered plates of sashimi glistening under soft light, and bowls of glossy soup steaming faintly. Even the cutlery looked expensive, heavy silver gleaming against crisp white linens. I guess they didn't call them VIP rooms for nothing.
But Hayato was unfazed by it. For him, this wasn't a rare luxury—it was just… normal. He'd grown up in rooms like this, where the air itself seemed heavier from money and expectation.
He walked toward the table. Standing, and reaching out her hand, Haru spoke softly, her voice carrying a refined calm.
"Hayato?"
"Haru?" he responded, scanning her face for confirmation.
They both nodded politely, a quiet understanding in their expressions, and Haru gestured toward the chair opposite her.
"Please."
Creak.
Hayato pulled out the chair and sat down. Haru, poised and graceful, was already seated across from him, her wine-red dress hugging every graceful curve. The crisscross laces at the neckline teased just enough to catch the eye, framing the smooth line of her collarbones. Her black hair spilled in soft, glossy waves over her shoulders, catching the warm light of the chandelier.
Every movement she made—crossing one leg over the other, adjusting her napkin—was unhurried, deliberate, the kind of elegance that made her seem like she belonged here more than anyone.
If you told anyone they were the same age, they wouldn't believe you. She looked… mature—not in a way that aged her, but in the way she carried herself. Beautiful, polished, untouchable.
But Hayato wasn't focused on that. His mind was elsewhere, circling around the real reason they were here.
'I should break the ice first,' he thought. 'That's right, I can't just dive into it…'
For a moment, neither spoke. The soft hum of the hotel's central air and the faint clinking of cutlery from other distant rooms filled the silence.
Haru reached for the porcelain teapot, lifting the lid with delicate fingers before pouring pale golden tea into his cup. The stream flowed in a thin ribbon, releasing the faint floral aroma of jasmine that curled into the air between them.
"It's been a while," Haru said, smiling faintly as she set the pot down. "You've… grown into your looks."
Hayato gave a polite nod, fingers curling around the warm teacup. "And you haven't changed much."
Her smile shifted, just enough to show amusement. "Still bad at taking compliments, I see."
He took a sip, letting the steam brush against his face. "Did you arrive this week?"
"No," she replied, setting her cup down gently. "I came last week. But I figured I'd rest for a while before… meetings like this."
"Oh." He glanced at her, his tone softening. "What about your classes at the state?"
"I actually took a leave of absence for a while."
That made him pause, brows lifting slightly. "Really? How come?"
She gave a small shrug, though her expression didn't quite match the casualness of the gesture. "Family wanted me here. And… Grandpa isn't doing too well."
Hayato leaned back a little, his voice lowering. "How's Uncle Kanzaki? I heard he was sick."
"Yes. Grandpa's a little weak, but it's mostly due to age. The doctor says he'll be fine with rest."
"That's good." He gave a faint smile. "Tell him my best wishes."
"I will." Her gaze softened briefly. "How are Aunt Ayame and Uncle?"
"They're fine. Busy as always."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries—how the food looked, comments about the hotel's atmosphere—but the weight in the air was undeniable.
But despite the polite words, there was an invisible weight pressing between them. Haru's gaze kept drifting back to him, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup as though searching for the right opening.
Hayato, feeling the heaviness in his chest, decided to stop dragging it out. He set his cup down with a quiet clink.
"I suppose I should be upfront," he said, his voice steady but not cold. "I know why we're here. But I don't want to marry, Haru."
Her hands stilled over her cup. A faint shadow crossed her eyes. "…I see."
"I'm not trying to be rude," he continued, leaning forward slightly. "I just… don't see the point in pretending. Besides, I'm not even of age yet, you know… and—"
He searched for an easy excuse, but nothing came. Pressure rose in his chest, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.
"I already have a girlfriend."
There was a split second—a flicker in her eyes, the barest tightening of her jaw—before her expression returned to a composed, polite mask. She placed her cup down slowly.
"Aunt Ayame didn't mention that."
"Yeah… well, you know parents," he said with an awkward chuckle. "I thought they'd make a fuss, so I didn't tell them yet."
"Mm." She gave a small nod. "Well, I'm not the one making the final decisions. My family asked me to meet you, and I did. I'll pass the message along."
Some of the tension eased after that, though the conversation stayed light, avoiding anything personal. They exchanged a few more comments about their schedules, mutual acquaintances, and the quality of the tea until Haru finally glanced at the time.
"Shall we?" she asked, reaching for her small black clutch.
Hayato stood with a nod. "Let's."
* * * * *
Meanwhile…
Kanna and Sayu followed Dae Woo through the massive glass doors of the high-rise hotel.
The polished marble floors gleamed under the light of a chandelier that hung like frozen rain from the ceiling, scattering tiny reflections across the glossy walls. The faint scent of fresh lilies drifted from a huge arrangement near the reception desk.
"Wow…" Kanna murmured, turning her head to take in the gold trim along the counters. "This place is gorgeous. Are you sure your cousin really owns a place here?!"
Dae Woo chuckled, hands in his pockets. "You'll see for yourself in a minute."
Sayu glanced down at her casual top and jeans, lowering her voice. "Feels like we should've worn something nicer."
"It's fine," Dae Woo said with an easy grin. "You'll blend in just fine. Come on—the restaurant's upstairs."
They walked toward the elevators, Kanna still drinking in the view—the glint of brass fixtures, the faint echo of footsteps across the marble, the quiet murmur of well-dressed guests passing by.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open. Just as they were about to step inside, they froze.
Standing there, mid-conversation, were Hayato and Haru.