As Takahashi Reie's words fell—hanging in the air like a final boss's opening line—the expressions on Shiratori Seiya's and Mio's faces froze simultaneously, like screenshots from a comedy anime.
Silence fell over the room. You could have heard a pin drop. Or a cricket chirp. Or maybe just the sound of two people internally screaming.
Takahashi Mio was the first to react, snapping out of her frozen state like a character breaking a paralysis status effect. She quickly looked at her mother and said:
"Mom, about the wedding… I don't think we need to rush, do we?"
Hearing this, Takahashi Reie didn't speak. Instead, she turned her head and gave her daughter a smiling glance—the kind of look that said oh, sweet summer child. The meaning in her eyes was unmistakable:
Stupid daughter. Shut up.
But Takahashi Mio completely ignored it—either brave or foolish, possibly both. Her heart was pounding like a drum solo at a festival. She clenched her fists, swallowed the lump in her throat, and continued:
"I'm only a first-year university student. I haven't even graduated yet. Why the rush to have a wedding?"
"Is that so?"
Takahashi Reie nodded slowly, as if considering this profound wisdom. Then she said thoughtfully—too thoughtfully:
"Then I don't think you, Mio, need to be in such a hurry to marry Seiya either, do you?"
She paused, tilting her head like a detective who'd just found the crucial clue, and feigned confusion:
"According to what you're saying now... this should be considered a shotgun wedding, right?"
"That's not because—"
Isn't it because her father would definitely never agree to her becoming an actress?
Takahashi Mio stopped halfway through her sentence, biting her tongue. She had the distinct feeling that her mother already knew all of this—every last detail. Her mother wasn't stupid. She never had been.
Her mother bringing this up with Shiratori Seiya was definitely for her own good—she could see that. But getting married now was absolutely out of the question.
Not to mention that Shiratori Seiya wouldn't actually marry her—that was a cold, hard fact she couldn't ignore—but if Hojo and Hasegawa, those two lunatics, ever found out about this fake marriage certificate... who knew what might happen. A yandere's imagination was a terrifying thing.
Even the fact that she had forged the marriage certificate absolutely could not be known by those two.
Takahashi Mio instinctively recalled the sword Hasegawa Saori had thrust at her in the Kendo Club—that sharp, unwavering blade aimed right at her face. She felt a chill run down her spine like someone had dropped an ice cube down her back.
She frowned, feeling extremely anxious—like a character trying to talk their way out of a bad ending.
Biting her lip hard, she suddenly thought of something. Her eyes lit up like a light bulb moment in a mystery anime, and she turned to her mother, saying:
"Mom, if we were to have the wedding now, that would definitely not work, right?"
"Hm?"
Takahashi Reie turned her head to look at her daughter, a puzzled expression in her eyes—what angle are you playing now?
Seeing this, Takahashi Mio leaned forward, speaking earnestly:
"I'm currently preparing for an audition. And after the audition, I'll start filming immediately. I won't have any free time for several months—literally zero—so how can I possibly prepare for a wedding?"
"Moreover, strictly speaking, if I do all this before my career even takes off, and then rumors start flying... that will definitely not be good for my professional development."
"And Seiya is also a scriptwriter. Although I will work hard and rely on my actual acting skills—not connections—I'm an actress and he's a scriptwriter. With such an obvious personal relationship, people will definitely gossip, right? That wouldn't be good for either of us."
"..."
Hearing this, Takahashi Reie pursed her lips and fell silent. The seconds stretched out like an eternity in an anime flashback. Finally, she let out a long, slow sigh—the kind that carries the weight of a mother's acceptance.
She really hadn't thought of all that. The entertainment industry was indeed complicated.
Seeing her mother remain silent—no immediate objection, which was basically a win—Takahashi Mio felt a little more at ease. Her tone softened, no longer as urgent and defensive as before:
"So I said, having a wedding now is still too soon..."
"Besides, I'm only in my first year of university. We're already married anyway—the paperwork is done—so it's not too late to wait until I graduate, right?"
Takahashi Reie lowered her gaze, took a slow, deliberate sip of tea—buying time, thinking—then looked at Shiratori Seiya and asked:
"Shiratori-kun thinks so too?"
This was clearly asking for his stance. The ball was in his court now.
Shiratori Seiya thought for a moment, met her gaze directly—no flinching, no dodging—and said:
"I chose to become a scriptwriter because of Mio. So for me, things like fame and scandals don't really matter. If Mio is willing, even if we start preparing for the wedding tomorrow, I have absolutely no problem with it."
As he spoke, he turned his head and looked at Takahashi Mio with deep, theatrical affection—give the man an award—and said softly:
"Actually... I also want to see Mio in a wedding dress. I want to hear the priest's prayer at the ceremony and personally put a ring on her finger with my own hands..."
Subconsciously meeting Shiratori Seiya's gaze, Takahashi Mio's heart trembled like a leaf in a storm. Hearing him say these words—so earnest, so convincing—the blush on her face deepened even more, spreading across her cheeks like a sunset. She couldn't help but avert her gaze, suddenly very interested in the pattern on the tea table.
But then, as if remembering something important—right, this is all an act—the shy expression in her beautiful eyes receded like the tide going out.
['Takahashi Mio' Affection: 80 → 85]
['Takahashi Mio' Affection: 85 → 77]
"..."
Watching the affection points fluctuate wildly within a mere two seconds—like a stock market crash followed by a flash recovery—Shiratori Seiya couldn't help but feel a little helpless.
