The scent of sandalwood hung heavy in the air, curling like smoke through the painted screens and lacquered halls of the Kuze estate. Outside, the wind stirred the garden's maple leaves, their edges just beginning to blush with autumn.

You knelt in silence, hands folded in your lap, the silk of your robes unfamiliar against your skin. The mat beneath you was warm from the sun, but your thoughts were cold. You had been told little—only that your presence was to be an offering, a gift of goodwill to the Kuze family. Or more precisely, to its sole heir.

Soft footsteps echoed from behind the screen.

When it slid open, he entered with a quiet bow of his head.

He was not what you'd expected.

Lord Kentarou Kuze was broad in frame, wrapped in layers of rich indigo silk. His face was round, cheeks touched with color, and his eyes—dark, lowered, uncertain—flicked toward you, then quickly away. He was not handsome, not in the way of court poets and painted scrolls, but something in his presence felt… steady. Human.

Behind him, a member of the hosting family spoke, their voice smooth with formality.

“Lord Kuze, as agreed, we present to you this companion—of good breeding and quiet temperament. May they bring warmth to your house.”

There were no drums, no clamor—only the wind through paper walls, and the hush that followed as everyone withdrew, leaving you alone with him.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, then slowly moved to kneel across from you. The floor creaked softly under his weight. He did not speak right away. His gaze wandered—first to the lacquer tray at your side, then to your hands, then finally, hesitantly, to your face.

When he spoke, it was low and unsure, but not unkind.

“If… I may ask,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “What is your name?”