Page 106 of Kotori
"They'd be so happy," I breathe.
"They would. And so would you." He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "This family needs sons, kotori. Strong boys to carry our name forward."
The casual certainty in his voice makes my stomach flutter. Not just a baby. Sons. Multiple children to fulfill his vision of legacy and power.
"What if..." I start, then stop, unsure how to voice the question.
"What if you give me daughters?" His smile is indulgent. "Then we keep trying until you give me what I need. The girls will have siblings to love, and eventually, this family will have the heir it requires."
The offer is seductive in its simplicity. No more internal conflicts about what I want versus what I should want. No more fighting instincts that feel more natural than breathing.
"What if I can't love it the way I should?" I ask, voicing my last real fear.
"Look at how completely you love my daughters." His smile is devastating in its certainty. "Our child will be just as cherished. Just as wanted."
"Promise me," I whisper, and I'm not even sure what I'm asking for anymore.
"I promise you'll never doubt your place in this family again." He leans down to kiss me, soft and claiming. "Go back to bed, kotori. Rest that beautiful body."
As I slide back beneath the covers, his arm immediately curls around me, hand splaying possessively across my stomach. The gesture that once made me nervous now feels protective, promising.
"Sleep," he murmurs against my hair. "Let your body do what it was designed for."
I close my eyes and try to find horror at what just happened. But all I can feel is a strange peace, like a burden I didn't know I was carrying has finally been lifted.
Choice has been my burden long enough. Maybe he's right about that. Maybe some decisions are too important to leave to people too confused to make them properly.
29
Kaito
Themanilaenvelopesitson my desk like a loaded gun.
Daichi Shuichi places it with ceremonial care, his young hands steady despite the magnitude of what he's about to reveal. At twenty-five, he carries himself with the confidence of someone raised in yakuza traditions, son of Sho Shuichi, a man I've trusted as an ally for years. Daichi has been considered a prime candidate for arranged marriage to Mizuki since she turned sixteen, his family's status and his own education making him suitable for my eldest daughter. But tonight, he sits alone in my office, requesting this private meeting with the gravity of someone delivering terrible news.
"I apologize for the late hour and thedelicatenature of this discussion," Daichi begins, his voice carrying genuine regret that chills my blood. "But given that we've known each other since we were children, and my family's hopes for our future together, I felt honor demanded I bring this to your attention personally."
His reference to their childhood connection is carefully chosen—reminding me that he's grown up alongside her, watched her mature from awkward teenager into the beautiful young woman she's become. As a potential husband with years of acquaintance, he has legitimate reason for concern about her behavior.
The weight in his tone reflects proper upbringing in our world. This isn't political maneuvering. When a young man from a respected family requests private audience about honor matters, I listen.
"Speak plainly."
"Your eldest daughter has been communicating with me inappropriately. As someone who has known Mizuki-chan since we were children, who has watched her bloom into such a beautiful young woman, receiving these messages has been... deeply troubling."
The way he describes watching her "bloom" carries undertones that make my jaw clench. A man doesn't speak of a childhood friend's physical development with such obvious appreciation unless he's been paying inappropriate attention to her transformation.
Mizuki. My brilliant daughter who questions everything while maintaining respect for family honor. The girl who's been withdrawn lately, carrying shadows that I attributed to academic pressure.
Perhaps I underestimated the pressures of approaching adulthood, the natural curiosity that comes with eighteen years of sheltered existence.
Daichi shifts uncomfortably, genuine distress creasing his features. "Three weeks ago, she began contacting me through her phone. What started as innocent questions about cultural expectations quickly became explicit requests."
Three weeks. Right when her behavior started changing, when she became secretive about her device, possessive of her privacy in ways that seemed like normal teenage development.
"She said she'd been curious about relationships, about physical intimacy between men and women." His voice drops with what appears to be painful embarrassment. "I tried to redirect her toward appropriate channels, suggested she speak with you about such matters."
The first screenshot slides across my desk. Mizuki's phone number, messages timestamped at 11:47 PM:Daichi-san, I can't sleep. I keep thinking about things I shouldn't. About what it feels like when a man touches a woman.