Since she knew it was just acting, why did she take it seriously and then decrease the score instead of increasing it?
Was it because she took it too seriously, so now she was embarrassed and angry at herself for falling for it? That sounded about right for a tsundere.
As he was pondering this psychological mystery, Takahashi Reie—sitting at the other end of the sofa like a wise elder observing young love—couldn't help but sigh upon hearing their exchange. Her voice carried a complex, wistful tone:
"Then... it's up to you two."
"Oh, and Shiratori-kun, if you want to take a shower later, Mio, please help adjust the hot water. I'll go make the bed for your father."
After speaking, she stood up gracefully and walked into the bedroom, leaving the two young people alone with their thoughts—and their fake marriage certificate.
Late at night.
After showering—the hot water doing nothing to calm his racing thoughts—Shiratori Seiya turned off the lights and lay down on the tatami mat. The room was dark, quiet, save for the occasional distant sound of a car passing by.
Usually, he would already be fast asleep by this hour. His internal clock was practically a military-grade instrument.
But at this moment, he stared at the chat window with Saori on his phone screen, his brows tightly furrowed like a detective examining a crime scene.
The message was still unread.
Saori hadn't sent him a text either. Not one. No "where are you?" No "are you still coming?" Nothing. The silence was deafening.
He hadn't looked at his phone since sending Saori that message in the afternoon. He had been too busy—first fishing, then convincing Takahashi Isao, then navigating the minefield of dinner conversation. He had assumed Saori had already seen his apology. But he had only just realized, when he opened his phone moments ago, that she hadn't.
She hadn't seen it at all.
Unable to sleep—his mind racing like a hamster on a wheel—he sat up and called her directly.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The phone rang for a while, then went unanswered and automatically hung up. He called again. Still no answer.
Narrowing his eyes—a bad premonition creeping up his spine like cold fingers—he walked to the window and called Fujiyama Takeo directly.
"Hello? Shiratori-kun? Why are you still awake so late?" Fujiyama Takeo's boisterous, slightly tipsy voice came from the other end—clearly enjoying his post-competition freedom.
Shiratori Seiya didn't waste time on pleasantries. He asked directly:
"Club President, you guys went to the national competition this time, right?"
"Ah, yes! We just got back from a hot spring bath. We'll be back at school tomorrow..."
As expected. Eliminated in the first round, then.
Shiratori Seiya didn't have time to offer condolences or comfort. He continued:
"Did anything happen during this competition?"
"Accident? What accident?"
Shiratori Seiya's question seemed to come out of nowhere. Fujiyama Takeo scratched the back of his head—Shiratori could practically hear the confused gesture—full of bewilderment.
Hearing that nothing had happened—no injuries, no incidents, no disasters—Shiratori Seiya felt a little relieved, but he couldn't completely relax. Not yet.
"Nothing. Oh, by the way, Club President—did that Kendo Club that came to our school last time participate in the competition normally?"
Hearing this, there was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. Then Fujiyama Takeo's voice came through, suddenly bright with realization:
"Oh, oh, oh! I get it now. You want to ask about your girlfriend, right?"
He didn't wait for confirmation.
"It's a shame you didn't come today. She was absolutely dominant on the field—like, seriously abnormal! In the team rotation match, she didn't even need her teammates to step in after her. She single-handedly demolished the entire M University Kendo Club! One versus all!"
"You should check out the reports on today's competition forum. She's way too strong. What did they call her?"
"Uh..."
Fujiyama Takeo's thoughtful humming came from the other end—the sound of someone searching their memory for a name. After a few seconds, he slapped his forehead with an audible smack.
"The Female Asura! Yes! That's what they're calling her now—'The Female Asura.' She must have become famous in one battle. I heard there was a Kendo 8th Dan in the spectator stands who's even planning to take her as a personal disciple..."
"..."
Hearing Fujiyama Takeo say this—the relief was immediate and overwhelming. A huge weight finally lifted from Shiratori Seiya's heart, and he breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. She was okay. More than okay. She was dominating.
But then confusion crept back in. So why hadn't Saori replied to his message?
After knowing he didn't show up at the venue—after everything—she should at least ask him why, right? A simple "where were you?" A passive-aggressive "hope you had fun." Something.
Was she angry? Was that it? So angry that she didn't want to talk to him at all?
He considered this possibility, but it didn't sit right. Saori wasn't that kind of person. She wasn't petty or passive-aggressive. If she was upset, she would tell him directly—maybe with a sword in hand, but directly nonetheless.
Shiratori Seiya's doubts remained unresolved. He interrupted Fujiyama Takeo's now-rambling, exaggerated play-by-play of Saori's victories and asked:
"Club President, do you have the contact information for the president of that Kendo Club? I can't reach Saori right now, and I want to ask how she's doing."
"Huh?"
Fujiyama Takeo was stunned for a moment—why would Shiratori want that?—then quickly recovered. "Can't reach her? Sure, I'll send it to you."
Hanging up the phone, Shiratori Seiya looked at the contact information Fujiyama Takeo had sent—both social media handles and phone numbers. He thought for a moment and decided to add her as a friend first, send a polite message explaining who he was, and ask about Saori's condition.
However, just as he submitted the friend request—
Swish...
The sound of a sliding door opening came from behind him, soft but unmistakable in the quiet room.
Shiratori Seiya turned his head sharply—and saw a figure standing at the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway.